[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North (18 page)
‘‘What can I do fer ya?’’ the man asked in a lazy drawl.
‘‘I’m the captain of the ship
Merry Maid
. We’ve just put in this morning. I have a load of camp stoves, cots, and other equipment that would no doubt interest those heading north.’’
‘‘Cheechakos!’’ the man declared and spit on the dirt floor.
Peter had never heard the word. ‘‘I beg your pardon?’’
The man laughed. ‘‘Them wet-behind-the-ears stampeders. Cheechakos is what we old sourdoughs call ’em.’’
Peter nodded. ‘‘Sourdoughs, eh?’’ He smiled. No doubt those veteran souls of the north had plenty of other names to call each other as well as their newcomers. Peter decided against making a lengthy conversation. ‘‘So are you interested in my freight?’’
‘‘You betcha,’’ the man replied. ‘‘I’ll take it all. How much?’’
Peter related the number of stoves and cots and proceeded to explain the size and style of canvas tents. ‘‘I have well-made tents, poles and pins included. All of the finest duck cloth—’’ ‘‘You don’t have ta sell me on ’em, Cap’n, just name your price,’’ the man interjected.
Peter thought of his investment. ‘‘Four thousand dollars for the entire lot.’’ He fixed his jaw, waiting for the man to protest.
‘‘No problem. Wait here.’’
Peter nodded and quickly realized he should have been more careful in naming his price. The man hadn’t even so much as raised a brow at his suggestion.
Glancing around as he waited for the man to retrieve his pay, Peter spied the price of a nearby cot made from duck cloth similar to those he’d brought with him. Five dollars! He’d paid only a dollar apiece for the ones he’d brought with him from San Francisco. With that kind of profit to be had, Peter could easily see the Colton Shipping firm on solid financial ground. They’d not be obliging in any way to Martin Paxton.
Thinking of Paxton caused Peter to think of his father. He’d have to help his father set prices for any freight not associated with the store Martin Paxton intended to build. Paxton would pay for shipping, but Peter knew his father would be a fool to let
Summer Song
be completely given over to Paxton’s needs. Why, with this kind of money to be made, Colton Shipping could build their own store. The idea held great appeal to Peter. Diversifying their holdings could possibly prevent another run of bad luck. Perhaps building a store here while the rush was going strong, then selling it and reinvesting that money in yet another scheme later on, would see a continual flow of funds into the Colton coffers. Peter smiled. Financial independence suddenly seemed very possible.
‘‘Here ya are,’’ the man replied, bringing with him a canvas bag, along with a stack of paper bills. ‘‘There’s coins and a few nuggets in the bag. Ya can have the nuggets double-checked at the assayers, but my scales are just as good.’’
Peter took up the bag. It was heavier than he’d expected.
What a strange way of doing business,
he thought.
Opening the bag, he had to see what was inside. He had to know what all the fuss was about. His eyes widened. Reaching inside, Peter drew out a nugget and held it up to the light. So this was what all the fuss was about.
His expression must have amused the store owner. Laughing, the older man muttered under his breath and slapped his knee. One word was all he said, but for Peter it said it all.
‘‘Cheechako!’’
KAREN WASN’T SURE what she’d expected of Skagway, but what she got wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for. Rough-looking buildings in various stages of construction were few and far between. Tents were the mainstay and were erected in a marginal semblance of order, some with signs declaring them to be hotels, restaurants, or shops. The streets themselves were in no better shape. It looked as if the people upon arriving in Skagway had literally had to hack their way through the forest. In many places, tree stumps were still standing in the middle of what appeared to be the planned roadway, and there was absolutely no consideration of a boardwalk for the pedestrians who crowded the streets.
The place was even more primitive than Karen had imagined. Somehow she had believed the place would have been settled by their arrival. She knew from her mother’s letters that there was very little in the way of an established town, but given the stampede north and the modern innovations for settlement, Karen had honestly expected something more established.
Staring at the activity down the main street of Skagway, Karen felt like crying. Disappointment had washed over her from the moment the ferryman helped her to transfer to an awaiting path of tidal mud, and it was certainly no better now that the freighters had delivered their trunks and crates of supplies.
‘‘Where do you want this stuff, ma’am?’’ a bearded man called down from his wagon.
‘‘Goodness,’’ Doris answered before Karen could think to reply, ‘‘where should we have it taken?’’
The man shrugged. ‘‘Ain’t a hotel room open in town, and I don’t see a tent here amongst your goods. What’d you ladies think you were comin’ to? A tea party?’’
Karen resented the man’s flippant attitude almost as much as her own disappointment. ‘‘We have come to be with my father, if you must know.’’ She stood with her hands on her hips, hoping the stance looked intimidating.
‘‘Well, he don’t appear to be here. Probably already hiked over the pass,’’ the man suggested.
‘‘He’s a missions worker with the Tlingit Indians,’’ Karen informed him. ‘‘He was here long before the fuss over gold, and he’ll be here long after the others have gone. Yourself included.’’
‘‘Feisty thing, ain’t she?’’ the man said, looking to Doris. ‘‘Feisty is good up here, but it still don’t tell me where you need these things taken.’’
Doris nodded. ‘‘I’m sorry, young man. I’m not at all familiar with where my brother is staying. I believe he’s often in Dyea, but the ship wasn’t headed to that harbor.’’
‘‘Iffen you’re headed Dyea way, you’d do best to have me take this to the flatboats on the river side of town. It’s just down that road over yonder,’’ the man said and pointed at a muddy path barely wide enough for the passage of a single wagon. ‘‘The best way to get this load to Dyea would be by having it floated over. You can ride as well.’’ He tucked his thumbs into his suspenders and added, ‘‘And I’ve got a friend who runs some boats. He’ll give you a fair price.’’
‘‘That would be a first,’’ Karen replied.
The man laughed, seeming unconcerned with her comment. ‘‘Take it or leave it, but iffen you want Dyea, that’s my advice.’’
‘‘Well, I trust you to know what’s best,’’ Doris said. ‘‘Should we walk or ride with you?’’
‘‘Ain’t room but for one or two of you,’’ he said. ‘‘ ’Course, that feisty redhead could probably put us all to shame. She’s probably got more energy than these old nags.’’
Karen felt her cheeks redden. ‘‘I’d rather walk than ride with such an ill-mannered man.’’
‘‘I’ll walk with Karen,’’ Grace suggested. ‘‘Why don’t you go ahead and ride, Aunt Doris? You can arrange everything ahead of time, and when we arrive you can tell us all about it.’’
Doris nodded. ‘‘I believe that would be most advisable.’’
The teamster reached down to hoist the older woman up. Seeing this, Karen hurried to her aunt’s aid and helped her from below. Together, they soon had Doris settled on the wood seat beside the driver.
‘‘You gals just stick to the road. It goes straight away to where ya need to be. Just follow us.’’
Karen nodded, uncertain as to what they were getting themselves into. For all she knew the man could be leading them off to their demise. Bill Barringer and his children, Jacob and Leah, came upon Karen and Grace just as the wagon pulled off. Each of the trio was heavily laden with backpacks and cases.
‘‘You’re the ladies from the boat,’’ Leah said, smiling at Karen. ‘‘I remember you ’cause I liked your pretty hair.’’
Karen’s anger eased a bit, but her fears mounted ever higher as the wagon moved off down the road.
Please help us,
Lord,
she prayed before turning her smile on Leah Barringer.
‘‘I remember you too. I wish I had time to chat, but we have to follow that wagon. We’ve a boat to catch that will take us to Dyea.’’
‘‘That’s where we’re headed too,’’ Bill replied. ‘‘Might we walk with you?’’
Karen looked to Grace and nodded. ‘‘I think that would be very nice. In fact, I would call it answered prayer. I’m not sure either Miss Hawkins or myself expected to be quite so liberated upon our arrival to Alaska.’’
Mr. Barringer smiled from behind his beard and mustache. Karen thought him a sad sort of figure given his recent loss, but he always seemed to have a smile and warm word for his children. She had heard him one night when they had been gathered at the rail of the ship. He had promised them that God would make a way for their steps. That God knew what was best for their lives and that He honored a man who was willing to put his plans into action, counting on God for direction. Karen had thought it wise enough counsel, even while questioning the sanity of a man who would bring his children into such a chaotic environment.
‘‘Mr. Barringer, isn’t it?’’ she asked, not wanting to appear too forward.
‘‘Yes,’’ he replied. ‘‘But call me Bill.
Mister
hardly seems well-suited to this place.’’
‘‘Perhaps that’s all the more reason we should stand on formality,’’ Karen replied.
‘‘No, I like the idea of going by our first names,’’ Grace interjected, surprising Karen. She smiled at Bill. ‘‘I’m Grace Hawkins, Bill. You feel free to call me by my given name.’’
‘‘Grace is a pretty name,’’ Leah remarked. Jacob, however, remained sullen and silent.
‘‘Very well,’’ Karen said, giving in. ‘‘My name is Karen.’’
‘‘I like that name too,’’ Leah said.
Karen couldn’t help but be taken with the girl. She appeared so friendly and outward in her manner. She seemed needy for attention from other women. And why not? Karen thought. Her mother had just died and she was at a most precarious age.
‘‘I think we’d better put our best foot forward,’’ Karen said, watching the wagon disappear around the bend. ‘‘I wouldn’t want my aunt to have to be alone for very long.’’ Bill nodded and the group proceeded after the wagon.
Karen found the mud impossible to navigate. Her boots were hopelessly ruined and she only had two other pairs of shoes to use after these were spent. Perhaps her first purchase would have to be a sturdier pair of hiking boots.
We’ve been quite silly,
she thought as they walked in silence. They’d purchased a variety of things—blankets, heavier clothing, gloves and such, prior to leaving Seattle, but there were so many things coming to mind that they were without. Good quantities of soap, for instance, and of course decent boots and heavy woolen hose.
‘‘We used to live in Colorado,’’ Leah said rather suddenly. ‘‘It kind of looked like this, only maybe not as much water.’’
‘‘Definitely not as much water,’’ Bill replied.
‘‘We lived in Chicago,’’ Karen told the little girl. ‘‘And we had plenty of water, but no trees like these and no mountains. My, but I really have enjoyed the sight of these mountains.’’
‘‘Mama used to say mountains gave her hope for life’s problems.’’
Karen smiled. ‘‘Why is that, Leah?’’
‘‘ ’Cause they have an uphill climb on one side and a downward slide on the other. No matter what kind of problem you have, Mama used to say you could always count on there being a downhill side eventually.’’
Karen saw Jacob’s jaw clench tight at the mention of his mother. He looked away and acted disinterested, but Karen could tell he was hanging on his sister’s every word. Bill Barringer, on the other hand, seemed to drift into a world of his own thought. From the way his eyes glazed over at the mere mention of his dead wife, Karen figured him to be pushing the thoughts of her aside. It was funny how everyone dealt with grief in their own way.
‘‘So, Leah,’’ Karen said, realizing that sharing conversation was much preferable to the silence, ‘‘tell me about Colorado.’’
‘‘Oh, we were mining there. Pa used to have a lot of money in silver, but then it went bust.’’
Karen nodded. ‘‘I remember there were many problems with silver and a great many people lost their fortunes.’’
‘‘Yup, our pa was one of them. So we stayed in Colorado and moved from our nice house and went to live in Devil’s Creek. But there wasn’t much there,’’ she said rather sadly. ‘‘Our mama’s buried there now, but someday we’re going back to put a nice headstone on her grave. Pa said we could after we strike it rich.’’
Karen smiled, but inside she felt a deep sense of sorrow for the child. To live on such hopes and dreams seemed almost cruel. But living with no hope would be even more cruel, and so she said nothing.
‘‘What did you do in Chicago?’’ Leah asked. ‘‘Why’d you come to look for gold?’’
Karen wondered how much they should share of their lives. After all, the fewer who knew of Grace’s predicament, the better.
‘‘I didn’t come to look for gold,’’ Karen replied. ‘‘I came to look for my father.’’
‘‘Your father?’’
‘‘Yes. He’s a missionary up here—somewhere. He works with the Indians.’’
‘‘I didn’t know there were Indians up here,’’ Leah said, her eyes growing wide. ‘‘Are they the killing kind?’’
Karen shook her head. ‘‘I don’t think they’ll mean us any harm. My father and mother lived here quite comfortably and never knew harm by the Tlingit.’’
‘‘Klink-it?’’ Leah questioned, trying the word. ‘‘Is that what the tribe is called?’’
‘‘Very good,’’ Karen answered with a smile. ‘‘I’ll bet you were a top student in school.’’
‘‘Used to be. I liked learning, but it’s been a while since I got a chance to study.’’
Karen realized that the girl’s father probably held little interest in his children’s education. Conversations from the ship came back to remind her that he figured Leah to marry well and never need an education.
‘‘I was Grace’s teacher, so maybe when you’re around in Dyea, you could come and study with me sometime.’’
Leah’s entire face lit up. ‘‘I’d like that a whole lot. Do you think I could do that, Pa?’’ she asked, hurrying to keep step with her father. ‘‘Could I go and learn from Miss Karen?’’
