Chapter Text
Gold Fever by Jen Hall
*******************
Part One: In the beginning . . .
How the world is made for each of us!
How all we perceive and know in it
Tends to some moment’s product thus,
When a soul declares itself—to wit,
By its fruit, the thing it does
Be hate that fruit or love that fruit,
It forwards the general deed of man,
And each of the Many helps to recruit
The life of the race by a general plan;
Each living his own, to boot....
(Robert Browning, By the Fireside)
He put in your heart certain wishes and plans; in my heart, He put other different desires.
(Sitting Bull)
***************************
Dawson City, Yukon Territory, 1898:
‘Americans! The scum of the earth,’ declared Superintendent Sam Steele.
‘Not all of them, surely Sir. I have met one or two with whom I was capable of engaging in some sort of rational discourse.’
‘Have you indeed, Sergeant Hutchinson?’ asked the Superintendent. ‘And where, and when, I pray you, did these amazing events take place?’
‘In San Francisco, Sir,’ the Sergeant answered. ‘Several years ago.’
‘San Francisco? That whore of a city? You astound me all the more, Sergeant Hutchinson.’
‘Have you ever been in San Francisco, Sir?’
‘No, I have not, nor do I wish to visit there. Though, now that you remind me of it, I have met a few decent Americans upon occasion. Sitting Bull, for example. I suppose he could be called an American, even if he might have protested the use of the appellation to describe him.’
‘He might have indeed, Sir. He would have called himself Lakota, I believe. And Americans would have termed him Savage.’
‘Yes, yes, yes. Though I found him by far the most civilized of any American I have met, before or since. Not that I am saying much, when I say so. Now, Sergeant, we are about to be inundated with them. Americans, I mean. Savages, I say. Soon, we shall be flooded by a veritable tidal wave of savages without the dignity and intelligence of Sitting Bull. We must be prepared.’
‘I agree with you there, Sir,’ declared Sergeant Hutchinson.
‘I expect you to agree with me at all times and in all places, Sergeant,’ said his superior officer.
‘You might expect that, Sir,’ said the Sergeant. ‘But you might be disappointed.’
‘Officers of the Force are required to obey their superiors and display perfect discipline at all times, Sergeant Hutchinson. You had best not disappoint me.’
‘Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir.’
‘Americans are coming here to dig up our gold, return home to the United States, and spend it there.’
‘I don’t think that’s right, Sir.’
‘You’re not paid the munificent sum of one dollar a day to think, Sergeant. You’re paid – Hell, we’re all paid to do our duty. Our duty is to see that they dig up our gold safely and return home alive to spend it. Whether we like it or not. Those are our orders. Dammit!’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘That will be all, Sergeant. We can’t sit around chatting. We have work to do. Go check on your dog team. Then get to it.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson of the Northwest Mounted Police strode out of Dawson City Division Headquarters – a tent it was, indeed, but a large tent. He was smiling. Superintendent Sam Steele was a great disciplinarian, but he was fair. Over the last couple of years, they had become something akin to friends.
His dogs set up a howl as he approached. Perhaps they could read his mind by now, and knew they were about to go out on patrol. Pulling his sled was arduous work, but it was their job, and their life. They were beautiful Inuit Huskies – small, but incredibly hardy and strong.
Each one could pull three times its weight. He had rescued several of them from cruel masters and treated them better than some fathers treated their children. They were willing to run until they dropped dead from exhaustion, just to please him.
Angakkuq, his lead dog, jumped up to welcome him. Angakkuq was more than an ordinary dog. She was part wolf, and larger than the other huskies. More intelligent, as well, and a good hunter. Several times, Angakkuq had saved her master’s life. Hutchinson held the great, silvery head in his hands for a moment, and gazed into the dark eyes. Then, he laughed and ruffled the wolf dog’s fur.
‘Come on, Girl,’ he said. ‘Let’s hit the trail.’
**********************************
New York City, 1898:
‘Have a look at these, Mr. Starsky!’ Oliver Whitman tossed a collection of newspapers onto his desk and waved at David Starsky to peruse them.
Starsky picked a paper at random and read one of the stories. Then another, and another.
‘Well?’ asked his boss. ‘What do you think?’
‘All the stories are about the gold in the Klondike,’ said Starsky.
‘Good work. Mr. Pulitzer approves of reporters who can read,’ the editor remarked.
‘Yes, Sir,’ said Starsky. ‘Most of the stories are trash, though. Look at this one, here. The Klondike – in Alaska. That’s false, Sir. The Klondike is in the Yukon, and the Yukon is in Canada.’
‘Good, good,’ said Whitman, again. ‘Mr. Pulitzer approves of reporters who do their research and check their facts. Think you can write better articles than these?’
‘Of course, Sir,’ said Starsky.
‘Good, good, good,’ said Whitman, for the third time. ‘Here are your tickets. You leave in the morning.’
‘Leave, Sir? For where?’
‘For where, Mr. Starsky? For the Klondike, of course. It’s in the Yukon, Canada. It’s west of here.’
‘West of here, Sir? Yes, and north of here. It’s cold.’
‘Buy warm clothes, Mr. Starsky. Mr. Pulitzer has not stinted on your expense account. He wants you to survive this enterprise. Send us good stories. Tell the truth. Come home in one piece, and maybe you’ll end up at my desk some day. Hmm?’
‘I don’t aspire to that, Sir,’ said Starsky.
‘And why in Hell not? Mr. Pulitzer approves of reporters who are competitive.’
‘I know, Sir,’ said Starsky.
Mr. Pulitzer approved of reporters – and editors – who stabbed each other in the back. Mr. Whitman got his current position by spying on the previous editor and reporting on his behaviour to Mr. Pulitzer. If Starsky turned down this assignment, it would likely be the last assignment he would ever be offered.
‘I would love to take this assignment, Mr. Whitman.’
‘Good, good, good, good.’
‘But I must speak with my mother, first.’
‘Your mother?’ asked Whitman. ‘Does your mother pick your assignments for you, now?’
‘No, Sir. But my brother Nick left for the Klondike some weeks ago. If I left too, my mother would be alone.’
Whitman’s face softened. A man’s mother was sacred territory. But men were men, after all, and men had to do what men had to do. ‘Surely there are other relatives who can keep her company, Mr. Starsky?’ he asked. ‘I was under the impression that you Jews had close-knit families.’
‘Yes, Sir. But I think I should consult her first. I’ll let you know tomorrow morning. Surely that’s only fair. I would be gone for – how long? At least a year, I think.’
‘A year at least, Mr. Starsky. Very well. Consult your mother. Come in tomorrow morning and pick up your tickets.’
Whitman’s tone implied that Starsky would be picking up his tickets, or he might be picking up his termination notice.
‘Yes, Sir,’ said Starsky.
As he rode home on the Elevated Train, Starsky forced himself to consider the possibility that he would have to take the assignment. He loved his job at the New York World, despite the competitiveness and backstabbing. In point of fact, he was fully capable of partaking in the backstabbing himself, if need be. His salary was good. He approved of the editorial policy of the World, in most instances. He admired Mr. Pulitzer, who had not allowed his blindness to stop him from running his newspapers.
Nellie Bly had worked for the New York World. She exposed the cruel treatment of insane people in asylums. She travelled alone around the entire world in just over 72 days. A week less time than it had taken Phileas Fogg to do so. That was the sort of reporter David Starsky wanted to be. Fearless. Fighting for the rights of the common people.
But – journey to Canada? Wasn’t that above and beyond the call of duty? When he told Whitman that the Klondike was in the Yukon, and the Yukon was in Canada, and west and north of New York, he had exhausted the total sum of his real knowledge of the subject. His mind was full of vague impressions, however. Canada was cold. It was winter there all year round. It was untamed wilderness. Polar bears roamed the streets of the little villages, and savage Indians ran around waving tomahawks and uttering blood curdling war whoops. The few civilized people all spoke French.
Starsky shuddered. Clearly journeying to Canada was for the foolhardy, far beyond getting oneself committed to the Women’s Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell’s Island.
But what alternative was there? Working for Randolph Hearst at the New York Journal? No. Starsky didn’t approve of Hearst. There was something wrong with him. Something ruthless. Hearst presented himself as a democrat, but Starsky could easily see Hearst siding with powerful tyrants against the people, if it suited him.
The Times? Again, no. Too stuffy by far. He wondered to himself if they would even hire him.
Starsky opened one of the newspapers he had borrowed from Whitman and began to read some of the articles carefully. They struck him as hucksterism. ‘The Gateway to Gold’ was one headline. ‘Fortunes To Be Made in Alaska’ read another. Alaska? Starsky thought the gold was in the Klondike.
‘You readin’ about all that gold, laddie?’ asked an old man across the aisle.
‘Yes, Sir,’ said Starsky, politely.
‘Thinking of going there, meself,’ said the old man. ‘I hear them streets are paved with gold, and all you has to do is pick it up.’
If only that were true, thought Starsky. Maybe there was something to be said for decent reporting on such claims after all. But was he the man for the job?
The Starsky family apartment was on the Lower East Side, but in one of the better neighbourhoods. It was large and well appointed. If Starsky’s salary went up, they hoped to move to an even better neighbourhood soon. Another reason for not losing his job, he thought. But how to soften the blow of his departure? His mother would be upset, to say the least.
His mother greeted his arrival by throwing herself into his arms and weeping.
‘David!’ she cried. ‘I’ve had a letter from Nick.’ She stepped back and waved the tear-stained pages under his nose. ‘He’s in trouble,’ she announced.
‘In trouble? Nick? You amaze me, Mother.’
‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘He’s lost most of his money, and he’s stuck somewhere... out there.’ Mrs. Starsky waved her hands vaguely in a western direction. ‘Someplace called Seattle.’
‘And he expects us to bail him out from...here?’ asked Starsky.
‘Of course he does, David. You’re his brother.’
‘Of course,’ said Starsky. ‘But I’m here in New York. He’s thousands of miles away.’
‘So, you’ll send him money, Davey?’ asked his mother.
‘Send him money? Not a chance... No, mother. Don’t argue. I’m not sending him more money for him to lose. How did he lose it by the way? Gambling?’
‘He doesn’t say.’
‘Gambling, then. Or women of ill repute. No. I’m not sending him more money. I’m going after him. I’ll straighten out whatever trouble he’s in, and I’ll take charge of this foolish enterprise, and I’ll get paid for it, too. The World is sending me on assignment to the Klondike. This could be the making of us, Mother. Far more than the gold in the Klondike.’
‘But David, how will I get on without you here?’
‘You’ll manage, Mother. It’s either that, or I could lose my job at the World. And then we couldn’t afford to bail Nick out of his foolishness. So, which is it?’
********************************
Yukon Territory:
Angakkuq was leading the team along the trail, under a full moon. It was late, and cold, and soon he would call a halt, and set up a camp, thought Sergeant Hutchinson. Another day or two, and he would finish his patrol, and swing back toward Dawson City. All seemed in order in his little kingdom, for now. That would change once this year’s contingent of prospectors arrived. His job would become much more difficult then. Reports stated that men and women were coming here from all over the world. Few of them had any idea what they were about to face. They knew nothing of Canada’s north. Nothing of the climate, the hardships they would face, the lack of conveniences such as markets and running water.
They knew nothing of the Northwest Mounted Police either. But that would change. The Force would not tolerate violence or theft, or any kind of troublemakers. The prospectors would behave, or they would leave the country in one big hurry.
‘Easy!’ he called out, and Angakkuq began to slow the team. A few yards on and Hutchinson saw the perfect spot to make camp. A fallen tree made for a good place to string the stakeout chain. ‘Whoa,’ he called, and began to pull back a little on the driving bow. Then, he set the brake.
An hour later, after he had cared for all his dogs – checking for injuries, petting, and praising each one, feeding them, and finally chaining them all to the fallen log, except for Angakkuq – at last he had time to tend to himself. Inuit huskies were more loyal and less prone to run away than Siberians, but still they needed a lot of care.
He built a fire and made tea, then sat down to eat his dinner, his back against his sled. He looked up at the Northern Lights, flickering over his head. This land that he loved, loved him in return, he thought, but she was no tender lover. Violent and dangerous, rather, and inclined to kill and eat her mates.
Angakkuq lay at his feet. Suddenly, she sat up, and looked off to the west, her sensitive wolf ears cocked as if she heard something Hutchinson couldn’t hear.
‘What is it, Girl?’ the Sergeant asked.
Angakkuq glanced at him, as if to say, ‘Hush!’ then resumed listening.
Hutchinson got to his feet and strained all his senses toward the west. He could now see a faint light, as if from a small campfire. A puff of wind blew the scent of smoke toward him. But the sounds he finally heard were loud enough, and clear enough. A woman’s scream, followed by a gun shot. Then another scream. Mingled with these sounds, the wild howls of sled dogs.
Quickly he pulled on his snowshoes and took his rifle out of the sled. He called to Angakkuq and set off, followed by the howls of his own dogs, who were sure he was abandoning them forever to a terrible fate.
The snow under the moonlight softened the rugged terrain and made it appear to be flat and featureless. The impression was misleading. Around a bend in the landscape, they came across a small gully. Perhaps a dried-up creek bed, thought Hutchinson. Someone had set up camp here. In the light of the campfire, he could now see a tragic tableau. A woman lay sobbing across a body. As he drew closer, the Sergeant could see the blood staining the snow. Beside the body, a rifle lay abandoned, as the woman sobbed her grief.
No one else was around, except for the howling sled dogs.
The implication was clear. It had been the woman who shot the victim. But then, why was she sobbing in such a heartbroken manner over the death?
Sergeant Hutchinson cleared his throat. ‘Er... Excuse me, Madame,’ he said.
The woman jumped to her feet, and looked up at Hutchinson, wildly. Now he could see that she was Indian. Her dark, beautiful face was marred with bruises. Her dress was torn, and welts marred her lovely flesh, obviously from a severe beating.
‘Excuse me, Madame,’ he said again. The woman responded in a torrent of words from her own language. A torrent that dried up as soon as she realized that Hutchinson didn’t understand a word of it.
Hutchinson pushed her gently aside and examined the body of the dead man at her feet. The man’s face had been half blown off by the rifle shot, but Hutchinson could see that he’d been white. Perhaps an early prospector who had picked up a native woman as his wife – his temporary wife. His wife until he made his fortune and abandoned her.
Hutchinson decided he didn’t need to understand her words. The situation was clear enough.
‘I can see what happened here, Madame,’ said the Sergeant. The woman was studying him, and his uniform. She looked at him with mixed emotions. Mingled fear and hope. ‘Clearly the gun went off by accident whilst he was cleaning it, killing your husband,’ Hutchinson continued. ‘Such a shame. But one can only call it an Act of God. Why don’t you help me bury him here? Under those rocks, perhaps?’
The woman didn’t understand his words, but his tone of voice seemed to calm her. She helped him drag the body of her man to the place that Hutchinson indicated, and to pile rocks over the body in a rough cairn. The Sergeant then fashioned a rough cross out of two sticks. He bowed his head and recited the Lord’s Prayer. Then he added, ‘And good riddance to you, you brutish bastard. You got what you deserved. May you rot in hell. Amen!’
‘Amen,’ said the native woman. She looked up at Hutchinson and smiled through her tears. Then, she flung her arms around his neck, and sobbed on his shoulder.
‘There, there!’ said Hutchinson. ‘Careful, now. Why don’t you gather up your things, and come with me? I can take you to Dawson City, if you like, and I promise I will behave as a gentleman.’
‘Dawson City?’ said the woman. She drew back in consternation, clearly not liking the idea. She shook her head. ‘No Dawson City,’ she said.
Hutchinson smiled. ‘No Dawson City,’ he agreed. ‘Whatever you prefer. I don’t like Dawson City either.’
The woman pointed north and said something in her own language.
‘You like that option better?’ asked Hutchinson.
The woman nodded. She gathered up her things. Hutchinson helped her harness the sled dogs. She held his hand for a moment and said something in her liquid native tongue. Then, she called to her dogs, and took off north, across the frozen tundra.
‘No Dawson City, Angakkuq?’ said Hutchinson. ‘We wish. What’s there for us in Dawson City, eh?’
But the Mountie served where he was ordered to serve, and Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson was a Mountie.
*********************
Seattle, Washington:
‘Let’s get one thing clear between us, Nick,’ said David Starsky. ‘I am now the leader of this expedition. What I say goes, or it doesn’t go. Is that understood?’
‘Understood? No, it’s not understood. How can you come in and take over?’
‘How? I’ll tell you how. Because you lost your money and wrote to ask for my help. I’m giving you my help, but on my conditions. If you don’t like my conditions, you can go home, or find your own money.’
‘Sure, David. If you say so.’
Starsky looked around the sordid hotel room. Almost all of Nick’s gear, that their family had made sacrifices to buy for him, was lost or stolen. Nick had given him several conflicting accounts of how this had come to pass.
‘I do say so,’ Starsky averred. ‘And I don’t trust you. Not any longer. You have lost all your money once too often. When are you going to grow up?’
‘I am grown up,’ said Nicholas Starsky.
‘Are you? Then prove it,’ said Starsky. ‘When you’ve shown you can hold on to a dollar for more than two days running without losing it, maybe I’ll loosen the purse strings a little. Here. Here’s your dollar. I’ll ask to see it again this time tomorrow. Think you can manage to keep it for that long?’
‘That’s very funny, Davey.’
‘Do you think so? I’m serious. Lose that dollar, and you’ll never see another from me. Come on. Pack your bags.’
‘Where are we going, Davey?’
‘The Klondike, of course. Isn’t that where you were heading?’
‘Well, yes, but are we leaving today?’
‘The sooner the better. The Klondike is a long ways off, yet.’
Perhaps not far enough, thought Starsky. He looked out the grimy hotel window, into a gloomy sky. Seattle was the greyest city he had ever seen. And this was the last outpost of civilization. The prospect was hardly cheering. Starsky felt a chilling premonition that this entire enterprise was doomed. He should simply abandon Nick to his fate, he thought. Without funds, he’d never get into Canada, and would eventually be forced to find his way home. He could return to New York and look for another job if the New York World decided to terminate his employment. That would be the wisest course of action.
It must have been his pride, that wouldn’t allow him to go slinking back to New York with his tail between his legs, and that made him turn from the window – to watch Nick pack his few remaining belongings in his bag – with a calm demeanor he was far from feeling. It must have been his pride, that made him follow Nick out the door, and off to the train station, to collect their tickets for Vancouver, Canada. That was the logical way to look at it. But deep in his heart, Starsky knew it was his fate that led him on, like a lodestone. A magnet from the North Pole, drawing him like steel filings. Inevitable and irresistible.
*********************
Dawson City:
‘Anything untoward happen on your patrol, Sergeant Hutchinson?’
‘No, Sir. Nothing at all interesting. The Yukon is a boring place at the moment.’
‘Shut your mouth, Hutchinson. Don’t tempt fate. Look at this trash that came in the mail yesterday.’
‘Pamphlets, Sir?’ asked Hutchinson.
‘Pamphlets, Sergeant. Whoever wrote them, deserves to be punished to the fullest extent of the law.’
Hutchinson glanced over the pamphlets, and couldn’t help but agree. ‘The Copper River, Sir? What sane man would recommend navigating the Copper River as a method of reaching Dawson City? As a method of execution, yes. That I’d go along with.’
‘What would you recommend doing about these miscreants, eh, Sergeant? Once we track them down, and arrest them, I mean.’
‘Hanging, drawing, and quartering, Sir. Then, I’ll feed them to my dogs.’
‘You’re too soft hearted, Hutchinson. Give the matter more thought, and I’m sure you’ll think of something appropriate.’
Hutchinson laughed. ‘I will, Sir. When I have the time to think. If you remember, the last time we talked, you told me I wasn’t paid to think.’
‘I remember nothing of the kind, Sergeant Hutchinson. You’re a Mountie. Of course you’re paid to think.’
‘Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that fact. When do the first savage hordes descend upon us?’
‘Any day now, Hutchinson. Looking forward to the invasion?’
‘No, Sir. I can’t say that I am. I joined the Mounted Police because I like being far away from hordes, most of the time. I prefer mushing with my dogs across vast stretches of wilderness, under a winter moon, whilst herds of caribou move slowly across the tundra, being stalked by the ever-vigilant wolves.’
‘How poetic, Hutchinson. Unfortunately, the government in Ottawa has other plans for you. Prepare to be invaded. The experience might be more interesting than you anticipate.’
******************************
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada:
To: Mr. Oliver Whitman, Editor: New York World, New York, New York, United States of America
From: Mr. David Starsky, Reporter: New York World, presently in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
To wit:
LAW CANADA REQUIRES ONE YEAR SUPPLIES 200.00 CASH ENTER KLONDIKE GOLD FIELDS STOP DO YOU AUTHORIZE EXPENSES STOP IF NO PLEASE ADVISE COURSE OF ACTION STOP
..............................................................
To: Mr. David Starsky, Vancouver
From Mr. Oliver Whitman, New York
MR PULITZER AUTHORIZES FULL EXPENSES STOP PLEASE CONTINUE ASSIGNMENT STOP FIRST STORY SENT GOOD STOP PUBLISHED TOMORROW STOP GOOD WORK STOP
................................................................
To: Mrs. M. Starsky, New York
From: Mr. David Starsky, Vancouver
FOUND N STOP ON TO KLONDIKE STOP I HOLD PURSE STRINGS STOP HOW AUNT JUDITH STOP
.....................................................................
To: Mr. David Starsky, Vancouver
From: Mrs. M. Starsky, New York
GOOD TO HEAR FROM YOU STOP PLEASE WRITE MORE STOP WORRY ABOUT YOU STOP HOW IS NICK STOP AUNT JUDITH WELL STOP SHOULD WRITE MORE STOP DON’T HOLD PURSE STRINGS TOO TIGHT STOP YOUNG MEN NEED FUN STOP COME HOME WITH LOTS OF GOLD STOP ARE THERE TELEPHONES IN KLONDIKE STOP
.........................................................................
To: Mr. David Starsky, Vancouver
From: Mrs. Judith Levi, New York
HOW THINGS REALLY STOP ARE YOU KEEPING WARM EATING ENOUGH STOP YOU SHOULD WRITE MOTHER MORE STOP SHE LIES AWAKE NIGHTS WORRYING STOP WHY DON’T YOU PHONE STOP WHAT TAKING SO LONG FIND GOLD STOP
..................................................................
To: Mr. Oliver Whitman, New York
From: Mr. David Starsky, Vancouver
LEAVING FOR KLONDIKE THIS MORNING STOP
*********************************
Dawson City, Yukon Territory:
‘What do you think, Sergeant?’
‘You’re asking me what I think, Sir? Me?’
‘Sergeant Hutchinson,’ said Superintendent Steele, with reproach in his tone of voice.
‘I think it’s better than the tent, Sir,’ Hutchinson hastily amended.
‘It’s certainly more impressive, and makes us look more official, Hutchinson.’
‘Do we really need that, Sir? We’re capable of intimidating any number of savage hordes from horseback.’
‘You’re right there, Sergeant,’ said the superintendent. ‘But it is my sincere belief that once the hordes descend on Dawson City, this building will come in useful.’
‘How did you persuade Ottawa to purchase it, Sir?’ asked the sergeant.
‘That’s my secret,’ said the superintendent.
‘Ah!’ said the sergeant. ‘You acted entirely on your own.’
‘Really, Sergeant. I’d never do such a thing. How dare you suggest it?’
‘Sorry, Sir.’
Hutchinson chuckled, as they entered the small cabin in downtown Dawson that was now the new Division Headquarters. Superintendent Steele was right. The Northwest Mounted Police needed to put on more of a show of authority to gain the prospectors’ respect and obedience. They could scarcely operate out of tents forever. Last year, when the first wave of prospectors invaded the Klondike, they had done an amazing job of controlling the resultant chaos with their limited resources. This year, the gold fever was spreading, and the chaos would be far more devastating, if the Force didn’t make every effort to prevent it.
Superintendent Steele had approximately 240 men at his disposal throughout the entire vast territory. 200 members of the Yukon Field Force and forty members of the Northwest Mounted Police. Tens of thousands of prospectors were bound for the Yukon in search of their fortunes. The Alaskan town of Skagway was under the control of a charming and amoral Son of Satan named Soapy Smith, and his gang of confidence men and thieves. The Force had no jurisdiction in Alaska, but they controlled the Yukon and by God, they let the prospectors know it.
Steele waved Hutchinson over to a corner of the cabin and indicated that he should examine a stack of crates there.
‘They look as if they hold weapons, Sir,’ said Hutchinson.
‘Good call, Hutchinson,’ said the superintendent. ‘Open one!’
Hutchinson did so. ‘Good God Almighty, Sir!’ he exclaimed reverently, when one of the crates lay open before them. ‘Machine guns.’
‘Right you are, Hutchinson. There are several crates of them. The other crates hold Lee Metford carbines. We’re setting them up at the passes. Both the Chilkoot and the White. Ottawa has decreed that we are to defend our borders, lest American insurgents encroach upon our territory. It’s a matter of possession being nine tenths of the law. The Yukon is part of Canada and it’s staying part of Canada.’
‘But the States wants to add it to Alaska, Sir,’ Hutchinson noted.
‘Exactly, Sergeant. We are to prevent them from doing so, and I will endeavour to prevent them from doing so at the cost of my life. Do you know how to use one of these, Hutchinson?’
‘Of course, Sir. It doesn’t take a lot of skill. Not like using a rifle. But they do cut a wide swath of destruction.’
‘You’re right, Hutchinson. Let us hope we don’t ever have to use them.’
Hutchinson hoped so with all his heart, but he knew that such hopes were frequently dashed. ‘Are you going to station me at one of the passes, Sir?’ he asked.
‘Not permanently, Sergeant, so don’t look so unhappy. I’m moving you around a lot. Have you noticed?’
‘Why yes, Sir. I have.’
‘I suppose you’ve been wondering why, Sergeant.’
‘Not really, Sir,’ said Hutchinson. ‘It’s not my place to wonder why.’
‘Do you expect me to believe that son? If you were indeed so incurious, you wouldn’t make such a good Mountie. But though your curiosity hasn’t led you to ask, I’ll take it upon myself to inform you of my reasons, nevertheless. You’re a good Mountie, as I said Hutchinson, and a good man. The Force needs good men. I’m giving you as much experience as possible, under as many different circumstances as possible. When I get the opportunity, I’m going to recommend you for promotion.’
‘Promotion, Sir? To Inspector?’
‘It is the next rank up the ladder, is it not? You deserve a commission if anyone does. And don’t look so worried, Sergeant. Wherever you’re sent, whatever the Force asks of you, there will always be a reward. There always is.’
‘You’re so right, Sir,’ said Hutchinson.
‘Of course I’m right, Sergeant. I’m your commanding officer. Allow me to offer you an example, son. If you were stationed Outside, married life would be easier, would it not? Have you ever thought of marrying again?’
‘No, Sir. I have no intention of ever marrying again. Once was enough.’
Once had actually been more than enough, thought Hutchinson. Nancy had been a beautiful woman, and he had loved her – or so Hutchinson had thought on his wedding day. But then, he hadn't known enough about himself on his wedding day. Nor had he known enough about love. He'd learned one or two things about himself since then. Among those things was a realization that, for him, admiration of a woman's beauty wasn't a secure basis for marriage.
‘Ah, Sergeant Hutchinson,’ Superintendent Steele was saying. ‘Don’t allow one tragedy to turn you forever against the joys of marriage. The murder of your wife was a great tragedy, indeed, but it was not the end of your life, now, was it? A loving wife would never want her husband to live all alone after her death. It isn’t good for a man to be alone.’
‘No, Sir?’ asked Hutchinson. ‘I haven’t found it so very bad.’
When Nancy was murdered, Hutchinson felt great sorrow, but not the devastating grief he knew a husband should feel. It was that which had woken him up, he thought. It was a terrible thing, but a true thing. Nancy’s death hadn’t been the end of his life, but the beginning. He could never go back into that prison ever again.
‘Well, your personal life is none of my business, I know that Hutchinson,’ Steele continued. ‘So, I will hold my peace. I will simply point out that you never know what the future might hold for you. Don’t you reject it out of hand, before you know its worth.’
‘No, Sir. I won’t do that, I promise,’ said Hutchinson.
‘Good lad. That’s the spirit. A Mountie needs courage. Maintain the Right, yes? A Mountie always gets his man... and all that.’
‘Yes, Sir. He does,’ said Hutchinson, with a smile.
The Superintendent smiled back. They packed the machine gun back in its crate. Hutchinson wished they could leave it there, but the Savage Hordes were on their way.
***************************
Off the West Coast of Canada, enroute to Alaska:
‘How’d that nigger get on board?’
‘Huh?’ said Starsky. He looked over at the rail of the freighter The Midnight Sun, in the direction his questioner pointed. ‘Oh. You mean that Negro gentleman?’
‘Yeah. “That Negro gentleman”,’ said the tall white man, sarcastically. ‘How’d he get on board?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Starsky. ‘I guess he bought a ticket.’
‘Stole it, you mean. I don’t think they sell tickets to niggers.’
‘I think they must sell tickets to anyone who has the money,’ said Starsky. ‘They sold you one, didn’t they?’
‘What’s that mean?’ asked the stranger, in belligerent tones.
‘Well, if they sold you a ticket, why wouldn’t they sell him one?’
‘You one of those troublemakers? You look Jewish, or something.’
‘Or something,’ said Starsky. He got up and walked over to the rail, next to the tall, thin Negro.
The man glanced at him, and back at his former companion. ‘Your friend looks unhappy,’ said the Negro.
‘He’s not my friend,’ said Starsky. ‘Just someone I got into a discussion with.’
‘Over what, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘Over tickets,’ said Starsky.
‘Ah. Tickets,’ said the Negro. ‘I won mine at a Poker game. The tickets, and the whole outfit. The man who lost, was he ever mad. But I won fair and square. I had witnesses.’
‘My boss is paying my way,’ said Starsky.
‘That’s generous. Who do you work for?’
‘Paper in New York. The New York World.’
‘Thought I recognized your New Yawk accent. I’m from California, myself. Lately. Wasn’t born there, but that’s a whole other story. Name’s Huggy Bear, by the way. What’s yours? If you don’t mind my asking?’
‘Starsky. David Starsky. And I don’t mind you asking questions. It’s what I do for a living. So, if I can ask you questions, we’re even.’
‘Me? You want to ask me questions? What sort of questions?’
Huggy Bear looked both flattered and suspicious, a combination Starsky was used to in those he interviewed.
‘Nothing too personal,’ he told the Negro. ‘Just questions about your experiences travelling to the Yukon. Why did you decide to go on this expedition?’
‘Because I won the tickets,’ said Huggy Bear. ‘Seemed a stroke of luck. Why you on this expedition?’
‘So I can ask questions,’ said Starsky. ‘I’m writing articles for my paper. Do you think you’re going to strike gold?’
‘I don’t know about that, but I’ll have fun trying. I hear there’s nuggets of the stuff just lying about in the streets.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Starsky. ‘Seems to me they would have all been picked up by now.’
‘Maybe the people in this Klondike place is lazy? Or maybe they don’t know it’s so valuable.’
‘Or maybe they don’t care?’ Starsky suggested. That was a difficult concept for Starsky to grasp. He liked the idea of being rich someday. But he understood that different people valued different things, and that some people didn’t value money.
Starsky remembered a Baptist preacher who tried to convert him to Christianity. The man had made remarks about Jewish money grubbers and recited to him the words of Jesus Christ about the lilies of the fields. Starsky accepted that Jesus Christ had been a great man, unfairly executed, though it was also unfair to saddle him, Starsky, with the blame for something that happened two thousand years ago, merely because he was Jewish. But those remarks about lilies were foolish. Human beings weren’t lilies. They didn’t have roots they could stick into the ground, nor could they live on water and sunlight. If everyone sat around waiting for the Lord to provide, everyone would shortly die of starvation. The Lord had provided the Israelites with manna in the desert, that was true. But just look at the land they were currently sailing past. Starsky doubted there was mana to be found. The wisdom of hauling a ton of food and supplies suddenly became clear to him.
‘You on this trip alone?’ asked Huggy Bear.
‘Huh?’ asked Starsky, startled out of his visions of starving in the wilderness. ‘No,’ he said, after a moment’s reflection. ‘With my brother. He’s a bit wild, and I have to keep an eye on him, or he’d have us both broke in no time.’
‘Ah!’ said Huggy Bear. ‘I’ll tell you something. There’s people you just can’t keep an eye on. They want to get in trouble, they get in trouble. They want to lose all their money; they lose all their money. Nothin’ you can do about it.’
‘I think you’re right,’ said Starsky. ‘But I promised Mother.’
‘Mothers are hard people,’ said Huggy Bear. ‘They runs the whole world. Least ways they try.’
‘Mr. Bear, you just said a mouthful,’ said Starsky.
**************************
Dawson City, Yukon Territory:
‘Some of these letters are addressed to Dawson City, Alaska,’ said Corporal Dickson. ‘Does that mean we don’t have to deliver them?’ he asked the room in general.
Superintendent Sam Steele fixed the constable with a gimlet eye, as he took it upon himself to answer the question. ‘No, Dickson,’ he said. ‘It means you cross out Alaska on each one of ‘em, and write in Yukon Territory instead, then deliver ‘em. Got that?’
‘Ah, Sir,’ said the Corporal. ‘That’s hardly fair.’
‘I’m not fair, as many a prospector has noted. Get to it.’ The Superintendent stomped off.
The other Mounties snickered a little at Dickson’s discomfiture.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Sergeant Hutchinson. ‘I don’t think he was serious, and it’s a waste of your time. Just correct a few of the addresses for show and leave the rest.’
‘Thanks, Sergeant,’ said the Corporal. ‘As long as he doesn’t set me to chopping wood for the whole town.’ He pulled out a pencil and corrected a few addresses, then surreptitiously packed his pile of letters in a sack and headed for the door.
The Northwest Mounted Police and Postal Service, thought Hutchinson. It was fortunate that the territory was well run and there was very little crime, or the population would be waiting a lot longer for their mail.
Outside Division Headquarters, the bright sun of early spring shone down upon the frozen earth. And when the northern sun shone, it did so with a vengeance. The Yukon sun was huge, and usually accompanied by the sundogs, which formed a halo of unparalleled magnificence. Every day now, the sun rose earlier and set later, and the force of its heat grew apace. Soon, the shackles which bound the mighty Yukon River would crack, and, with an enormous roar, the river would break free.
The spring break up would herald the arrival of the Savage Hordes, intent on wresting the gold from the land. Some of them would succeed, but they would find that in this instance, success meant failure. The gold buried under the permafrost never gave life. It brought to its finders only pain and sorrow and even death.
It was the golden sun above them, which gave life to this land and all that lived upon it.
Hutchinson watched Corporal Dickson harness his dog team and set off to make his mail run. The dogs howled as they ran, and far off in the hills, he fancied he heard the wolves answer. But it was doubtful they would come so close to civilization.
‘Sergeant Hutchinson?’ asked Constable O’Brien, interrupting his reverie. ‘I hear they’re sending more women to the Yukon. I hope that’s true.’
‘So I’ve heard, Kate,’ said Hutchinson. ‘Most of them are nurses, I think. No more female Special Constables for the present, at least of which I’m aware.’
‘Nurses will be a mercy, Sergeant,’ said Kate O’Brien. ‘But we could use more prison matrons and gold inspectors, could we not?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Hutchinson noted. ‘I’ll write the Prime Minister personally, to urge him to send more.’
Kate O’Brien laughed. ‘Will you be needing me at the passes, do you think?’ she asked. ‘I’m willing to go if you do.’
Hutchinson had no doubt she would go if needed and perform her duties with a courage and fortitude to equal that of any two men. He preferred women who needed his protection. Women who fainted and wept and roused all his chivalrous instincts. But he had to admit he admired Kate O’Brien and enjoyed working with her.
‘That will be for the Superintendent to decide,’ he said. ‘But if he asks my opinion, I’ll recommend you.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ she said.
They listened to the silence for a long moment. It sounded like the calm before the storm, thought Hutchinson.
‘The ice will be breaking up soon,’ said Constable O’Brien.
‘We’ll be ready,’ said the Sergeant.
I will be ready for whatever comes, thought Hutchinson. Spring always brought hope, and hope was always dashed. If one thought about it logically, it would be best to live without hope. And yet, was life without hope truly life, or only existence? Perhaps one could never achieve one’s dreams, but perhaps that was just as well. Reality could never be as beautiful as a dream.
Angakkuq snuffled at his hand, recalling him to himself. His huskies were chained to the stakeout line, and they were getting restless. They were watching the departures of the other Mounties, and obviously hoping they were next.
‘Sorry, pups,’ said Hutchinson. ‘We have to hang around town for a while yet.’
He went down the line, petting and praising each dog, and each bitch. They lived for food, his love, and to run. Huskies had simple lives, and simple desires – unlike men who desired things that were worthless at their core, and who, when their desires were denied, were capable of turning vicious.
He lavished the most love on Belle, for to him she was the most beautiful member of his team. She licked his hands, still a little shy and uncertain, but he noted that she had jumped to her feet with as much alacrity as the other huskies, at his approach. When he touched her scars, she didn’t flinch.
‘We’re coming along, aren’t we, Belle?’ he asked. She replied in Husky talk, a series of whines and howls and funny little whoofs of pleasure.
Constable O’Brien had hitched up her own dog team to their sled. ‘Hike!’ she called. Her team howled and tugged at the rigging. ‘Gee!’ The huskies pulled to the right. ‘Haw!’ The team pulled to the left. A crack that sounded like a rifle shot split the arctic air. The sled runners broke free from the ice.
‘Hike!’ cried Constable O’Brien, once more. The sled shot forward, down the streets of Dawson, toward the wilderness and freedom.
*********************
SS Midnight Sun, off the coast of Alaska:
‘Skagway,’ said the skipper of the Midnight Sun. ‘Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.’
‘Is it that bad, Captain McIntosh?’ asked Starsky.
‘That bad? No, laddie, ‘tis far worse, I tell ye. I read Dante’s Inferno, and Dante couldn’t have imagined a Hell like Skagway. I’m only warning ye, ‘cause you ask what I think, you understand. Not many people care about what I think. I gave up warning them of the evils of Skagway long ago. All anyone cares about is the gold. The gold be damned, I say. ‘Tis not worth the candle.’
‘They want to be rich,’ said Starsky.
‘Without doing a decent day’s work, laddie. ‘Tis not right.’
‘Many men who are rich, get that way without working for it, Captain. Maybe even most men.’
‘Let them get rich, I say. Takes all kinds to make a world. Me, I love my ship, and sailing up and down this coast is enough for me. More than enough. What would I do with gold?’
‘Buy a new ship?’ Starsky suggested.
‘Hush your mouth,’ said Captain McIntosh. ‘She might hear you and take her revenge.’
The Midnight Sun safely dropped her anchor at the Skagway docks. Perhaps she knew Starsky
had been joking, or perhaps she cared not a fig for his opinion.
Skagway was, for the most part, still a city of tents, since most of its citizens were of the temporary sort, only here until they could join the throng heading for the Klondike. The docks were crowded. The Midnight Sun wasn’t the only ship unloading its passengers and freight. Someone bumped into Starsky, as if by accident. Starsky had not grown up in New York without learning a thing or two. The pickpocket ended up on the ground, Starsky’s boot at his throat.
‘Thanks, fella,’ said Starsky, as he plucked his wallet out of the thief’s fist. ‘Glad to have that back. Don’t try it again. In fact, to be safe, don’t try anything with me. I wasn’t born yesterday.’ Starsky stepped back, and let the thief run off. It didn’t look as if the local constabulary were in any hurry to come and arrest the man, and Starsky had his wallet back.
A number of the citizenry had noticed the little show and were applauding. A few were less enthusiastic and gave Starsky dirty looks.
‘You should be more careful,’ said one bystander, quietly. ‘That’s one of Soapy Smith’s gang.’
‘Who’s Soapy Smith?’ asked Starsky.
‘Hah! Who isn’t Soapy Smith? He likes to think he’s one step down from God. You just cheated him out of a few dollars, I guess. Better head on out to the Klondike soon as possible, while you still has yer wallet. And yer life. Might get shot. Just by accident, y’understand?’
‘Yes?’ said Starsky. ‘And how come you’re warning me of all this? What’s in it for you?’
‘Nothin’. I don’t like Soapy Smith much, that’s all.’
‘Doesn’t sound like you do,’ Starsky noted. ‘How come he’s called Soapy? Strange first name.’
‘It’s a nickname,’ said his informant. ‘Used to sell soap, long ago. But that don’t make him clean. Nothin’ could. And he’s the one who runs this town.’
‘Why do you let him?’ asked Starsky. ‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’
The man shrugged. ‘Someone will, someday,’ he said. ‘Someone will fill him full of bullets. Probably die himself, too. So, no one wants to be the first to try.’
‘What? You mean a gunfight at high noon, like in the Wild West? You’re kidding.’
‘Fella, this is the Wild West. Look around you.’
Starsky looked. He was about as far west as he could get, without ending up in Russia, he thought. And Skagway certainly qualified for the term wild.
His newfound friend Huggy Bear was coming down the street, carrying another load of supplies. They had decided to pool their resources, and journey together. Not as partners, exactly, but as friends. Even Nick had agreed there was safety in numbers.
Huggy Bear dumped his latest load on the ground and looked at what they had carried so far. ‘We’re almost finished,’ he said. ‘Then what do we do?’
‘Set up our tents, I guess,’ said Starsky. ‘It’s almost dark. We should get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.’
‘Better than what?’ asked Huggy Bear.
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Starsky, with a shrug. ‘It’s just something my mother always says. That things will look better in the morning.’
‘Your mama never had a hangover, I guess,’ said Huggy Bear.
‘I guess,’ said Starsky. ‘Where’s Nick?’ he added.
‘Dunno,’ said Huggy. ‘I’m not your brother’s keeper.’
‘No,’ said Starsky. ‘But he needs one, and I guess that’s me. What am I going to do? We have to get all our gear up off the beach, and under our tents. It’s almost dark.’
‘Then let’s do that, and leave Nick for the morning,’ Huggy suggested. ‘Maybe your mama’s right, and he’ll look better then. He’s a grown man.’
‘Is he?’ asked Starsky.
‘That’s what he told me, Starsky my friend. So let’s take him at his word. It’s your turn to carry the next load. Get moving.’
‘Yes, Masa,’ said Starsky.
Huggy Bear laughed. Nick would have to get by on his own.
****************************
The Northwest Mounted Police believed in occupying the high ground, a sentiment with which Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson was in complete agreement. The Sergeant was in charge of setting up the outpost at the summit of the Chilkoot Pass. Below them snaked a line of prospectors, each loaded down with supplies. To the Sergeant’s mind, they were all insane.
‘What is it they think they will find?’ Hutchinson asked the air.
‘Gold, Sergeant,’ said one of the constables under his command.
‘And of what use is gold?’ asked Hutchinson. ‘They’ll be asking themselves that question, if they live long enough.’
‘We have the machine gun set up, Sergeant,’ said Constable Morris.
‘Good,’ said Hutchinson. ‘Remember our orders. We are to avoid violence at all costs. If it comes to the point of defending our border we will use it, but not before.’
‘I’m with you there, Sergeant,’ said the constable. ‘We don’t want anyone to get killed.’
‘Certainly not, constable.’
Not killed by us, anyway, the Sergeant thought. Unfortunately, many of the prospectors seemed determined to kill themselves. And they were taking a number of innocent animals with them. Horses, dogs, cattle, and goats littered the passes, and the line of prospectors walked right over the bodies. By now, he suspected that few people remembered why they wanted to reach Dawson, only that they did. And once they reached their destination? Hutchinson suspected a number of them would turn around, and head right back Outside.
‘Sergeant Hutchinson,’ said Constable Murphy. ‘The superintendent wants to see you.’
‘Thank you, Constable. Carry on.’
‘Yes, Sergeant.’
They were perfectly capable men, thought Hutchinson. Any one of them could have run a division on their own. Some day, they would.
‘Ah, Sergeant Hutchinson,’ said Superintendent Steele. ‘Come in and meet Inspector Constantine. He will be your commanding officer in my absence.’
‘Yes, Sir. I am very pleased to meet you, Inspector.’
‘And I to meet you, Sergeant. The superintendent has told me only good things about you.’
‘That is very kind of the superintendent. I hope I will live up to his recommendation.’
‘I’m sure you will, Sergeant,’ said the Inspector. ‘Certainly I will expect no less of you.’
‘I expect no less of myself, Inspector,’ said the Sergeant.
‘I’ve had a look around the outpost, Sergeant,’ said Superintendent Steele. ‘Everything is ship shape to my eyes. Just as I expected. The first prospectors should reach our base about noon. We start charging duties on all goods purchased in the States. They won’t like it.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Inspector Constantine.
‘Yes,’ said the superintendent, with a slow smile. ‘I expect it is. Will you find it an odious duty, Sergeant?’
‘Not at all, Sir,’ said Hutchinson.
‘Good man. Get to it.’
Sergeant Hutchinson saluted and turned sharply to leave the hut. He could hear the superintendent chuckling a little as he walked away. Excessive punctiliousness amused his commanding officer, but it was still expected in all those under him.
Several hours later, he would have welcomed the sound of laughter, for any reason, even at his own expense. The prospectors were gathering at the Chilkoot summit and establishing their camps. Men, women, and children. Most of them with the heavy packs of goods they had been forced to carry up the steep mountainside. Those who had not brought the requisite goods with them were being turned back. The Northwest Mounted Police were brooking no argument.
Arguments were, however, breaking out between a number of the prospectors. Hutchinson strode among them, trying his best to settle their disputes. Partnerships, friendships, even marriages, were falling apart before his eyes.
‘Nick, I can’t believe you. I just can’t believe you.’
A deep voice drew his attention to a group of men, a few yards away. Two of the men appeared to be arguing over the next course of action.
‘I’ve had it, Davey,’ said the man addressed as Nick. ‘I’m going home.’
‘You can’t go home now. What kind of man are you?’
‘The kind of man that can’t take any more of this, I suppose.’
A third man, with a face so dark it was almost black, stood by shaking his head ruefully. ‘I understand your feeling, Nick,’ said the Negro. ‘But your brother and I have climbed the pass the same as you. We ain’t turning back.’
‘Well, I am.’
‘After we carried some of your goods up the trail for you, along with our own, and paid for the Tlingit guides to carry the rest?’ asked Starsky. ‘I can’t believe you.’
‘You’ve made that clear, Davey,’ said Nick. ‘I’ve done my share of work on this excursion.’
Starsky seemed to draw a deep breath, and count to ten, slowly. ‘If you insist,’ he said at last. ‘You’ve done your fair share of the work. And now, we’re almost at the Klondike. Why give up when we’ve all worked so hard? We’re in sight of our goal.’
‘I don’t care any longer. I want to go home,’ said Nick.
‘Then go,’ said Starsky. ‘What’s keeping you? Why stand here and chat?’
‘I need money for the passage out,’ said Nick.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Starsky, again.
‘You didn’t let me have any money on the way up here,’ said Nick.
‘After Skagway? No.’
‘I was sorry about that. I told you.’
Davey counted to ten again, even more slowly. ‘You’re sorry. I’m sorry. Huggy Bear is sorry, aren’t you, Huggy?’
‘Yeah. I’m sorry, Starsky.’
‘We’re all sorry,’ said Starsky.
‘Then give me money for the passage out,’ said Nick.
‘Find your own passage money, Nick. The work will be good for you.’
‘Davey, how can you treat me like this. I’m your brother.’
‘That’s why, Nicky,’ said Starsky. ‘It’s time you learned. It’s time you grew up.’
‘Davey! What would Mother say?’
‘Mother!’ said Starsky. ‘I’m sick and tired of hearing about Mother. I love her, but she isn’t on this trip. She didn’t just climb the Chilkoot Pass. She hasn’t had to put up with you for the last few months.’
‘That’s not fair,’ said Nick.
‘Well, I’m not fair, as you’ve pointed out many times,’ said Starsky.
Sergeant Hutchinson decided it was time to intervene. The discussion was an amusing one, compared to some he’d heard today. Clearly, there was still some affection between the brothers. It would be best to end the conversation, before that changed for the worse.
‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ he said.
The three men looked up. They took in his uniform, and his military posture. Their glances turned frosty.
‘Yes, officer?’ said the man addressed as Davey. ‘May we help you?’
‘Good afternoon,’ said Hutchinson. ‘I’m Sergeant Hutchinson, of the Northwest Mounted Police. I’m here to help you.’
‘Yes?’ asked Starsky. ‘You have machine guns trained on us. Thank you. That’s a deal of help.’
Sergeant Hutchinson laughed. ‘You are aliens,’ he pointed out. ‘You are invading our borders. However, as long as you behave yourselves, I assure you the guns won’t be used on you. Mostly they are there to make a point. This is Canada. And that reminds me. You must pay duty on your goods.’
‘Duty!’ The Negro man, Huggy Bear was clearly upset.
‘Yes, duty. And taxes on the gold when you leave. You are here to prospect for our gold, are you not?’
Privately, Hutchinson thought Ottawa was making a foolish mistake, allowing the Americans to deplete the country’s natural resources in such a reckless manner. The Americans didn’t allow foreigners to prospect for their gold. But then, he didn’t make the laws, and didn’t really understand politics. And perhaps the government was making more of a profit off the duties and the taxes than he knew.
‘We don’t have to pay duty,’ said Starsky. ‘We bought our goods in Vancouver.’
‘Ah. Do you have proof of that?’
‘Yes. We have the bills of sale.’
‘Well, come with me, and show me the bills. We’ll settle it there.’ Hutchinson turned and started to walk away. After a few moments he turned. ‘Well? Are you coming?’
Starsky had been watching the Sergeant walk, and realized he was dangerously close to revealing a truth that shouldn’t be revealed here in public.
‘Don’t worry about your goods,’ said the Sergeant. ‘No one will touch them here.’
‘Good,’ said Starsky. ‘I’m not worried.’
*************************
David Starsky had reached the end of his patience. Things had been bad enough before Skagway, but then they’d really started going downhill fast. First, he’d found Nicky naked and drunk in a whorehouse. That was something which might happen to any man, he knew. It had happened to him once or twice. However, Nicky had been completely unable to find his clothes. Expensive clothes they’d purchased in Vancouver, just before steaming to Alaska. To add insult to injury, or rather, to pile injury on injury in spades, he’d also lost his watch and all his money. The men running the whorehouse had laughed when they complained.
Then, a tall, bearded, smooth talking man had appeared. He’d introduced himself as Smith and offered Nick some clothes to replace those he’d lost. Nick, naked and shivering, had accepted them gladly. He thought Soapy Smith was an angel and would hear no logic from Starsky.
‘He runs this whorehouse, I guarantee it. Nicky, I’ll bet you anything his girls stole your things. They’re selling your clothes and watch at a fine profit. And look what you got in return.’
‘Ah, but I had a lot of fun in return,’ said Nick. ‘Last night I mean.’ He turned an odd green colour, right after delivering himself of this speech, and turned away to throw up.
‘I’m glad someone had fun last night,’ said Starsky.
It had not been fun looking for Nick, in the sordid streets of Skagway, but Starsky had picked up some useful information along the way. Including the news that it would be better to take the Chilkoot Pass, rather than the White Pass. In order to do that, they’d have to catch the next steamer to the town of Dyea.
At Dyea, they met their first Wild Indians. The Savages appeared right after the steamer docked. They were dressed in bright colourful robes and tall hats. One of them stalked up to Starsky, and said, ‘Twenty dollars.’
Starsky stared at the man. ‘For what?’ he asked, with a wild surmise.
The Savage waved a hand at their goods and luggage. ‘For carrying all this to the scales at the Chilkoot Pass,’ he said.
‘Just a moment,’ said Starsky. He pulled Nick and Huggy Bear aside. ‘What do you think?’ he asked them.
‘Davey, they have rings through their noses,’ said Nick. He was staring at the Savages in fascination. The Savages, for their part, were doing their own staring – at Huggy Bear.
‘Nick, I don’t care where they wear their rings, as long as they can get this load to the Pass,’ said Huggy Bear. Starsky couldn’t help but agree.
It had been humiliating, though, to watch the Indian women carry such heavy loads on their backs, seemingly without any discomfort.
‘Women are stronger than men,’ said the Savage who had first approached them. ‘Tlingit women are stronger, anyway.’
‘Tlingit?’ asked Starsky.
‘We are the Tlingit,’ said the Savage. ‘We built this trail, to the Chilkoot, so we could trade with the people there. A few years back, we tried to charge tolls over the pass, but our chief was killed because of it, so we gave up. His sister is our new chief. She said, if we carry loads for the white men, we could make good money that way.’
And they had paid good money to the Tlingit to carry their goods to the Pass. Now they were on their own, and having to deal with all kinds of problems, including Nick and his seeming lack of planning for anything other than his next drink and his next whore.
**********
Sergeant Hutchinson stopped before a rough little shack that was the only building around. ‘Here we are,’ he announced. ‘Our outpost. Not much, but it’s home. Now, show me your sales slips, and I’ll fill out a form exempting you from duty for your goods.’ He rummaged around in a metal box and pulled out a paper form.
Starsky pulled out his grubby sales slips that he’d faithfully carried in his pocket through the entire trip from Vancouver. He sorted through them carefully and handed them over to the Sergeant.
‘If you did your shopping in Vancouver, why go to Skagway? Just curious.’
‘Because of my brother, Nick. That’s where he wanted to go. He got targeted by Soapy Smith and lost almost everything. But I think that's what he was looking for all along.
‘Makes sense. Okay. You’re clear to not pay duty. Now, all you have to do is survive the river trip and the trek to Dawson City. Obey the North-West Mounted Police in all things and that should be easy. We know what we’re doing, though many Americans seem to doubt the truth of that. Keep your nose clean in Dawson. Don’t get into fights. Don’t swear or spit on the ground, especially the sidewalks. There’s a tent city of Ladies of the Evening just across the river. Behave yourself there, too. We don’t tolerate the ladies being abused. Got that?’
‘Ladies of the Evening?’ Starsky chuckled.
Sergeant Hutchinson raised his head and stared down Starsky with his pale blue eyes. ‘Sounds better than whores,” he averred. ‘We don’t like course language, at least in public. Some of us have been known to use it in private.’
‘You?’
‘That’s a private question.’
‘Okay. Fair enough,’ Starsky replied. He held out his hand to shake the Sergeant’s.
Their hands touched and a shiver went through his whole body that seemed to congregate in his groin. The Sergeant’s eyes met his eyes again.
‘Take care of yourself,’ the Sergeant said, after a long moment. ‘I’ll see you in Dawson City.’
‘You’ll travel there with us?’ Starsky asked, filled with a sudden hope.
‘No, but my duties take me all over the Yukon. I’ll end up there eventually.’
‘Until we meet again,’ said Starsky.
Soon, he hoped. Can’t be too soon. And I couldn’t care less about those Ladies of the Evening. Nick, though…. How do I keep Nick from wasting any money on them that he gets his greedy hands on?