Gold Mountain: A Klondike Mystery (24 page)

Millie reached me first and spread warm sticky drool all across my face. She was followed by Richard Sterling, who took one look at me, saw I was alive, and scooped up the rifle. Then came Angus. He fell to his knees beside me, crying, “Mother.” I touched the top of his blond head and I didn’t have to pretend to cry.

“Mrs. MacGillivray,” Richard said. “I trust I find you well.”

“Somewhat the worse for wear,” I replied, “and in desperate need of a bath. But I will live.”

“Sheridan?”

“He’s gone.”

Richard started up the trail.

“No!” I shouted. “No need to go there. He, uh, fell over the cliff. Yes, he fell over the cliff. Lost his footing. It was a long way down. A terrible accident.”

The sun had descended behind the mountain; the swirling mist was cold and damp. I couldn’t see Richard’s expression. No doubt he was checking out the marks of the fight on my face. I pulled Angus close and buried my head into his chest.

“Do you have anything you need me to fetch?” Richard asked.

“No. We came on this impossible journey with few possessions as it was, and nothing’s left.”

“We have to get my mother to help,” Angus said. He stroked my hair, and I felt time shift. My child was mothering me. Millie nuzzled my hand, hoping for a scratch.

Richard hesitated. He looked up the path. “What’s up there?”

“Nothing. A dead end. A wall of sheer rock on one side and a sharp drop-off on the other.”

“We’d better get you down before dark. Can you walk, Mrs. MacGillivray?”

“With Angus’s help, I’m sure I can.”

Thus, we descended the mountain as long shadows wrapped themselves around us. I leaned on Angus while Richard carried both rifles. Millie was allowed off her lead because no one had a free hand to take her, but she didn’t wander far from our legs.

“We have a horse waiting for you, Mother,” Angus said.

“A horse? How lovely.”

“I suspect you know him,” Richard said. “Small, thin, brown thing.”

“Soapy?”

“Soapy?” They chorused.

We were making surprisingly good time. It was almost as if the mountain wanted to be rid of us. My head most definitely did not feel right, but I leaned on Angus’s arm and said nothing about it. I wanted to get out of the shadow of this strange mountain as fast as possible. It was dark when we reached the plains, but the storm clouds had passed, and the moon was full and it cast enough light for us to walk by. I stopped for a moment and looked back. The mountain was a black shape bathed in white moonlight.

Had there really been a green valley with trees with broad flat leaves wrapped in vines as fat as my arm? Had the air truly smelled of oranges and lemons? Had the hills glowed with specks of gold?

Totally ridiculous. A figment of my rattled head, stressed nerves, and empty stomach.

In the fight with Paul Sheridan, the two stones I carried in my pocket had not been dislodged. I fingered them. No doubt in the light of day they would turn out to be nothing but hunks of worthless rock.

We came across a couple of packs abandoned at the side of the trail, and Richard announced we would rest here for a few hours.

I was suddenly ravenous and devoured a tin of cold corned beef with three dry, stale biscuits before Angus could get a fire started. Richard handed me a blanket with a shy smile, and I wrapped it around me. I closed my eyes and knew nothing more until sunlight was warm on my face.

Angus’s long, lean body was curled around me, and time was set right. He was my child once again. I touched his tousled head. Richard Sterling sat by the embers of the fire, his pipe clenched between his teeth. He turned, although I hadn’t made a sound. “Feeling better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I coughed and studied my fingers. “I mean, thank you. For coming after me.”

He concentrated intently on patting down the tobacco in his pipe. “My duty, Ma’am.”

“Of course.” Nothing more than his duty.

Angus started and sat up abruptly. His hair was dishevelled and his eyes bleary from sleep. “Ma. I mean, Mother. You’re here. I was afraid I was dreaming.”

“I’m here,” I said. “And I also am not sure what was a dream and what was not.”

“Most of our equipment’s a few hours back,” Richard said. “If you don’t mind having a biscuit for breakfast, when we get to the stove I can make up some coffee and oatmeal.”

“That would be delightful.”

I watched Angus feed strips of dried fish to Millie. “I must say, Corporal Sterling. I’m surprised you brought my son on this journey.” I smiled. “Although I’m glad you did.”

“Can you imagine trying to leave him behind,” Richard replied. “We didn’t come alone.”

That was a somewhat cryptic statement, but rather than explain, he hoisted his pack and set off down the trail.

After a few hours of walking, Richard began calling out. I smelled smoke, and wonder of wonders, coffee. Someone answered, and we rounded a corner to come across a canvas shelter held down by rocks, a cheerful fire blazing, and young Constable McAllen holding a tin cup toward me in offering.

I laughed. “This is a most pleasant surprise.” Angus escorted me to a rock by the fire, and McAllen served coffee while Richard poured water for Millie. McAllen was limping badly and I asked what had happened.

“Just a sprain, Ma’am. Almost better now.”

Richard handed him Sheridan’s rifle. “This should do as a crutch. It’s not loaded.”

We relaxed for a long time. Breakfast was hot oatmeal and fresh flatbread McAllen had prepared earlier. The men enjoyed their pipes, and Angus sat very close to me. I put my arm around him and he didn’t pull away.

“Is Mr. Sheridan dead?” he asked after a long silence.

“Yes, dear. He attempted to fire a shot at you and Corporal Sterling, warning you to keep away, but he lost his balance and fell over the cliff. It was a long way down, and I could see his broken, lifeless body below. Probably for the better. The poor man wasn’t entirely sane.”

“It’s kind of you to talk about him that way, Mrs. MacGillivray,” Richard said. “After all, he did kidnap you and put you through much hardship.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t quite right in the head. This Gold Mountain, I mean the idea of a gold mountain, disturbed the balance of his mind.” As it had disturbed mine. I decided never to think of that again.

“Strange place,” Richard mumbled.

“Where’s Soapy, by the way? You promised me a ride.”

“You mean the horse?” Angus replied. “He’s on the other side of the creek. Wouldn’t cross, so we left him with Mr. Donohue.”

“Graham Donohue? Good heavens, you mean he came after me as well?”

“Yeah,” McAllen said. “When we got to that creek he came over all strange. Said he was tired and couldn’t go any further. Odd that.”

Odd indeed.

“Can you walk that far, Mother? Then we’ll get you on the horse and you can ride back to Dawson in style.”

Fortunately, the path to the creek was flat and mossy. I doubted I could walk through the forest in what remained of Sheridan’s socks. They had been amazingly good socks, but there was a tear in the leather of the right heel that was threatening to expand, and the ball of the left foot was almost worn through. The precious yellow paste I’d been applying to my blisters had been left at the top of the mountain with the rest of Sheridan’s meagre belongings.

“Mr. McAllen and I will support each other.” I gave the young officer a radiant smile. He blushed to the roots of his hair. I looked back toward the way we had come. It was just a mountain now, standing alone where it rose out of the plains, snowy top sparkling in the light of the sun, but I needed to be as far away from it as possible.

“Let us be on our way then. I’m simply dying to get this dress off and have a bath.”

If it were possible, I’d say McAllen coloured even deeper. Richard Sterling sucked in too much smoke.

We heard them long before we saw them. For a moment, I thought I’d fallen into such a deep sleep they’d carried me all the way back to town. Someone was playing a banjo and a woman was singing in a voice that cracked on every high note. A man laughed and several dogs barked.

On the other side of the creek, the one that had given Soapy and Paul Sheridan so much trouble, a mini-town had sprung up. There were several tents, a couple of big fires, and groups of people standing about chatting. I smelled roasting meat and fragrant tobacco. Clothes and blankets laid out to dry were tossed over rocks and three donkeys and a horse searched for grasses at the water’s edge.

“What the...?” Richard said, stopping himself from emitting a profanity at the last moment.

I realized my mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut. “Corporal Sterling did all these people accompany you?”

“No,” Angus answered. “We left Mr. Donohue here with your horse.”

A man dipped a long spoon into a pot hanging over a fire. Several other men stood with him, holding empty bowls in their hands, and he began to dish out soup. They squatted to the ground and dug in. Another group was sitting on blankets spread out around their own fire. A man strummed a banjo, a woman sang off key, and a man drank deeply from a bottle that looked to contain whisky. The woman was Betsy, one of my dancers, the banjo player part of the Savoy orchestra, and I recognized the man as a regular customer at my bar.

A tent was set up upstream, by itself. A man came out, doing up his trouser buttons. Another man entered, after slapping something into the waiting palm of Joey LeBlanc, Dawson’s most notorious Madame.

Graham Donohue was crouched over a large, flat rock. Several men were with him, and they all held cards in their hands. Someone reached out and scooped up a pile of coins, bills, and a single gold nugget. Graham threw his cards onto the ground in disgust and got to his feet. Then he saw us standing on the other side of the bank.

He raised one hand in greeting, as if he were waving to me from the far side of Front Street rather than watching me return from the dead. Or at least from the sort of thrilling adventure you’d think a newspaperman would be interested in. He said something and heads began to turn. A couple of people waved. The banjo player stopped playing and Betsy, thankfully, cut herself off mid-note. The donkeys and horse lifted their heads and the three dogs tied to a stake in the ground barked a greeting to Millie.

Even the dogs didn’t seem too excited at our return.

“Strangest darn thing I ever did see,” Richard muttered.

Graham was waiting at the riverbank as we crossed. Noticeably, he did not step foot in the water to approach us. Everyone else gathered behind him. Even Joey LeBlanc and the ugly red-headed whore named Kate, whose skirt was bunched up at the back to reveal a filthy petticoat, joined the crowd.

We crossed the creek in a few steps. The icy water felt delicious on my aching feet.

“Glad you made it back, Fiona,” Graham asked. “Did you find it?”

“Find what?”

“Gold Mountain.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No such thing.”

“Where’s Sheridan?”

“Dead.”

“Hello, Mrs. MacGillivray,” Betsy said. “We’re just resting here a mite before coming after you. Thought you might need some help.”

Heads nodded and everyone murmured in agreement. Joey LeBlanc grunted.

I had trained in the salons of Belgravia and country houses of Surrey on how to greet one’s arch-enemy. I gave Joey a smile. “How terribly kind of you to be concerned, Mrs. LeBlanc. As you can see, I’m well and looking forward most anxiously to returning home.”

She turned away and growled something at Kate. The two women stalked back to their tent. No one followed them.

Richard spoke to the crowd. “There’s nothing to see. Nothing but wilderness out there, far as the northern sea. I suggest you people pack up and get yourselves back to town. I’m requisitioning one of those donkeys for Constable McAllen, who’s injured. Any complaints? I thought not. Angus, get the horse and help your mother.”

The crowd drifted away. “Might try again in the spring,” I heard the banjo player say. “Ain’t a good time to try for Gold Mountain now. Winter’s comin’.”

Betsy agreed.

“Nothing there,” someone said. “Coulda told you that. ’Course I never believed in it, just wanted to see how far you fools would go.”

Everyone else, it appeared, also didn’t believe in it.

Joe Hamilton approached me shyly, twisting his filthy, tattered hat in one hand. “I’m pleased to see you’re fine, Mrs. MacGillivray. I came with Frank over there. We caught up to Betsy and some of the others on the trail. I wanted to help you, but they all decided they were too tired to cross the creek. Seemed strange to me, but then the donkey wouldn’t come either, and I didn’t want to carry on by myself. I figured young Angus wouldn’t let any harm come to you.”

I smiled, turning my head slightly against the onslaught of foul breath from his mouthful of blackened teeth. “You were correct about that. Uh, Mr. Hamilton, did you yourself ford the creek?”

“I told Frank and Betsy we had to hurry, that you needed our help, but they came over all tired. I’ve been carrying wood back and forth for the fires all day. I could have set myself up in business if I wanted to. No one else seems to want to bother.”

“Come and see me at the Savoy, Mr. Hamilton, when we get back to town. I might have an offer for you.” He didn’t ask what sort of offer, just touched his hat and walked away.

Joe Hamilton was well-spoken and clearly educated. He drifted around the docks, making a few cents here and there running errands, though he didn’t earn enough money to buy soap to wash either his clothes or himself or purchase a new hat. But he’d always been unfailingly polite to me, and I never heard anyone say a bad word about him. I’d ask Ray to find him a job. Something that didn’t involve breathing on the customers.

Angus and Richard sorted out their few belongings and re-loaded Millie. Once that was done, my son helped me to mount my old friend Soapy. The horse stamped his feet but didn’t shy away. Richard got McAllen, protesting that he was perfectly fine to walk, while gritting his teeth against the pain, onto an emaciated donkey. Richard carried his rifle; the other had been reloaded and now rested alongside the donkey’s flanks. Graham Donohue shifted his own pack. And thus we set off, at the head of a strange ragged procession, back to Dawson. Home.