Gold Dust (14 page)

As in Skaguay, they set up camp in the woods outside of town, along with a number of others who shared the limited space between
the beach and the mountains. If Katy found the forced intimacy of sharing a shelter disconcerting, she didn’t let on. Not
for Katy O’Connell was maidenly modesty, bruised sensibilities, or any other hesitancy Jonah would have expected from a civilized
woman in like circumstances. He wasn’t surprised. A woman who frequented saloons and games of chance, cussed like a mule skinner,
brawled like a longshoreman, and flirted with the practiced skills of a siren couldn’t be expected to blink at cozying up
to a man in a primitive shelter beneath the stars. Jonah had little doubt that, in spite of her youth, she had discarded the
last remnant of her
maidenhood and its attendant demureness long ago. It would be far easier to behave himself with his “sister,” Jonah reflected,
if she’d been a cringing virgin.

Thus their first night in Dyea, Jonah spent staring in frustration at the top of their new tent while Katy slept soundly and
innocently not three feet away. Hunter was stretched out beside her. He had nosed his head beneath her arm to rest upon her
ribs, and in so doing, had pushed the blankets off a nightdress-clad arm and a pleated cotton-covered breast. The graceful,
bare column of her neck was a smooth curve in the darkness, her face a pale moon surrounded by a sea of dark hair. Jonah had
excellent night vision. He could see the details of her sleeping form, and in his imagination feel them as well.

He sighed and turned so that his back, not his face, was toward her. The ploy didn’t work. He still felt her lying there,
heard her quiet breathing, smelled the faint rose scent of the bar of toilet soap she had indulged herself in. Heaven help
him! If he didn’t get his base urges under control, this was going to be a very hard trip.

The first five miles of the Chilkoot Trail were a bit of a disappointment to Katy. Stories she had heard about the trek ahead
of them led her to expect an arduous journey from the very first steps out of Dyea. Primed to expect a challenge worthy of
her talents, Katy found the wagon road they followed much lacking in color and adventure. Still, she supposed they were lucky
to have an easy time of it their first day on the trail, though Jonah was holding up much better than she had expected under
the full pack he carried. He might be a greenhorn, but he was a fit one. The muscle that filled out his tall frame was certainly
not just for show.

She carried a pack as well, though it was a good deal lighter than Jonah’s. She wasn’t fool enough to think she could compete
with him in brute strength. The majority of their goods were not carried upon their backs, however—just a change of
clothing and a couple of days’ worth of food, matches, and the like. The rest of the provisions followed on the backs of five
horses, who would accompany them as far as pack animals could climb, which was a point known as Stone House, just below the
final and steepest ascent to the summit. The pack animals came with a driver, one Jack Decker, and the young lad who was his
assistant.

Katy had found Jack Decker during her second day in Dyea and hired him after only a few minutes of conversation. She hadn’t
much choice, as he was just about the only packer in Dyea who had horses available. He had promised her five horses in two
days’ time, which gave her and Jonah leeway to repair their new tent, in which they had discovered a faulty seam, and purchase
some additional clothing and equipment recommended by pamphlets that the Canadian government circulated among those preparing
to cross the Alaskan border into Canada.

Still, Katy hadn’t thought too highly of Mr. Decker when she had first talked to him, and this first day on the trail was
proving her instinct correct. The man himself was dirty. Not that there was any great harm in that. Katy herself had learned
to ignore dirt when she was out of reach of soap and water. Decker was dirty with more than just the dirt of honest labor,
however. Every crease in his skin seemed to have accumulated several layers of undisturbed grime. His teeth were brown with
more than just the stains from the tobacco wad that stuffed his cheek. His hair was stiff with grease and sweat, both old
and recent. The man stank so, Katy was surprised his horses let him near them.

Jack Decker’s horses were almost as sorry as their owner—sorrier, perhaps, because in addition to being caked with old mud
and having burrs and matted tangles in their manes and tails, the poor creatures were bone thin. The same could be said for
Decker’s assistant, whose ratty shirt and threadbare trousers covered an adolescent physique that looked to be
merely skin stretched over bare bone. Apparently Decker fed the lad no better than he fed his horses.

The abundance of company along the trail was as big a disappointment as the lack of difficulty. Katy had been looking forward
to a wilderness experience. She had grown up in some of the most isolated places in Montana and had learned to love the silence
of the back country. Chipmunks, squirrels, and birds were the best company a person could have. Bears had their place also—at
a distance, where one could observe their antics without having to put up with their/surly tempers. And wolves, of course,
were the very pinnacle of God’s creation—well represented by Hunter, who had reverted to puppyhood and was bounding in and
out of the trees and thickets in playful pursuit of rabbits and small rodents.

Katy had been looking forward to introducing Jonah to her beloved wilderness, to making him understand through a glimpse of
nature’s raw and elemental grandeur how petty civilization’s conventions actually were. But wherever Alaska was hiding its
unsullied magnificence, it wasn’t the Chilkoot Trail. The trees and mountains were splendid enough, but the birds, squirrels,
and chipmunks were hiding. The awesome wilderness silence was replaced by the talking, laughing, cursing, and jostling of
a stream of people trekking their way up the valley. The land already bore the scars of their passage, even though only a
little over a month had passed since the gold strike had been announced. Fresh tree stumps still bleeding sap stood out like
raw wounds where trees had been cut to construct bridges and shore up difficult parts of the trail. Dust kicked from under
hundreds of feet smudged the air. Here and there refuse littered the roadside. Civilization was flooding into Alaska and bringing
its messy housekeeping with it.

The parties that accompanied them up the trail impressed Katy with how fortunate she and Jonah were. The next party up, two
men about a hundred feet ahead of them, carried packs that Katy estimated to weigh over a hundred pounds apiece. They were
among the many who couldn’t afford professional
packers to carry their provisions over the pass, and to transport enough supplies to get them through an arctic winter, they
would probably make twenty-five round-trips from Dyea to where they could load their provisions on a raft at Lake Bennett.
They might be starting the journey on the same day as Jonah and Katy, but they would arrive in Dawson weeks after them. Katy
hoped they had a freighting sled among their goods, for by the time they made Dawson, the Yukon River, which was the road
into gold country, would surely be frozen over.

The group traveling behind Katy and Jonah was a family who had been passengers on the same steamer from Seattle—a redheaded,
rather raucous Irishman with his mousy little wife. While Katy couldn’t help but admire a wife sharing her husband’s adventure,
this woman carried courage to an extreme, for in addition to a hefty pack, the woman carried an infant at her breast. The
man carried a pack much larger than his wife’s, and in addition pulled a loaded two-wheeled cart behind him. He whistled a
merry tune as he walked, and Katy found herself marching in time to the snatches she could hear.

Midafternoon they reached Finnigan’s Point, a tiny settlement which boasted a ramshackle restaurant, saloon, and blacksmith
shop surrounded by a huddle of dilapidated tents. It was a popular resting place for people on the trail, and Katy’s little
party was no exception. They stopped to water the horses and seek temporary respite from their sweat-soaked packs. The whistling
Irishman and his wife stopped also, and almost as soon as they sat down, the husband pulled out a fiddle and started to play
the same lilting tune he’d been whistling. Katy remembered his playing on the steamer, where his wife would sometimes dance
a little Irish jig on the deck. On one particularly rowdy evening, others had taken up the dance and almost turned it into
a free-for-all brawl. The wife was not dancing now, however, She looked almost too tired to move as she escaped from the leather
straps of her
pack, set the infant to her breast, and modestly covered herself with a shawl.

Katy didn’t credit herself with many womanly instincts, but one that she did have was a curiosity about babies. Unable to
resist, she left Jonah to help Decker with the pack train and wandered toward the little family.

“A good afternoon to you, Miss Katy O’Connell.” The Irishman beamed at her when she introduced herself, but he didn’t stop
playing his fiddle. “I hear the music of the Old Country in your name, lass.”

“My father is Irish.”

“Then an even better afternoon to you,” he said. “I’m Patrick Burke, and here is my good wife Camilla.”

Katy smiled shyly at Camilla. She didn’t often feel shy, but in the presence of babies she lost much of her confidence. Camilla
returned her smile with equal diffidence.

“You’re very brave to make this trip with a baby,” Katy said.

“He’s a good baby,” Camilla replied. Her expression relaxed a bit at Katy’s obvious interest in the child. “Very easy to care
for.”

Katy sat down beside her. “How old is he?”

“Two months tomorrow. His name is Liam.”

“Good Irish name.”

“He is named after Patrick’s father. I hope he will grow up to be as strong and good a man.”

Camilla laid the infant across her lap and rubbed his back. In a few moments, a man-sized burp erupted from the fat little
body. The women both laughed. “May I hold him?” Katy asked.

“Yes, of course. He is very outgoing, and loves to meet new people.”

Katy took the baby from Camilla as if the tiny, pudgy body were made of the most fragile china. As he dangled from her hands,
the infant regarded Katy with round blue eyes. They were nearly the same color as Jonah Armstrong’s eyes, Katy
noted, but lacked the roguish twinkle. Tiny blond lashes fringed the baby’s eyelids and a thin fuzz of reddish blond hair
stood up from his head in whorls and cowlicks. He waved chubby arms and kicked his feet as if he, too, could dance to the
Irish tunes that came from his father’s fiddle. Then he burped again. A stream of watery milk bubbled from his mouth as he
gave Katy a delighted smile.

“Oh dear!” Camilla exclaimed.

“Oh my!” Katy echoed. “Is he sick?”

Camilla laughed. “No, of course not. Babies always spit up a bit.”

Katy flushed at her ignorance. Competence with infants was one of those woman things with which most females seemed naturally
endowed, but not Katy. Olivia had given birth to a baby boy several years after she had married Katy’s pa, and Ellen had delighted
in helping their stepma take care of little David. Katy had contented herself with admiring her new half brother from a safe
distance, however. She felt much more at home chopping wood than changing baby didies.

“Let me have him,” Camilla said. “I’ll clean him up.” She wiped Liam’s face and chest, then handed him back to Katy with instructions.
“Babies like to be held next to you, cuddled like so.” She made a cradle of her arms and hugged an imaginary infant against
her ample bosom.

Katy couldn’t match Camilla in the bosom department, but she valiantly gave the cuddling a try. Young Liam gurgled with content,
spit up a bit more, then gurgled again. The gurgling drew Hunter’s attention, and the wolf pranced over to investigate, big
triangular ears pricked forward, face intent with curiosity. Camilla immediately tensed and reached for Liam.

“Don’t worry about Hunter,” Katy assured her as she handed her the squirming baby. “He’s very gentle.”

Camilla smiled weakly. “He’s a very big dog.”

“Actually, he’s a wolf.” Camilla paled, and Katy quickly added: “An old, fat wolf. Very tame: He’s been with me since I was
a kid, and he likes babies. I have a baby brother. Or at
least, I had. He’s five now, so I guess I can’t call him a baby any longer.”

Patrick laughed. “Calm down, Camilla.” He stretched a fearless hand toward Hunter, who responded with a politely friendly
sniff. “The lady says he’s tame. Don’t be such a mouse.”

Katy wondered about Patrick Burke’s lack of regard for his wife’s fears. The woman was certainly not a mouse, not if she had
the guts to hazard the trip to Dawson with a two-monthold infant. But Camilla gave her husband an apologetic smile. “This
is a strange place, this Alaska,” she said softly. “Some things that look fierce are harmless, and other things that seem
innocent can kill you.”

“That’s very true,” Katy agreed. “I’ve lived in places like this for a lot of my life. If you need any help along the trail
just let me know.”

“Thank you so much,” Camilla said with a gentle smile. Patrick didn’t answer. He was once again busy playing his fiddle.

They covered only three more miles that day. On her own, Katy could have traveled twice the distance they made, and she suspected
that Jonah could have done as well. The pack train slowed them, however. The laden horses were in no condition to sustain
more than a very slow walk up the trail, though Jack Decker shouted at them and cursed their laziness while his assistant
employed a switch from behind. Katy noted that the boy almost never touched horsehide with his whip; he used it mostly to
wave in the air over their rumps and urge them to greater speed. Even though the animals were not impressed by the show, the
boy didn’t beat them. If he had, Katy would have removed the switch from his possession, forcibly if she’d had to. And if
she hadn’t, she suspected Jonah would have. From the moment Jack Decker had shown up with his ill-conditioned horses, Jonah
had been giving the pack train and its handler dark looks. Katy had thought she’d seen Jonah’s anger, but the fury that simmered
in the glances he gave those poor horses was a different flavor entirely than the vexation he’d loosed on her a time or two.