Where Heaven Begins (11 page)

“I
’m glad I already have my own tinware,” Clint told Elizabeth, who was watching him yank leather straps and tie ropes and hoist more supplies onto his three sturdy horses. “You can’t find a tin plate or cup at any supply store. They’re bought out. One man told me that last year you could pick up practically everything you needed for free as you went over the pass, so many supplies were abandoned by men who just gave up.”

They stood behind Morgan’s Supply Store, loading all the things Clint had purchased for their journey. Elizabeth felt so indebted. He’d not asked her for a dime.

Clint took a moment to glance at the surrounding mountains, and Elizabeth knew he was worried. Every peak showed snow, and the owner of the store where they’d pur
chased most of their grub, extra blankets, a tent and numerous other necessities, had told them that men who worked for him making deliveries had returned just the day before, giving up an effort to get over the pass to take valuable supplies on to Dawson. A sudden snowstorm had forced them back to Skagway.

“Could very likely be sunny and melting now,” the store owner had suggested. “That’s how it is here, a storm one minute, springlike weather the next. And if it does warm up, watch out for a sudden flood. A little mountain waterfall can turn into a raging torrent in five minutes flat.”

The news was not inviting.

“Clint, are you sure you’re up to this? You’re still coughing, and I can tell you’ve lost weight.”

“I’m all right,” he insisted as he continued packing flour, pork, beans, coffee, sugar, tea, lard, potatoes, a shovel, two bags of oats for the horses, the tent, blankets and two rifles.

“I should have taught you how to use a gun,” he told her as he shoved the rifles into their sheaths. “Could come in handy if a grizzly decides to have us for lunch. Most should be going into hibernation any time, so we might not have a problem. Then, of course, there are cougars to worry about, and wolves. If we’re lucky, I’ll come across a rabbit or deer so we can save our provisions, and we can always throw out a net every night while we travel the Yukon and eat fish instead of using up the salt pork. I have a good filleting knife, and a good hunting knife for cleaning game.” He stopped and faced her. “Have you ever cleaned a rabbit or helped gut a deer?”

The thought was not pleasing. “I’m afraid not.”

Clint shook his head. “You’ll learn soon enough.” He returned to his packing.

“I’ll do whatever I have to do to help,” Elizabeth told him. “I have no qualms about doing anything that’s necessary to survive, including—” She eyed his six-gun.
You are traveling with someone who kills men as easily as rabbits,
she reminded herself. Was she crazy? “—including learning to use a rifle,” she finished. “For all we know, I might need to know that to help you out of some kind of danger.”

He faced her again, this time smiling. “If I am in a fistfight with a bear, I’m not sure I want you pointing a rifle anywhere in my direction,” he told her. “If the bear doesn’t get me, a bullet probably would.”

She was astonished at how a genuine smile transformed him completely, into a handsome, affable-looking man who could be anyone’s neighbor. She could not help smiling in return. “Wouldn’t a bullet be more humane than letting you be mauled and slowly eaten by a grizzly?”

This time he chuckled. “You have a point.”

Elizabeth leaned against a post as he continued packing. He’d given her specific instructions not to try to help. He had a method to his packing, and he didn’t want any arguments about it.
I’ve done nothing but travel and sleep out under the stars for the last four years,
he’d told her.

Hunting men, she’d thought. If she had her way, Clint Brady would be a changed man by the time they reached Dawson. How she would accomplish that, she had no idea. God would have to do it through her.

She looked down at the plain gold band on her left hand.
Secretly, she liked the looks of it, the thought of being a wife someday…someday. She shook away the thought.

Their journey would start tomorrow, early in the morning. She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling butterflies. Her father must be turning over in his grave knowing she was venturing out alone with a man who in all essence was really still a stranger…a man who sometimes liked his demon whiskey. He’d packed two full bottles of it,
for medicinal purposes,
he’d told her.
Whiskey can clean wounds and help a cough and clear sinuses and kill pain. Any man would be crazy to set out on a trip like this without some good whiskey along.

She walked around to pat his horses, wanting them to get to know her. One was a black gelding named Devil, who, Clint advised “fit his name.” She’d already been instructed to leave Devil to him to handle. Still, the horse whinnied and nodded when she petted his neck and spoke softly to him.

The other two were mares, one a roan named Red Lady, the other a gray speckled horse named Queen. Clint claimed both were easy to handle, especially Queen.

“I have a question, Clint,” she spoke up, coming closer to watch him again.

He put an arm over Devil’s neck and faced her. “What’s that?”

“You’ve never told me how old you are.”

He grinned, and she thought how nice it was to be around him when he was in a good mood. However, she couldn’t help wondering if it was only because he was finally on his way to find another wanted man.

“How old do you
think
I am?”

She shrugged, pulling her cape closer. The day was cool and damp. “I can’t decide. Early thirties, maybe?”

“Thirty on the head,” he answered. “I guess you to be about eighteen.”

“I’m twenty,” she answered. She saw more questions in his eyes. He probably wondered why she was still single. A man like Clint couldn’t possibly understand that the work of the Lord must come before personal wants and needs.

He turned away. “You mean you didn’t leave behind some broken hearts when you left San Francisco?”

“Oh, there were a couple of interested young men, but I didn’t share the interest.” She took a deep breath and looked out at the mountains. “The man I marry will have to be very special, a Christian man who shares my faith and puts God above all else, a steady, settled man who knows his Bible and who will be a good provider and a wonderful father. He’ll have to be brave like my father was, brave enough to voice his faith among the unfaithful. And of course he’ll be strong and handsome and—”

She suddenly realized how she’d been rambling, like a silly girl fantasizing about a prince. She glanced at Clint and realized that he fit at least part of her description—strong and handsome and brave—but brave in the ways of violence. She felt heat come into her cheeks, and she covered her face. “I’m sorry! That was silly of me.”

The words were met by silence. What was he thinking? Did he wonder if she was describing him? Or was he insulted, thinking he didn’t fit any of that description? And why on earth did she care
what
he thought!

“Nothing wrong with being particular,” he finally answered.

She uncovered her face, and he’d returned to his packing.

“One thing I forgot to tell you,” he said, obviously trying to change the subject. “No dresses. We need to go find you some pants that will fit you. Small as you are, that won’t be easy. We might have to shop for boy’s pants.”

“Pants! I can’t wear pants! It isn’t proper!”

He stopped his packing and faced her, again wearing his “don’t argue with me” look. “Where we’re headed, lady, you’ll be walking knee-deep, maybe sometimes
waist-
deep in snow. I don’t think I need to paint any better picture than that. I’ll not have you end up with frostbite clear up to—” He looked her over, and Elizabeth felt like a complete idiot for not realizing why she’d have to wear pants. “You get my meaning,” he finished. He dug into his pocket and handed her some money. “Here. Go shopping.”

“Clint, you’ve already done too much. I’ll never in the world be able to pay you back.”

“And I’ve told you not to worry about it.” He took hold of one of her hands and shoved the money into it. “Once I find the man I’m looking for, money will be the least of my worries for quite a while. And like I said before, what the heck else would I be spending it on?” He turned away again to strap on the last bit of supplies. “I have no home,” he continued, “no property but my horses and gear, and no one to leave my money to anyway. I might as well spend it any way I want, and right now I feel like spending it on helping you get to Dawson. Now go buy yourself some pants and a warm coat and wool hat, and boots, and
anything else that will ensure your warmth. Then go back to the hotel room. I’ll put away the horses and store this gear for the night and meet you in the hotel lobby in the morning. We can pack your remaining personal supplies then. And make sure you bring along enough…you know…woman things.”

She frowned. “Woman things? You said yourself I can’t wear dresses.”

He rolled his eyes again. “I’m not talking about dresses. I was married once, you know. I know about those things. Make sure you bring enough supplies along for that time of the month.”

Elizabeth was so embarrassed she wanted to die! She couldn’t look at him as he mounted one of his horses. “See you in the morning,” he told her. He took the reins to the other two horses and rode off.

Elizabeth just stood there, dumbfounded that the man had even thought about “woman things.” Embarrassing as it was, it drove home the fact that she’d be traveling with a man far more experienced and worldly than she’d ever known.

“Oh, Lord,” she said with a sigh, “how can someone like me get through to a man like that?”

Just as quickly as the thought had come, so did a little voice inside that reminded her of the horrendous task God had given His own Son, Jesus Christ…to die a horrible death on the cross to save sinners like Clint Brady. There could be no greater burden. Jesus had sweat blood in agony over that burden the night before his death. Finding a way to get through to Clint Brady’s heart was not so much to ask.

E
lizabeth watched her footing as she led Queen along the foothills of White Pass Trail north of Skagway. The ground was a combination of grass and rock, ranging anywhere from pebbles to much larger boulders. Such cascades of rock meant they were constantly in danger of being crushed to death if they were not on a minute-by-minute lookout for the next tumbling killer.

All of this made it impossible to hurry along the trail. A steady walk was all they could muster. They were forced to travel even slower in places where the trail narrowed to hardly more than a pathway around the side of a precarious ledge. Elizabeth tried not to look down for fear of fainting.

Keeping watch both above for tumbling rocks and on the ground under their feet for smaller rocks that could cause
them to lose their footing, kept both Clint and Elizabeth on edge. Elizabeth’s feet ached from the long day’s walk, and her neck and back ached, mostly, she figured, from fatigue and tension. Clint was worried about how easily his horses could suffer wounds to their hooves or legs.

Elizabeth in turn worried about Clint, who she felt was still not rested and well enough to make this trip. However, there was no arguing with him about it. She could not imagine that finding one man could be worth the misery they were sure to be heading into, and she hoped that secretly he was doing this more for her sake than to find a wanted man. But from what she’d seen so far, money meant more to most men than anything else. Why else would they leave wives and children and comfortable homes and good jobs to literally risk their lives reaching their El Dorado, especially when it was likely most of them would never strike it rich?

Gold. The Bible itself was filled with kings and slaves, untold wealth and horrible poverty. In one parable Jesus had said it would be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get to heaven, although her father had always taught that what the Lord meant was rich men who refused to share their wealth and who committed sins to obtain and hang on to their wealth. There were generous, compassionate rich men, just far fewer of them than those who would give up just about anything for wealth.

The sad part about Clint was that she suspected the money didn’t really matter to him as much as simply finding a wanted man and doing away with him. That was
what bothered her most, the obvious deep hurt and hatred in the man that led him to continue the hunt, man after man, as though each new find might somehow be the answer to finding his own peace.

“May I ask just who it is you are looking for?” she spoke up, hoping to relieve the constant tension over the dangers they faced, as well as the unnerving silence. They had walked the last two miles or so without speaking at all.

Clint led the way, although the already well-worn trail, in this second year of the gold rush, was easy to follow on this sunny day. Other pack trains were about a mile ahead of them, which meant that besides watching for rocks, one had to be on the lookout for horse manure.

“His name is Roland Fisher,” Clint yelled back. “He’s an Eskimo, a half-breed, actually, from up in the Yukon.”

“What in the world was he doing down in the States?”

Clint didn’t answer right away. They made it to a wide, flat area, where he stopped and looked back at her. “Let’s rest the horses for a while.” He glanced at the sun, which was getting very close to settling behind a distant peak. “Actually this would be a good place to make camp.” He looked around at dark circles on the ground where others had made fires. “Apparently a lot of others thought the same thing. And I think there is a party a ways behind us. They just might end up reaching this place, too. We’d better go ahead and pick the best spot.” He walked Devil closer to a sheer wall of rock. “We’ll camp here so we’ll be out of the way of any others who might decide to head on past us.”

This was their very first night on the trail, and one thing Elizabeth was more sure of was that she didn’t have to
worry about Clint Brady getting any funny ideas in regards to tenting alone together. She had no doubt he was just as tired as she, and that his feet were just as sore as hers were, and that he shared her craving for a good night’s sleep.

Clint began untying the ropes that held the canvas tent he’d brought along and continued his explanation of the man he hunted. “Rather than take the chance of never striking it rich in the Klondike when the gold rush began, Fisher decided to go to Skagway and see if he couldn’t find a ‘get rich quick’ job there by taking advantage of all the gold seekers, like any smart man would do.”

“What does that have to do with ending up in the States?” she asked.

“Grab the other end of this thing and help me open it up,” Clint answered, unfolding the tent. He was breathing heavily and he stopped to cough before he continued. “He was hired to help guard a shipment of gold nuggets on its way to San Francisco. The job paid well, so he took it. The shipment left too late in the year for him to think about coming back before winter, so he stayed on in California, taking a job helping guard a stamping mill at one of the mines northeast of San Francisco.”

With the tent all laid out, Clint took down a burlap sack that contained iron tent stakes, then yanked a sledge hammer from its stirrup. He began pounding the stakes into the hard earth, not an easy job, and one Elizabeth knew for certain she never could have done herself.

“Come this past spring,” he continued, “Fisher for some reason decided to rob the very bank where he’d been cashing his pay checks. It was situated in a little town
north of San Francisco.” After finishing one stake, he went on to the next. “He was easy to identify because he’d been there several times. The teller he shot told the authorities who’d shot him…” He looked over at Elizabeth. “Before he died.” He returned to hammering. “That teller was a fairly young man with three little kids. He left behind a kind wife and mother who will have a heck of a time raising those kids alone.” He stood up and went on to the next stake. “The bank owner, the owner of the stamp mill and some of the teller’s friends pooled their money to come up with the reward for Fisher…dead or alive.”

Elizabeth relieved Queen of some of her load. “But why would he work guarding gold all that time, apparently being well paid for it, and then just suddenly decide to rob a bank? It doesn’t make sense.”

Clint rose to walk over to a fourth stake. “A lot of things in life don’t make sense. Maybe he just missed home and decided to go back a little richer than he already was. According to what he’d told others he worked with, he had a wife and a couple of kids up in the Yukon. Maybe he figured if he went back there, nobody would follow him that far.”

Elizabeth set out a coffeepot. “But you will.”

He pounded on the fourth stake. “Why not? I don’t have anything better to do, and I feel sorry for the widow who was left behind. I know what it’s like to lose one’s mate to violence.”

A clue. His wife had died violently. The son, too? Elizabeth unpacked bedrolls. “I’m sorry you understand that kind of sorrow. Still, don’t you worry about possibly killing an innocent man? I mean, it just doesn’t make sense, a man
leaving a wife and children to work hard to support them, and then just up and robbing a bank.”

“You already said that. And no, I’m not worried about his innocence, because I know he’s guilty. The teller identified him, and that’s good enough for me. I’ll find him and I’ll take him back, dead or alive, just like the poster says. That’s what I do for a living.” Clint rose and walked over to pound in a fifth stake.

“So, because of a poster, you have the right to be judge and jury and hangman?”

He pounded extra hard on the fifth stake. “I told you—no preaching.”

Elizabeth walked closer and shoved a support post under the front section of the tent, pushing up on it to raise the front opening. “I’m not preaching this time. Just sort of thinking out loud, I guess.”

Clint continued to the sixth stake. “You’re the one who says we shouldn’t judge, so don’t judge
me
, Liz.”

“I’m not doing that, either. I’m just trying to figure out why you do what you do.” She walked around behind the tent to secure a pole there, hoping she could keep him talking so she could learn more about the complexities of the man. After all…unwanted feelings for him were growing deep inside. How could she possibly allow such feelings for a bounty hunter, of all men? “You just don’t seem like the typical kind of man who would choose to be a bounty hunter.”

“You’ve already made that clear, more than once. And quit trying to get information out of me.” He pounded in the seventh stake.

Elizabeth began stretching rope from the top of one of the poles to a stake to hold it up. “Foiled again,” she answered, hoping to keep the conversation light. One thing she did know was that Clint Brady could become sullen and angry over one wrong word, and they had a long trip ahead of them. She caught a grin at the corner of his mouth and felt relieved that she’d managed to keep to his lighter side.

“I’ll finish the tent,” he told her. “You take more of the load off Queen and Red Lady and tether them. I’ll try to get a fire going. Some hot coffee sounds good right now. So does a good night’s sleep.”

“Agreed,” she answered. She studied the tent a moment. It was meant for two people, but certainly not much else. It was going to feel very awkward sleeping in a cramped tent with a man who was not her husband or even related to her. Then again, she might as well
be
a man, the way she was dressed: woolen pants that were slightly too big for her, a red flannel shirt that was also too big, then covered with a canvas coat, a woolen hat, high leather boots over thick woolen socks, her hair twisted into a bun at the base of her neck so she could pull her hat completely over it…
Lord, I must be just about the most unattractive woman in all of Alaska right now,
she thought.

She walked back to Queen, taking a moment to look out at the stretch of mountains and valleys all around. It would all be so beautiful if it were not so dangerous. Yet she couldn’t help feeling safe. She was with Clint Brady.
Bounty hunter or not, he was a strong, able man, and God had led them together. She trusted God above all else…and so she would trust Clint.