CHAPTER FIVE
Another Narrow Escape

June 28, 1900

Nome’s beaches may be paved with gold, but Front Street is certainly not,” Mama observed.

The three of us made our way down the wooden walkway. I strutted in between Sally and Mama, my fur fluffy and shiny, my spots glowing white. Now I knew what a bath was—it meant warm water and sweet soap. Sally and Mama were fresh and clean too.

Sally had taken off my collar, which had grown so small it dug into my neck. I was glad when she didn’t put it back on. Instead she tucked it into Mama’s satchel and tied a red scarf around my neck.

“I would say Front Street is paved in rascals,” Sally said. She held a parasol open to block the light snow that drifted from the darkening sky. “I have counted four drunks, three pickpockets, and two hucksters, and the sun has not yet set.”

Mama arched one brow. “And how do you know what a huckster looks like, young lady?”

“Grandpapa taught me to watch out for bears, moose, and hucksters.” Sally gave Mama a sly look. “There were many in the Klondike when he was there. I have also counted at least fifty interested suitors and heard a hundred whistles. You are the prettiest lady in Nome.”

“I appear to be the only lady in Nome,” Mama said. “At least at this time of night.”

“Murphy will have to be our guardian in this ‘godforsaken town,’ as Grandmama called it.” Sally dug her fingers into the ruff of fur around my neck. I strutted, trying to look worthy.

“Nome does have some respectable stores among the saloons and dance halls,” Mama observed, stopping in front of the bakery. My nose twitched happily.

Sally gasped. “Fresh-baked bread! Can you work here, Mama?”

“Perhaps.” Tipping her head back, she read the sign. “California Bakery… We must make note of all the shops and businesses where I can apply for employment. The bakery or the lumberyard might need inventory and accounts typed. Mrs. Owens suggested that Fox & Gibson might need claims and deeds recorded.”

“Look! There’s a circulating library!” Sally hurried up the walkway. The building was closed for the night, but she pressed her nose against the glass. “Perhaps they might let me borrow books in return for shelving them.”

“Hey, lady!” Someone grabbed Mama’s shoulder and rudely spun her around. “Where’d you get that dog?” A bearded man wearing a tattered bowler hat pointed at me.

I scooted away from him and hid behind Sally.

“Pardon me!” Mama yanked her arm from the man’s grasp. “Do I know you, sir, for you to act so familiar?”

“No, ma’am. But I think I know that dog. He belongs to Carlick.”

I recognized the man by his voice—and his smell. He’d held out the sausage link to me, trying to catch me for Carlick.

“There’s a reward of fifteen dollars and I aim to claim it.” The man lunged for me, but I ducked farther behind Sally. Mama may have been speechless, but Sally was not.

“Get your hands off my dog!” she snapped, swatting him with her parasol.

With a yelp, he drew back. “That is not your dog,” he sputtered. “Belongs to Carlick.”

“What proof do you have?” Sally demanded, the parasol still raised like a club.

“Proof?” The man suddenly looked unsure of himself. “Look, my name’s Beckett. I don’t mean no harm, but I believe that dog is Carlick’s. We tried to catch him a while ago but he got away.”

“That’s not proof,” Sally scoffed. “What is his name? What breed?”

“Uhhhh…” Beckett’s face turned red under the barrage of questions. He shifted his eyes to the crowd that was forming around us. I stayed low behind Sally’s skirts.

“Do you and your daughter need help, ma’am?” a man in a dapper suit asked.

“Thank you, sir,” Mama murmured. “I believe my daughter and I can handle this unfortunate incident.”

My heart hammered. Would Carlick’s people take me away from my new family?

But most of the men seemed to only have eyes for Mama, who drew herself upright. “Mr. Beckett, does Carlick’s dog have identification?” she asked.

“Well…um…” He shuffled his feet uneasily. “Carlick’s dog is big like this one, and Carlick said his dog has a collar with the name Murphy on it.”

Sally didn’t hesitate. “Our dog wears a silk scarf, not a collar.”

Flushing, the man began to back away. “Yes, ma’am. I do see this dog has spots, and Carlick’s dog is brown, so I apologize.” Tipping his greasy hat, he quickly retreated. A few chuckles rang out from the group, and several people clapped.

Mama nodded our thanks, and then took Sally’s hand. “Grab Murphy,” she whispered, and together we rushed down the walkway toward the beach.

When we were safely away from Front Street, Sally let go of my scarf and Mama let go of Sally’s hand. “I am embarrassed that we had to resort to such dishonesty,” she declared. “And oh, such disrespectful behavior from you, young lady.”

“Grandmama would surely have whipped me for my words,” Sally admitted. “But Mr. Beckett was no gentleman.”

Mama lowered her voice. “We shall speak of Mr. Beckett’s accusation once we get in the tent.”

We hurried across the sand, weaving around campfires, prospectors, and supplies.

Only when we were inside our own tent with the flap firmly tied shut did Mama blow out a relieved breath. She dropped her satchel and lighted a lantern.

Sally plopped down on her cot and pulled me close against her knee. Panting, I glanced around, liking the cozy area. A flowered rug was on the floor. Circling, I laid down on it, wondering if Sally and Mama would let me stay, now that I was clean.

“So, according to Mr. Beckett we are in possession of a dog that belongs to someone named Carlick,” Mama said as she removed her coat.

Carlick. I could not escape that name.

“No,” Sally said stubbornly. “Carlick’s dog wears a collar.”

Mama pulled the collar from her satchel and held it up. “You mean like this one?”

Sally refused to look at it. “And the man said Carlick’s dog wasn’t spotted.”

“You mean Carlick’s dog was dirty brown, the color of Murphy before he was bathed?”

Sally flushed, but her eyes stayed stubborn. “Murphy belongs with us. If he loved this Carlick person, he would not have been living like a stray on the beach, all skinny and scarred.”

“I agree. All God’s creatures should be treated with dignity.” Mama dropped the collar in Sally’s lap. “But what are we to do about Carlick? He has even offered a reward.”

“We’ll just have to keep Murphy in the tent night and day,” Sally said. “Until the men get tired of looking for him.”

“That’s not a realistic plan,” Mama said. “Murphy would not like being penned up, and we need him to be your guardian while I work.”

“It appears that he needs us to be his guardian as well.” Sally held tightly to the scarf around my neck.

“I’ve got an idea.” Smiling slyly, Mama lifted the lid of her trunk. Reaching inside, she pulled out a strange machine and set it on a small folding stool.

Sally’s eyes widened. “What are you going to type, Mama?”

“Murphy needs a San Francisco dog license, I believe, with the name Sally Ann Dawson as owner. As well as a ticket of passage that states he boarded the Tacoma bound for Nome on June 1, 1900, in the company of his owner.”

Squealing with joy, Sally jumped up and flung her arms around her mother. “Oh, Mama, I think you are the greatest huckster in all of Nome!” Picking up the collar, she added, “Murphy and I have a job to do too. Come, boy.”

She untied the tent flap, and together we raced down to the water’s edge. There she flung the collar as far out to sea as she could. Then she held my head in both hands and looked me in the eye.

“You are no longer Carlick’s dog,” she said solemnly. “You are still Murphy, but now you belong to us.”

For a second, the collar floated on top of the surf, and then it disappeared. Pulling away from Sally, I bounded into the waves. I did not completely understand what had happened, but somehow I knew that I was free of Carlick, and it made me bark with joy.