CHAPTER SIX
Prospecting

August 3, 1900

Murphy, listen to the letter I wrote to Grandpapa,” Sally said.

We sat on a rock that jutted into the rushing sea. Sally’s bonnet flapped in the wind. A picnic of beef and dried apples was in an open basket on the sand by her feet.

I glanced at Sally when she spoke, but then my gaze returned to the Nome beach. I needed to watch for strange men, as well as for seagulls that might dare to steal our breakfast.

Dear Grandpapa and Grandmama,

Mama and I have a lovely seaside home with ocean views. We also have a strong friend named Murphy who is keeping us safe. He and I explore Nome every day. We talk to the miners—those who are successful as well as those who have gone bust. They all say that black sand is where you can find gold. I am learning all about mining so one day I can file my own claim.

Sally looked up from her letter. “Are you listening, Murphy? Or watching seagulls?”

I gave her a slurpy kiss.

“I need your advice. Should I add news about the swarms of mosquitoes and the thieving ne’er-do-wells? Grandpapa would be interested. But I worry that Grandmama will send an army to retrieve us.”

Jumping off the rock, I barked at a gull that flew too close to our picnic basket.

“Perhaps you are right. I won’t mention the mosquitoes or the five murders on Front Street.” She picked up the letter again.

Even though it is 93 degrees during the day, there are still icebergs on the Bering Sea because it freezes at night when the sun goes down.

Mama makes $1.25 per hour typing and filing claims at Fox & Gibson Surveyors. In the evening, miners dictate their letters to her. They are all homesick. I take the letters to the post office the next day and then I deliver mail for Mr. O’Malley, the postal clerk.

“I won’t mention that Mama works day and night and falls into bed exhausted,” she told me. “And that I earn extra money delivering mail to saloons and dance halls. Even Grandpapa might object.”

A second seagull swooped low, aiming for the open tin of beef. I snapped at its gray tail feathers, and it flew off with a raucous squawk.

“Thank you for saving our breakfast, Murphy.” Sally threw me the last chunk of beef and I gulped it quickly.

“Now settle down and let me finish reading you this letter,” she scolded. “You are mentioned again, so be patient.”

I have met a friend named See-ya-yuk. He is Inupiaq. One day we were fishing in the same spot. He smiled a shy hello. Since then he has showed me how to catch mackerel and codfish. You would be jealous of all the fish we catch, Grandpapa.

Please send apples from our trees back home and chocolate and jam with your next package. Murphy loves sweets.

Love and kisses,

Sally

“See? I told you that you were mentioned again. I should have said ‘send a ham hock since Murphy eats more than a horse.’ Mama admits you are worth it though, for her peace of mind.” Sally ruffled my ears. “Speaking of Mama, we’d best get back before she leaves.” She packed up the basket and we made our way past other miners, rotten timber, abandoned equipment, and piles of sand.

When we reached the tent, Mama bustled out, her brow knit. She wore her shawl and brimmed day hat. “There you are, Sally. Don’t forget to come by the assayer’s office. Mr. Fox has papers for you to file.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And we need wood for the fire and we are out of tinned beef. Oh, the chores are never-ending.” Her frown deepened when she saw the picnic basket. “Have you been feeding Murphy from our meager food supplies?”

“Ummm…” Sally looked at her feet, and I snuffled a rock on the ground.

Mama sighed. “No wonder we are out of beef. Now hurry and clean up. I will see you later at the office.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sally watched her mother weave around the tents until she disappeared. “I worry about her, Murphy. Nome was to be a grand adventure, except Mama has grown too tired to enjoy it.”

After securing the tent, Sally and I headed toward Front Street, walking along the shoreline. She spied a rusty miner’s pan half buried in the sand.

“This is just what we’ll need when we have our own claim.” Pulling it out, she brushed it off. “I’ll add it to our stash of supplies. Soon we will be able to strike out on our own.”

She chattered away as we continued walking. “I have saved almost enough money to file a claim. Grandpapa says Alaska’s winter weather shows its ugly head in September. It’s already the first of August, so we don’t have much time. Oh, look, there’s Mr. Smithson.” She waved at a man who stood knee-deep in water, shoveling sand into a sluice box. “Perhaps we can get a panning lesson from him.”

Sally set the pan on the shore and waded into the water, the surf lapping the ankles of her gum boots. “Hello, Mr. Smithson.” I followed her, the frigid water tickling my belly.

Sally inspected the bottom of the slanted wooden chute for sparkly flakes of gold. I stood next to Mr. Smithson. Sometimes he shoveled up fish and I got to eat them.

“Any luck today?” she asked him.

“Naw.” Mr. Smithson wiped his forehead, which glistened under his droopy hat. The sun was heating up. “Gold’s about gone from the beach sand. Too many fools out here prospecting. We need another meteor shower.”

Sally giggled. “The gold does not come from outer space, Mr. Smithson.”

He crooked one brow. “So you believe crazy Leibowitz’s theory that it rose from the earth in a volcano?”

“No. I believe it washes down from the rivers and creeks. That’s what Mr. Fox says, so I’m staking my claim on the Snake River.”

“That’s loonier than a meteor shower.” Mr. Smithson snorted. “If it was true, then the men who have claims inland would be rich.”

Sally stared wistfully toward the tundra. “Some of them are getting rich. Especially those who are mining Anvil and Dexter Creeks. And if Mama and I are to stay in Alaska, we need to find enough gold to buy a cabin.”

Mr. Smithson continued shoveling. “The only ones getting rich are the companies that are jumping claims that already yield gold, like McKenzie and Carlick. Their company is mining most of the land on the Snake, so you’ll have a tough time getting a spot.”

I swung my head up at the mention of Carlick’s name. Sally slid a protective arm around my neck. “I thought their company only held claims along the creeks.”

“Not anymore. Those two have Judge Noyes in their pockets. They’ve been staking claims along the Snake, too, only the claims already belong to other men. Carlick and McKenzie pay off Judge Noyes, who stonewalls the real owners while he and his gang set up mining operations.”

“That doesn’t sound right!” Sally’s voice rose.

“It ain’t. Those two remind me of Mr. George and his son, who owned me, my family, and the land where we picked cotton. Men like them think they rule the world and they can do whatever they want. And McKenzie and Carlick, why, they practically rule Nome.”

“Like kings?” Sally asked.

“Like masters.” He dropped his shovel and poured buckets of water onto the chute. The water carried the sand back down to the sea and any gold that was heavier than the sand fell to the bottom of the chute and got trapped in the riffles.

“Can no one stop them?” Sally asked as she again leaned over the chute.

Mr. Smithson shrugged. “So far, no.”

“Oh!” Sally held up a nugget the size of a nail head. “Mr. Smithson, I believe it will buy you food for a week.”

“Young lady, you are a godsend. Perhaps there was a meteor shower last night.” He winked. “Here’s a little ‘flour’ for your help,” he added, giving Sally a pinch of gold dust from the sluice.

“Thank you, Mr. Smithson.” Carefully she sprinkled it into a silver vial that hung from a leather strap around her neck. “Tell me, if you were mining on the Snake, what equipment would you take?”

“A good pan like this one you set on the sand.” Mr. Smithson said. He picked it up, scooped sand and water into it, and then rocked it back and forth. “See how it separates out the gold?”

“Let me try.”

I hunted for fish in the surf while Sally concentrated on her pan. Gold held no interest for me.

Finally she stood. “I must get to the post office,” she told Mr. Smithson. “Thank you for showing me how to pan.”

“Come back after you finish your mail delivering, Miss Sally. You and your dog are my good luck charms.”

“We’ll return,” Sally said. “I need another lesson on finding gold. But now we need to hurry before Mr. O’Malley has a fit.”

We slogged up the muddy path toward Front Street. “I do believe we need to find out more about Carlick,” she told me. “If he is as disagreeable as Mr. Smithson says, no wonder you ran away from him.”

We had not encountered Carlick as we roamed the streets of Nome over the past weeks. Today was the first time I had heard his name in a long while. This was fine with me. Even if I did see him again, I didn’t know if he would recognize me. I was now lean and fit with a glossy coat. As I trotted down the walkway by Sally’s side, I had a spring in my step and a gleam in my eye.

Still, sometimes I thought I saw him. At times I thought I heard his voice. And when I did, I remembered the sting of his whip and I cowered.