CHAPTER EIGHT
Mukluks

August 5, 1900

Today you will practice wearing your harness.” Sally slipped a canvas coat over my head and buckled it around my stomach.

She had sewn fur on the buckles and on the straps that hugged my neck, to keep them from chafing. Four leather ties hung from each side. She attached a bucket to those on one side and a rope to those on the other.

We were in front of the tent, readying for a day on the tundra. The sun was already hot, and when I shook my head, drool flew in the air.

“After we visit See-ya-yuk and go fishing, we’ll collect wood that I’ll tie to your harness. I’ll see how strong you really are,” Sally went on. “When we are on our own, panning for gold, you will need to haul the wood.”

Since that day Mama had given Sally a shake, Sally often talked to me of “our claim” and “finding gold.” I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but I did know one thing—she never talked again to Mama about this trip.

I took a step, and the bucket rattled. Slowly I had been getting used to this strange harness. I did not mind it as much as the pulling harness, and of course, I would do anything for Sally.

“See-ya-yuk’s mother has finished my mukluks. I’ll need them for cold nights on the tundra.” Bending, she held my head in her hands and stared into my eyes. “Mama may think that gold has been knocked from my head. But she is wrong. And when we find that big nugget and buy the Hughes brothers’ cabin, she will change her mind about staying.” She kissed me on the top of my muzzle and I gave her a wet kiss in return. Then, standing, she swung her satchel over her shoulder and we headed into town.

“What can I trade for the mukluks?” Sally mused aloud as we walked past the stores. “Our money does not mean much to the Inupiaq.”

We passed the bakery. Lifting my nose, I sniffed deeply. Sally’s eyes brightened. “Of course! See-ya-yuk and his family love freshly baked bread.”

The bell over the door rang when we went into the bakery. “Hello, Mrs. McConnell.” The tall woman behind the counter wore a white apron over her long skirts. She smelled as heavenly as Miss Althea at the saloon.

Sally purchased several loaves and tucked them in her satchel. “Mrs. McConnell, if you were mining gold on the Snake River, what would you take?”

“A bag of biscuits. They keep forever and are still delicious even if they get hard or wet. Plus your dog loves them.” Plucking a biscuit from its stack, Mrs. McConnell tossed one to me. I snatched it from the air and gulped it down in one bite.

“I will keep biscuits in mind.” We left the bakery and turned down an alley. Behind the rows of buildings on Front Street, the tundra stretched for miles like a green sea.

I led the way up the path that wound from town. The frozen earth had partially melted under the hot sun, and my paws squished into the mushy ground. Around us, the hills were colorful with wildflowers. Sally picked handfuls of phlox and wild geraniums, which grew among the tundra grass. I dug in the sweet-smelling violets, kicking dirt in the air.

“Oh look—the first blueberries of the season!” Sally said after we had walked about a mile. The squat bushes were scattered in a brushy area of willow. “We’ll pick some on the way home for dinner tonight, Murphy. Though a handful now sure would taste wonderful.”

Plopping beside Sally, I delicately plucked a clump from a twig.

She giggled as she filled her own mouth. “You are like a bear, eating whatever you can find. Which is good. When we are on the claim on the Snake River, we will be living off the land.”

See-ya-yuk’s dogs let out a terrible racket as we approached the family’s summer home, a tent made of skins. Small and wolflike, they charged toward us, hair bristling. My own hair rose, but I ducked behind Sally to get away from them.

She swatted at them with her satchel. “Go away, you foolish dogs,” she scolded. “Or you will get no bread heels.”

See-ya-yuk ran over, a grin filling his brown face. He wore mukluks, boy’s breeches, a fur vest, and a wool military cap. “Sally! Your boots are ready. They are in the ee-nih.”

Sally clapped her hands together. “Thank you! And I brought you a present too.”

See-ya-yuk raced to Sally’s side and yanked open her satchel. The natives were always curious and would even come uninvited into Sally and Mama’s tent if I did not bar the door.

“Aye-ee!” See-ya-yuk pulled out a bread loaf.

Carrying the bread, he raced to his home, shouting for his mother. The dogs chased after him, forgetting about me, and I barked at their retreating tails.

Sally laughed. “Save your false bravado for bears and wolves,” she told me.

See-ya-yuk’s little brother toddled out from the triangle doorway and over to us. I licked Wee-lil-tuk’s cheek; he always tasted like seal liver, my favorite. Squealing with laughter, he fell on his bottom.

Sally pulled off her bonnet and handed it to him. Wee-lil-tuk put it backwards on his head, which made her laugh.

See-ya-yuk popped his head around the tent flap and proudly held up the mukluks his mother had made. “For you, Sally.”

“Oh!” she gasped. “They are beautiful! Please tell Nee-ok-see-na how much I like them.”

The boots were made of walrus hide. The skin on the outside was pliable and waterproof, while the fur on the inside was soft and warm. Sally and I had watched See-ya-yuk’s mother as she worked on them, shaping the skin with her teeth. Sally had practiced too, which is how she had learned how to make the straps for my harness. My own mouth had watered as they worked, until Nee-ok-see-na had laughingly thrown me a chunk of seal meat to chew.

“I’ll never wear my stiff old boots again.” Sally sat on the ground and pulled off her gum boots.

See-ya-yuk’s eyes widened. “For me?” he asked, lifting the boot she had taken off.

“If you can fit into them.” Sally handed him the second boot.

He attempted to fit one over his foot. “Small,” he said solemnly. Whipping his knife from his belt, he split the end of the boot and shoved his foot inside. His toes wiggled. “Fits!”

See-ya-yuk put the other boot on and then rose and danced around. I woofed, the native dogs howled, and Wee-lil-tuk squealed as Sally danced in her knee-high mukluks.

Nee-ok-see-na emerged from the tent, bringing everyone—even me—bread slices slathered with fat. We ate heartily.

“Now aqalugniaqtuq—fishing,” See-ya-yuk said, licking the fat off his fingers. Sally picked up her satchel and we headed down to the river. By the time we reached a quiet spot on the Snake, the sun was high in the sky.

“I’ll surprise Mama with fish and blueberries for dinner.” Sally threaded a sliver of tomcod onto the hook. She knew well how to bait the bone hook and cast out. But often she lost her trout or grayling before bringing it to shallow water. I tried to help, catching them in my mouth when I could. But fish are slippery and wiggly, and usually I lost them too.

I waited in front of her, my paws in the cold, swirling water, my eyes searching for a flash of silver or red.

See-ya-yuk was a patient and quiet fisherman like me, but Sally was as noisy as the native dogs who crashed about on the shore yelping at hares. “See-ya-yuk!” she called. “I see gold in the water. Wouldn’t it be better to fish for gold instead of trout? Then you could buy a two-bedroom cabin for your mother. Isn’t that a nugget by that rock?”

See-ya-yuk nodded but kept his eyes on the bobbing chunk of wood tied to his line. As the sun sank lower, he pulled in fish after fish.

“This would not even feed Wee-lil-tuk.” Sally stared at the one fish that she had caught. “I must get better at fishing if we are to survive on our own.”

See-ya-yuk handed her a large trout that he had caught. “For Mrs. Dawson,” he said with a grin.

“Mama will appreciate this. Thank you.” Sally wrapped her two fish in oilcloth and tucked them in her satchel. She waved goodbye to See-ya-yuk and we headed down the trail. The dogs followed us for a while, snapping playfully at my tail. I tucked it between my legs until they grew tired of the game and left.

As we walked, Sally picked up fallen branches and tied them to both sides of my harness. Soon I was loaded down with sticks while the bucket still clanked on one side.

When we reached the patch of blueberry bushes that grew on a sunny hillside, Sally untied the bucket. She picked berries, tossing them into the bucket as she sang a song, timing the words with each plink. I ate berries straight off the bushes.

Twigs snapped, startling me, and I spun around. A moose stood over me, its head lowered. I could tell by her flat ears and the raised hair on her hump that she was angry. I knew a female moose will not usually attack—unless she is protecting a calf.

Slowly I backed up, my gaze searching for a sign of her young. Moose have big flat hooves that can strike hard, and I did not want to get pummeled. Then I saw the calf, flicking its ears at the flies. It was on the other side of Sally, who was bent over intently searching for ripe berries. We had not seen it as we picked because it was half-hidden in the brush.

My heart began to pound. Sally was directly between the moose and her baby!