Ike’s spirit was in turmoil, again. Meg was too human, after all. That wasn’t proper mating, what she did with Anton! Lead wolves don’t do that. It was what he had made his dogs do. Mate then separate and mate with many. Ike groaned with guilt, again. If only he could blame the city influence. Too many people. Too many choices. Ike hated cities. He wanted Meg to get out of Vancouver. Get on up north to tend his dogs. He worried. Would Meg make a habit of that? He remembered Piji using another man, to try to have a baby. Though after that, she loved only Ike and their pups. Ike missed Piji now. He wanted to be with her spirit again. And find out what was truly happening in his home territory … to the wolves and the dogs. Rumours. Piff! He had never had time for them.
He watched over Meg for another few days as she consorted with Finn by day, going to the outfitters stores, ordering dry goods and a six months supply of food. She had consulted members of the North West Mounted Police as to what was requisite for getting through the winter in the far north. She spent the nights in her hotel room, alone.
When a telegram arrived from her bookkeeper in Halifax, Meg cheered out loud and went straight to the bank. Then to find Finn in his tent by the docks. They went to a saloon where they did much toasting, clinking their glasses of beer. They went round to the outfitters and paid a large bill. They pre-booked tickets on a steamship called the City of Topeka, which would make its last voyage of the season up the Pacific coast, in two days time.
Ike then smiled again upon Meg. The steamship would take her straight to Moore’s Landing, where she would find his highest standard malamutes. They were bred by Amy Moore. And there, resting with Amy, Ike would find the spirit of Piji. He couldn’t wait.
“Bon voyage!” Ike patted Meg affectionately on the head. “We will welcome you at Moore’s Landing. Piji and I, with the dogs. You’ll love them.”
NEXT AFTERNOON, Mad Mitzi swept into the Hotel Vancouver and demanded to see the merry widow Oliphant. She was directed to Meg’s room.
“I’m in the midst of packing,” said Meg cheerfully. “But do come in.”
“You must take a break, chérie. Come, let’s have some champagne. I want to hear all about this venture of yours.”
“Can’t afford champagne.” Meg smiled at the remembrance of who paid for it the last time. “I have some cider in here. I’ll get another glass.”
“I don’t drink cider.” Mitzi turned up her nose and came in, closing the door behind her. She shifted books off the chair and sat down. “But I have this, for emergencies.” She pulled out a silver flask from her velvet purse, took a swig. “It’s very good brandy. Have some.”
“Cider’s fine for me.” Meg poured some from the jug and made a spot for herself amidst the clothes on the bed.
“What’s all this for?” Mitzi pointed to the beaver parka, flannel underwear, thick wool trousers, boots, tweed jacket, and rubberized poncho piled amongst other things.
“Climbing mountains in all kinds of weather.”
“You truly are going to the Klondike. Are you following Anton Stander?”
“No!”
“Ooh la la, chérie! The lady doth protest too much.” Mitzi laughed. “He is a handsome man and if he strikes it rich …”
“I’m a veterinarian. I’m going for the dogs.”
Mitzi laughed loudly. “So you said. Mais … I have been thinking … with this much smoke, there must be fire. Meaning gold, of course. Bien sure. And if there’s a rush, danceures will be in high demand. Peut-être, I will go with you, mon amie.”
“Do! Finn said the Chilkoot is a tough hike, but if you have strong legs …”
“Does a dancer have strong legs!” Mitzi pulled up her skirt and raised her leg in the air. She began to sing and dance the cancan. Meg laughed and clapped. “And you’re not afraid of mountains?”
“I don’t get stage fright. Why should I have mountain fright?” Mitzi took another swig.
“What about your dance hall? You can’t just leave it suddenly, can you?”
“Chérie, it is not my dance hall. I am just the best one in it. I come and go as I wish.” Another swig. “And I have become trés bored with this city of Vancouver.”
“But if the rumours are false and there is no gold rush …” Meg took a big swallow.
“Merde!” said Mitzi. “I am not stupide! I have counted the numbers heading to the Klondike this autumn. If there is no gold, there are still men. Men are as good as gold.” Mitzi laughed loudly. “Are they not? Good as gold. With their ever ready… instruments.”
“ ‘Instruments’!” Meg hooted and took another swig of cider. “Not the kind I use in my work.”
“To each his own, chérie!” Mitzi raised her flask to Meg.
“Maybe you should get packing,” said Meg.
“Oh it won’t take me long.” Mitzi brushed the thought away with her hand. “I know how to get out of town fast. But tell me where you got those boots. They look useful.”
“At Johnston and Kerfoot Outfitters on Cordova.”
“Bien. I must open an account there.”
There was a cold rain pelting down when Meg and Finn were loading their packs onto the City of Topeka. Finn, like other prospectors, travelled light, with one pack. Meg had brought a wagonload of stuff. Four large packs, of one hundred pounds each, plus a much lighter pack for her own back, and a whack of brooms bound up in her canvas tent. Finn carried the big packs one by one up the gangplank and stored them in the hold. Meg dragged the brooms behind her with a rope. Finn hoisted them easily up on top of her pile of packs. They and every other passenger were being scrutinized by the steward, whom Meg noted with surprise was a woman. She was not tall and her jacket was a couple of sizes too big but she had no trouble fitting her role.
“That’s a lot of baggage for two people,” she said sharply.
“It’s actually just mine,” said Meg. “But there’s still a lot of space here, for the other passengers’ stuff.”
“I’ll be the judge of that! Belinda Mulroney’s my name. Chief Steward. Only steward. I’ll settle with you later.”
Meg took her pack to a small cabin of four bunks, designated women only, then returned to the deck to watch for the arrival of Mitzi. She stood with Finn under the shelter of the small upper deck where the captain stood.
“Want some?” said Finn, offering her his flask.
“Too early for me, thanks.” It wasn’t quite nine in the morning.
“Time is no matter now,” said Finn. “We’re on our way to the land of the midnight sun and soon no sun. Winter is coming on. And we’re floatin’, just floatin’, before the big climb. I’ll drink to that.” He nudged her with his elbow. He leaned into her ear. “You’re quite a woman, Meg. Proud to be your guide.”
“I’m glad to have you, Finn. But where’s our Mad Mitzi?”
The captain rang the bell in warning of gathering up the gangplank.
“She’ll come late,” said Finn. “She likes to keep people waiting.”
Three men came running towards the gangplank. They were prospectors Meg had conversed with at the Bauer Inn. All three had warned her against going to the Klondike this late in the season and staunchly declared they’d had it with prospecting.
“Well, if it isn’t!” Meg stuck her arm out of her poncho and waved to them. Pete the Dutchman, Jethro the Negro, and Leo the oldest. “Changed your minds, I see,” said Meg, stepping forward to shake their hands as they came on board.
“Reckon there’s no fool like an old fool,” said Leo, tipping his hat.
“Curiosity’s gonna kill this cat,” said Jethro smiling.
“Come to keep an eye on you,” said Pete.
“Hey men.” Finn stomped forward in his high lace-up boots, leather jodhpurs, red plaid shirt, long waxed coat and cowboy hat. “That’s my job.”
The captain rang the second warning bell.
“There she is!” Finn waved towards the shore.
Mad Mitzi arrived at the dock in a black coach, the horses whinnying at the sudden halt to their galloping and the last call of the ship’s bell. Mitzi emerged from the cab in a red fitted coat with black fur trim and matching hat. She wielded an umbrella, ordering the coachman to bring down her trunk and carpet bag, immediately.
“Time!” shouted Belinda Mulroney. “Gangplank coming up!”
Mitzi swept to the gangplank, laughing and pointing her umbrella in the air, she stomped her foot on the gangplank and shouted up to them, “Tell the captain Madeleine Mitzi Bonaparte est arrivé!”
“Stay the gangplank,” shouted the captain.
“I need porters,” shouted Mitzi as she advanced up the plank. “Where are the porters?”
“Let’s go, men,” said Finn.
Only Pete would go help him haul Mitzi’s trunk and bag up onto the ship. Jethro and Leo didn’t like Mitzi. She had snubbed them on the street after gladly receiving drinks from them in the dance hall. The captain did not know Mitzi but he was keen to make her acquaintance. She was invited to dine at his table and visit his cabin. Mitzi never did sleep in the ladies bunk room with Meg. And therefore she refused to pay Belinda anything for it. The captain told Belinda he would take care of the matter.
The City of Topeka pushed its way through the cold blue waters and coastal fogs up the coast north of Vancouver Island, north of the Queen Charlotte Islands and amongst the islands off the southern thumb coast of Alaska. The coastline was forested with evergreens and deciduous trees, now charcoal skeletons, their leaves shrivelled and dead on the ground. The highest peaks of the Rocky Mountains were snow covered, the others were dark purple rock, forming an insurmountable barrier to the interior. Or so it seemed to Meg, on a clear and chilling evening from the ship’s deck. She was sitting on a pile of cargo with Belinda Mulroney. The men were drinking and playing cards in their bunk room. Mitzi was lounging in the captain’s cabin. They were to reach Moore’s Landing the next day.
Meg had been seasick when the waters got rough.
“You’re not with child, are you?” Belinda had asked, looking in on her in her cabin.
“No!”
“No call for offence. Women heading away from civilization often are. If you’re just seasick, lie back. Rock with the waves, not against them. It’s a lesson in life, wouldn’t you say?” Belinda closed the door. Checked in on Meg later and found her no longer leaning over the chamber pot.
“I’m fine,” Meg waved to her, smiling weakly from her bunk bed. “As long as I just rock here in my cradle.”
Belinda worked long hours throughout the voyage. She got things done and would take guff from no one, particularly Mitzi. When Mitzi had put her high-heeled boots outside the captain’s cabin to be shined, as one might in a hotel, Belinda had picked them up and banged on the cabin door.
“Are these your boots? They’re in my way.”
“Yes they are. I want them cleaned and polished, steward-ess.”
“You want I should throw them into the ocean? That’s the only way they’re going to get cleaned and polished by this steward-ess!”
Only on this, the last night of the voyage, did Belinda relax and converse with Meg on the cargo pile, under a sky exploding stars.
“Never met a woman more conniving and less ‘mad’ than that one,” said Belinda of Mad Mitzi. “Treats people like rags. We’re to wipe her you-know-what and be thrown away.”
“Whoa!” said Meg. “That’s pretty strong. She’s just a goodtime girl, isn’t she? Lives by her wits, as they say.”
Belinda laughed. “Wits and tits, I’d say. She’s not the only one of those. And not the first or last the captain has kept in his cabin. But better watch out when the going gets tough. I wouldn’t want to do the Chilkoot with her.
“At least she’s gotten rid of the trunk. Very clever of her to leave it with the captain to have it delivered by riverboat next summer. Of course she’s taken the dire necessities out of it to be packed up in canvas. Dire necessities like silk dresses, jewellery, high-heeled shoes, rouge, powder, and bottle of brandy.”
“Hey,” Meg laughed. “You sure know the passengers’ luggage.”
“I’d like to know what’s in yours. Those are mighty big packs. And tightly bound.”
“Practical goods.”
“What sort of practical goods?”
“Just supplies … food, clothes, a few things to sell.”
“Such as …”
“You want a detailed list?” “I ain’t beggin’. Just asking.” Belinda turned to Meg, digging her fists into her waist. “Jeez, you’re hard to get things out of.”
Meg laughed. “You’re the hard bargainer. But all right. Here goes: sun goggles, fur-lined mitts. Hats with flaps. Mosquito netting. Writing paper and pencils. Needles, thread, scissors, and cloth. Matches, candles, cocoa, coffee, and candy. Many tooth brushes and combs. Shampoo and soap. Plus some books. But I’ll rent those out. Oh yes … swamp boots and lots of wool socks. Then I have the usual stuff in my own rucksacks: bedroll, clothes, towel, toiletries, and food. Bacon, beans, sugar, flour, yeast, and tea.”
“And brooms,” said Belinda.
“And vet supplies. You want a detailed list of those?”
“What the frig is vet supplies?”
Meg explained.
“Dog doctor!” Belinda slapped her knee. “That beats all. I thought I’d been just about everything. But I never thought of being a dog doctor. Want a drink?”
“Sure.”
“Seventy-five cents a swig.” She produced a flask from her pocket.
“I can’t afford that! That’s highway robbery.”
“This is a boat, ma’am. Way up north. Things are very expensive. But tell you what … how about some tea with rum in exchange for some shampoo? Can’t remember when I last shampooed my hair.”
They went down to the galley to make tea in a pot, into which Belinda carefully measured six shots of rum. They took it with mugs back up on deck. The moon was nearly full. With the stars, it cast silver light on the swaying ocean and made the mountainous coast look like a formidable fortress. Meg did up the buttons of her parka.
“You’re taking a big risk at this time of year,” said Belinda. “You know that, don’t you? It could snow any day now.”
“That’s why I have this beaver parka.”
“You’re right determined, aren’t you?”
“You’re not the type who gives up easily either.”
“You got a lady’s education, didn’t you?”
“Not really. I never learned to paint flowers or play hymns.”
Belinda laughed and slapped her thigh again. “Nor did I. But I could run a ship or a restaurant and deliver babies. I’ve done that right here on this ship. Funniest thing you ever saw. The captain and me. No doctor on board and no women but me and that poor passenger screaming in her cabin. The captain read from a manual, shouting instructions as he stood outside the cabin, me inside, doing the job. Healthy baby girl I brought into this world. They named her after me. Though I may never see her again in this life. They disembarked in San Francisco.” Belinda poured more from the pot.
“Are you from Ireland? Do I detect an Irish lilt?”
“That I am,” said Belinda. “Got left there by my parents when they went to America to try to make a go of it. Took my sisters but not me. I was raised with me brother and cousins. Taught me how to fight and work for what you get. I was pretty well grown up when they sent for me. My dad was a coal miner then, on the East Coast. I didn’t settle in. Worked my way clear across the United Sates of America. East Coast miners to West Coast cowboys. And everything in between. Before I was twenty years old, I opened a restaurant where they had that big exhibition in Chicago. Made myself a good eight thousand dollars. Travelled in style to California, on a railroad train that served chilled champagne with oysters and caviar. I had more silk dresses than I could have worn in a month of Sundays. I bought a house in California that had all the latest inventions. Telephone, electrical lights, kitchen and bathroom with water piped in and out. Then I got foolish with one of my suitors and was swindled out of my entire fortune. But I’ll build it again. You just watch me.” She offered Meg a refill from the pot. “I have a suspicion you are going where the last great fortunes are to be made. This continent is just about used up, except for where you’re headed. Don’t be surprised if you see me there, come summer.”
“Let’s drink to that,” said Meg.
“To us!” Belinda raised her mug.
“None better!” Meg laughed.
“Good business women,” said Belinda. “Never give anything away for free. Don’t depend on a man. And charge as much as the market will bear.”
“My customers,” said Meg, “the dogs. They don’t understand such principles.”
When she went to her cabin, she saw Finn sitting on the deck, propped up against the railing outside her door.
“Meg!” He stood up, swaying, hung onto the railing to steady himself. “I’ve been waiting so long. Aren’t you ever going to invite me into your bunk?”
“No, Finn. The answer is no. And you’d better remember that tomorrow. And all along the trail. You’re my guide and my friend. Nothing more. Is that understood?”
“Right, ma’am!” he saluted. “Don’t worry. I’ll be a good boy. You won’t fire me for bein’ in love, though, will you?”
“Good night, Finn. Let’s not speak of this again.” Meg went in and locked the door.
Next morning they entered the Lynn Canal, a narrow inlet with a rickety wharf at the end that looked a mile long. The inlet was walled by steep, jagged and rocky mountains whose tops were hidden in clouds of fog.
The City of Topeka stopped part way up the canal. All passengers assembled on deck watching a man in a large rowboat being rowed from the wharf towards them by six native men. An empty scow was towed behind the rowboat. Meg leaned on the ship’s railing, noting a long rope ladder that had been lowered over the side. Packs and sacks of provisions were piled nearby.
Mad Mitzi looked at the wall of mountains and fog, the rope ladder, the approaching rowboat. “Captain John!” she called to him on the upper deck. There was panic in her command. “Take us to the wharf. Why are we stopped here?” She turned to Finn. “And where are the horses on the landing? Where is the road through the mountains?”
“Far as she goes without running aground,” the captain called down, keeping watch on the approaching boat.
“No horses,” said Finn. “No road. Where’d you get the idea there was?”
“There has to be!” Mitzi screamed, looking around in fright. “I can’t go down a rope.” She spun around. “I’m going back. Captain John, take me back to Vancouver!”
Captain John called out instead to the approaching boat. “Captain Moore. Ain’t it time you retired if that’s all the boat and crew you can manage?”
Moore was a white-haired, bearded man, his face weather-worn and animated. “Enough of the wisecracks, son,” he shouted as they approached the ladder. “It’s clear you haven’t heard the news or you’d come up with more passengers than this!” He sprang to the ladder and climbed up it expertly.
“Bill Moore,” Finn explained to Meg. “Been in these parts long as anyone remembers. Had a fleet of steamboats running into Alaska. Now he owns this landing and is the best musher I ever seen.”
Captain John came down to the lower deck to greet him. “What news, Moore?”
Moore looked around impatiently. “I ran the news to Juneau. Thought it would have reached Vancouver before you left. There’s gold struck on the creeks running into the Klondike. George Carmack found it first. Then Henderson and God knows how many more, now. Already renamed the creeks. Bonanza and Eldorado. Prospectors been coming out of the woods thick as blackflies. Ladue’s got a town springing up around his sawmill, faster than he can saw logs. Calls it Dawson City. No fool, him. He thinks big. They need supplies, John. How much did you bring?
“Only what you ordered,” said Belinda.
“Make another trip!” shouted Moore. “God Almighty! I’ve been telling everyone about this for over ten years. I knew it would come. Had Ogilvie do the White Pass so we could get pack animals over the mountains. And here you’ve come, last ship of the season and nothing on board. What the hell’s the matter with people on the Outside? Will they never believe me!”
“I believe you.” Mad Mitzi stepped forward. “Will you take me to this Dawson City? I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Madam.” He looked her up and down. “I have more important things to do.”
Mitzi turned her back on him and flounced off, swirling her skirts behind her.
“You look ready for the voyage,” said Moore to Meg, dressed in plus-fours and boots.
“I hope I am,” said Meg, thinking, if I get down that ladder, the rest should be a piece of cake.
“Let’s go!” said Finn, “Time’s a wastin’.”
The other prospectors stood ready with gold pans and pickaxes attached to their packs. Belinda ordered the crew to begin throwing all the packs over the side into the scow.
“Hey, stop that!” shouted Moore. “Those pickaxes are going to put holes in my scow. You want holes in the side of your ship?”
“Talk is cheap.” Belinda faced him. “Where’s the money for the supplies you ordered?”
“Show me the supplies,” said Moore.
Belinda went over to the pile of sacks. “Sugar, flour, dried soup, bacon, yeast …” She kicked the various sacks with her boot. “Now show me your money. We got to get back down to Vancouver. See if we can make another trip. Right, Captain John?”
“You see who runs my ship,” said John to Moore.
Mad reappeared in a pair of boots like Meg’s and a serviceable dark wool skirt that had been shortened to well above ankle length and had no cumbersome underskirts. She laughed at the sudden stares, flicked up her skirt, showing her white frilled bloomers. “I’m ready,” she declared, “for anything. Toutes choses! Captain, you will lower the lifeboat, for the ladies, won’t you?”
Two crew rowed Mitzi, Meg, and some of the prospectors to the wharf. Meg sat, alternately watching the City of Topeka recede behind her, and the flat muddy beach of Moore’s Landing come closer and closer in front. A forest of evergreens lined the shore. She could not see, dancing excitedly on the shore, applauding her arrival, the welcoming spirits of Ike and Piji, stomping their mukluks in the mud, fur parkas open and flapping.
The fog evaporated from the mountains, revealing snow on the highest summits.
“That’s come early, that there snow,” said one of the rowers.
“You reckon? I seen snow many a week earlier than this.”
Mitzi and Meg looked at each other, then Mitzi looked away as though a conversation between crew members could have no relevance for her.
“What’s the word on the Pass?” Jethro asked the crew.
“Which Pass? The White or Chilkoot?”
“Chilkoot. Only a fool would do the White Pass this late in the year.”
“What’s the difference,” Mitzi intervened sharply, “between the two?”
“About a week.”
“I’d say life and death if winter sets in early and you ain’t prepared for it.”
“Not that either of us have done it.” They laughed.
“We just pick up the remains of them that made it. Never see them that don’t.”
“A lot of hearsay, though. We get a lot of hearsay.”
“I asked,” Mitzi spoke precisely, “what is the actual difference between the passes?”
“The White is long and slow. The Chilkoot is short and steep.”
“They say a woman can’t do the Chilkoot,” said the other. “Unless she’s a squaw. Yous don’t look like no squaws, ladies.” He smiled and tipped his hat pointedly at Meg.
“Sir,” said Meg. “I do not understand that as a compliment.”
The men eyed each other. Eyebrows were raised, a hat adjusted, spit sent into the water.
“Squaws are native ladies, aren’t they?” said Meg. “And if they’re strong enough to climb the Chilkoot then I would like to be like them. And I shall certainly try.”
“Moi, aussi.” Mitzi turned her glance haughtily away from the men.
As soon as all the sacks and packs were loaded onto the wharf, the bargaining began.
“Captain Moore,” said Meg. “Are these men who loaded your freight in your employ or are they self-employed? I have four large packs to be carried over the Chilkoot.”
“Finn has apprised me of your situation, ma’am. Indians around here call their own shots. These men are Tlingits, strong as oxen and sure as mountain goats. I’d be pleased if you came to my cabin where my wife will fix us lunch and we’ll all settle on how best to get you over the pass. There’s no time to waste if you’re going to beat the freeze up.”
“I’ll take two Indians,” said Mitzi. “I have two large bundles.”
“Come with us,” said Moore. “Your bundles need repacking, if not rethinking altogether.”
“We’re off,” said Leo, pack on his back, heading onto the forest path towards the Chilkoot, along with Pete, Jethro, and the other prospectors. “See you in Dawson City!”
“Good luck, gentlemen,” said Meg, watching them go quickly as they could.
The Tlingit were only three-quarters the size of Finn but they slung the hundredweight packs on their backs easier than he did and led the way along the path to Moore’s cabin.
“We’ll come back for my supply sacks,” said Moore. “Let’s get all your gear on the way first.”
“Is it safe,” said Finn, “to leave all these supplies on the wharf?”
“I own the wharf,” said Moore. “Nobody steals from me. Besides, there’s nobody around here yet.” He walked a long-legged, steady, hiker’s pace. He was full of talk about the future. “I thought your ship would be full of pirates, gold diggers, claim jumpers, and the like. But they’ll be coming. You mark my words. This port will be the new New York City. Gateway to the North. Land of gold. Maybe diamonds too. That could be next. And Dawson City… you watch it. It’ll be the Paris of the North. I’ve been saying this for years. Been sailing the north sea since I was seven. I know this country. And I’ve seen the world.”
“What parts have you seen?” said Meg, trying to keep up with him.
He looked sharply at her to see if she was genuinely interested. “Born in Germany. Had a towboat service on the Mississippi. Fought in the Mexican War. Prospected as far south as Peru and as far north as you can go in Alaska. Only place I didn’t prospect was the Klondike.”
“Why not? Why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m a damned fool. Gave it up too soon. Wanted to be captain of my own ship.” He laughed. “Had a whole fleet of steamships at one time. Transported everything from camels to fairies.”
“Fairies?” said Meg.
“You know …” He nodded in the direction of Mad Mitzi who was lagging behind, trying to keep trail mud off her skirt. “Dance hall girls. Then I gave up that life when one of my sons showed me the White Pass. That was ten years ago. And here I stay.” He pointed to a big log cabin, nestled amongst some smaller ones, at the foot of the trail. “Ogilvie and a big Indian fella called Skookum Jim helped turn that trail into a good one for pack animals. But, mark my words, with this here coming gold rush, you’re soon going to see a train running up that pass, down to Whitehorse and all the way to Ladue’s Dawson City.
“John J. Healy, he’s another wily old ship’s captain. He’s banking on the Chilkoot as the main route. He’s got a cabin over there in Dyea. But he’s wrong. The Chilkoot’s too steep for trains and ordinary people. It’s here on my land that you’re going to see the crowds appear. Mark my words.”
Whooshing around in front of the troupe approaching the small settlement of mostly vacated cabins and shacks, were the spirits of Ike and Piji, arguing.
“What’s the use,” grumbled Piji, “of that healer for our dogs, if she’s moving on soon as she can? And likely as not, won’t make it over the pass. She should stay here.”
“She will! She will! I know her.” Ike was too excited to be properly smug. “Once she sees our dogs … And the pups. That’ll be the clincher. She’ll stay for them.”
Meg could see smoke rising from the chimney of Moore’s cabin. As they drew near to it, there was the sudden loud howling of a big pack of wolves, many different voices, not sonorous, not all in harmony, and very close by. Mitzi screamed and ran to hide behind Finn. Meg stopped in her tracks. The men laughed.
“That’s my team,” said Moore. “My dogs. My chariot. My cargo carriers.”
“Where?” Meg wanted to run to see them, but her pack weighed her down.
Moore led her to the other side of the cabin where he had built a spacious kennel, with separated compartments, all of thick, strong wire. A dozen huge, wolf-like dogs were standing on hind legs, pawing the wire frantically and howling in various tones.
“Enough!” commanded Moore. “I’m back and you’re scaring the ladies. Settle down.”
Some did. Some did not. They stood panting, or paced, or jumped up at the fencing, staring and vying for the attention of Meg as she approached their kennel. She saw their white chests and faces, curled tails, brown to black top coats, and their dark amber eyes.
“They are so beautiful!” Meg clapped her hands together.
Mitzi turned to the men. “She’s fallen in love with the dogs.”
“You’ll never see a better team,” said Moore. “And there are pups, inside.’
“Isn’t it just like I told you!” Ike exclaimed to Piji. He clenched both fists in triumph.
Piji, forever clad in the furs of Yuki and Yukitu, smiled at her Ike. It was good to have him with her again, and looking so pleased at life. “I’m going to Amy,” she told him. “I should get behind her on this. You work on Meg.”
“Don’t need to,” said Ike. “The pups will lure her. I even know which one she’ll want.”
Moore’s wife, Amy, an efficient and fit older woman, welcomed everyone into their comfortable cabin and served out plates of hot fish pie. The Tlingit packers took theirs out on the porch because it was too crowded and hot for them inside. Meg could not keep away from the pen in the corner of the cabin. Therein was a mother and five malamute pups.
“Can I have one?” she asked.
“They’re only a month old,” Amy said, scrutinizing Meg. “Can’t leave their mother for another two weeks. I won’t let them go for another two weeks after that. And then, one will cost you $50.”
“Fifty dollars!” said Mitzi. “That’s a good week’s wages. No one pays that for a dog!”
“I would,” said Meg. “If I could get one of these.”
“Which one would you take?’ asked Amy.
“That one that sits off by itself and stares at me.”
“That one there …” Moore pointed, “with the long legs and big ears?”
Meg nodded. Moore raised his eyebrows and glanced at Finn.
“Not a good choice, Meg,” said Finn. “Looks like a throwback. You’ll want one more stocky and playful with the others. More doglike. You’ll see lots more dogs. Believe me. Wait until you see mine in Whitehorse.”
“This is the one I really want,” said Meg, thinking it reminded her most of Ma Wolf ’s pups. Meg reached slowly into the pen and let the pup sniff her hand. She put her fingers at the base of its ears and massaged them. She picked up the pup, quickly examining the private parts. “She’s a girl!” announced Dr. Meg.
“I agree with your choice,” said Amy, as Meg helped her clear the table and wash up the dishes. Mitzi was outside with the men trying to repack her wardrobe into packs that could be carried over the Chilkoot. “Men think only about muscle power. You’ve spotted the natural leader. She could be more trouble than the rest, with her independence, but she’s the one that has to be called Yukon Sally.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s got the most wolf strain in her and legend has it that these dogs go back to wolves called Yukon Sally and Jake.”
“It can’t be a very old legend with modern English names like that!” Meg laughed.
“You’re right,” Amy smiled. “Around here stories become legends in no time at all. I’ve been here a lot of years and believe me, I’ve heard some doozers. Of course, life is way too dull if you can’t make up a story or two. Or have dreams, like my husband. Me, I have the dogs. It was the only thing I could do to keep myself busy and sane in this wilderness that my husband calls the new New York City.” Amy turned to scrubbing more dishes as she commented, “When I was your age, I was breeding babies. You not interested in that?”
“Don’t have a husband.”
“Are you seriously considering taking on a Yukon Sally?”
“I am.”
“I had a dear young friend,” Amy paused over the wash basin. “Must have been a dozen years ago. She stayed here with her dog team over the summer until … She was a great storyteller. Liked to write them down too. She left me “The Legend of Yukon Sally and Jake”, all written down. It’s a good story, but I miss her company.” Amy took up the dish cloth again, keeping her eyes averted.
“What happened to your friend?” said Meg, gently.
“Died. Died in childbirth.” Amy scrubbed at the pie dish. “No doctor. Only me to tend her. Nothing more I could do. So much blood! Baby died too. Wish I’d had real doctoring experience. Is it true,” Amy faced Meg squarely, “that you’re a real doctor, of dogs?”
“Dogs and other animals,” said Meg. “Not of people. I’m sure you did as well as I could have, for your friend. What was her name?”
“Annie. We called her Inuit Annie because we couldn’t pronounce her last name.”
“Hmmm,” said Meg, wondering if it were possible that Crazy Annie and Inuit Annie …
“You’re looking very thoughtful,” said Amy. “You are thoughtful, aren’t you? You’re not rushing up here after gold or … like your friend, that Mitzi. If you’re really serious about dogs and taking one of mine … Are you?”
“I would like to.”
“Then here’s what you should do …” Amy set the pie dish firmly on the draining board. “You should stay here, stay the entire winter. Dog teams come through here all winter long. You’d have plenty to doctor. And you’d learn everything you need to know about sled dogs. Come spring, your pup would be big enough to travel and you could sail down the Yukon to Dawson in no time at all. Only fools like that Mitzi, or Finn, go on the Chilkoot at this time of year. And if they get over it, they’re likely to find the Yukon River frozen up.”
“But Finn has his dogs on the other side of the Chilkoot. He’ll make it to them, surely.”
“Finn can make it, if anyone can. But with her … ?”
“Where would I live, given that I have to stay and wait until spring to take my pup?”
“There’s a log cabin in good condition just over there. It could be your home and your doctoring office.” Amy’s eyes became very mothering as she appealed to Meg. “I’d love to have your company. Not that I’d make a nuisance of myself with you.” She took up a dish towel. “There’s always too much to do, what with looking after my man, this place, the dogs. I don’t think you know what you’re getting into with these dogs and sledding. But I could teach you … if you’ll teach me a bit about doctoring.”
“Sounds like a fair deal,” said Meg.
“Yay!” Ike clenched his fists in victory and flew off Meg’s shoulders to meet Piji who flew off Amy’s back, furs floating outward from her head, as she joined in celebratory dance with Ike.
Dishes dried, Meg sat down on the leather sofa to observe the pups cavorting with each other. Her pup joined in, but soon got bored with romping and returned to look curiously over the edge of the pen at what was going on in the rest of the cabin. She stared most intently at Meg. So like Ma Wolf.
“Yukon Sally.” Meg knelt down and stroked her head. “My little Yukie.”
“Ah!” said Piji, bowing her head in remembrance. Ike put his arm around Piji.
Mad Mitzi flounced into the cabin, flopped onto the sofa, and took out her flask. “Those idiot Indians!” She took a swig and offered the flask around. “Anyone want some?”
“What do you mean?” Amy frowned. “There’s nothing idiot about those packers.”
“They walked off! They refuse to go today.”
“Then it’s with good reason.”
Mitzi ignored Amy. “They charge way too much. Ten cents a pound at the beginning then two dollars a pound when they get to the steep part.”
“The Scales,” said Amy. “The steepest part, nearest the summit, it’s called The Scales because most people drop their loads there, can’t carry anything but themselves and a small pack up over the summit.”
“Finn says he can do it.”
Meg went out to talk to Finn. She saw the dark clouds gathering over the mountains.
“I think Mitzi’s going to have to give up a few of these dresses since she can’t afford to pay the packers.” He was assembling one pack for her from the contents of her two big bundles. “She hasn’t got any food in here! Can you sell her some dried food, and socks?” He kept sifting through her things. “And a parka, warm and waterproof?”
“Finn, what about the packers refusing to start today?”
“One day’s delay won’t hurt. They’re right. They’ve a good sense of the weather patterns here. But I’ve got to get there, Meg,” he looked at her seriously, “before freeze up. Got to get my dogs and go look for a claim. We’ll start tomorrow.”
“I want to stay here,” said Meg, “over winter. I’ll come next spring with my pup. Is that all right with you?”
Finn heaved a big sigh. “Figured that might happen. It’ll be better for you, Meg. Safer. Wish Mitzi would stay with you, but she’s hellbent on getting to the gold miners.”
Meg went to look at the vacated cabins. There were three shacks furnished with bunk beds, a table, and a small stove. The log cabin had more space, a larger table, a stove and a dry sink, even book shelves. Moore rented or loaned these out, according to the means of whoever wanted to stay in them. I could be comfortable enough in that cabin, thought Meg. Could lay dogs out on that table.
It rained heavily for most of the afternoon. The paths turned into mud streams.
“You could set up a store, with all those supplies you brought,” said Amy, as Meg helped prepare dinner. “All the mushers coming up from Juneau and down from the Klondike through the winter, they’d buy most of your stuff before spring. Then you wouldn’t have to pay packers to take it over the Chilkoot.”
“Let’s see how it goes,” said Meg. “What about food? How do you feed yourselves and the dogs over winter?”
“Lots of game in the woods and fish in the ocean,” said Moore.
Deals were made as they sat around the Moore’s table eating venison steaks and potatoes, the cabin dimly lit with smelly kerosene lanterns. Moore would transport Mad Mitzi’s wardrobe to Dawson by dogsled over the White Pass, once winter set in. Her deposit for the cost of that trip was two bottles of whisky, one of which Moore shared round the table that evening. Finn had no money and had consumed all his booze. In exchange for the Moore’s hospitality, he chopped and piled wood, in the rain.
Mitzi was to sleep that night in the cabin with Meg. Mitzi dumped her pack on the cabin floor. Washed her face and various parts in the tin basin then said to Meg, “I’m going to go over a few things with Finn. Don’t wait up for me.”
Shivering in her cold bedroll, Meg told herself, soon I’ll have a wolf pup with me.
Moore rapped on the cabin door an hour before daylight. “Rise and shine,” he said. “Bacon’s cooking. Breakfast in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks, Captain,” said Meg, getting out of her bunk. “I’ll be there.”
“Where’s your mad friend?”
Meg opened the door, wrapped in her parka. “She’s with Finn. Prepaying for guide services, I believe.”
Moore roared with laughter, throwing his hands into the air and shaking his head as he walked away. Mitzi and Finn were late for breakfast.
“You’re welcome to set up your business here for the winter,” said Moore when Meg sat down with him and Amy. “Never had a dog doctor on my townsite before.”
“Thank you, Captain Moore.”
He nodded. “The Chilkoot’s cheaper and easier, come May.”
Amy scoffed. “The Chilkoot’s never easy.”
Mitzi was well outfitted in parka, wool socks, mitts, and other items on loan from Meg. All was to be repaid when they met up in Dawson City in the spring.
“Maybe you too should wait until spring,” said Meg, holding Yukie in her arms.
“Chérie,” said Mitzi with a toss of her head, “by spring I’ll have made so much money, I’ll have diamonds in my dancing shoes.” She blew kisses in the air as she set off ahead.
Finn turned to Meg. “I never intended to have you left here.”
“Of course not, Finn.” She touched his arm. “Just get yourself and Mitzi there safely.”
“Sure I will. May have to knock her out and carry her over the summit. But I’ll get us to the Klondike. And I’ll strike it rich.”