IT WAS LATE JULY. The ground was hard-packed from lack of rain. The blackflies were gone, the mosquitoes present only in the evening and in shady, marshy places. The sun shone. Wildflowers bloomed in hazes of pink and purple spikes. Shrubs sprouted yellow blossoms. Wild berries ripened on bushes.
Daisy and Meg and Yukon Sally were hiking the long day’s journey to the gold creeks, no longer called Rabbit and Gold Bottom, but Bonanza and Eldorado. They all carried packs, including Yukie, who carried their small canvas tent in a bundle on her back. The path to the creeks was well worn but not busy.
Prospectors stayed at the creeks, working their claims or looking for new ones. They went into Dawson only for supplies and the occasional bender. Now that Belinda was building a saloon and store at the fork of the two main creeks, the path coming from the creeks was less used, though the steady trickle of prospectors going to the creeks for the first time continued.
They did not speak of it, but both Meg and Daisy were hoping to discover at the gold creeks certain past acquaintances, now known as Kings of the Klondike.
“I can’t go on forever,” said Daisy, “playing the innocent virgin, keeping them all at bay. I get proposals all the time.”
“But that’s your appeal,” said Meg. “Once you start doing what Gypsy and the others do, you’ll lose your special attraction.”
“You don’t know men, Meg. Not like I do. They’re not going to just dance forever.”
“You’d be surprised at what I know about men.”
“Oh yeah? So tell me something I don’t already know.”
“You tell me how old you really are.”
“Nope.” Daisy shook her head. “Not until I’m old enough not to shock you.”
“You’re fourteen. And I’m not shocked. I’m just sorry you missed out on childhood.”
“I had enough of childhood. I like what I’m doing now. It’s better than what I had to do in Juneau.”
“Then follow the advice of your older and wiser friend. Stick to singing and dancing.”
“Do you know that some people think you’re my dyke?”
“Daisy!”
“There, I shocked you. Maybe you don’t even know what it means.”
“Can we change the subject, Daisy? I’m finding this very distasteful.”
“Don’t like it much myself. I told Sapphire she was full of moose piss. And I’ll never, ever work for her. But I wouldn’t mind working for myself. Build my own premises. Run the show. I’m going to do that, soon as I get enough money.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Meg. “And I owe you plenty. I’ll help you as much as I can.” Meg squeezed her hand and held it for a little distance.
Behind them on the trail, well out of earshot, a miner observed them curiously. Quite an odd pair. Two females wearing white blouses and sturdy, high, lace-up boots. Prospectors’ boots. One in trousers with braces. The other in a skirt hardly covering her knees. One with light brown hair tied back under a fedora. The other with school-girl braids, her hair black as an Indian’s. Holding hands. What you didn’t see in the Klondike! Wouldn’t be allowed in the civilized world.
Daisy and Meg came up a gradual incline through grassy woods that suddenly ended where trees had been cut down to build shelters and sluices for the gold miners, who were digging on every square foot of land along the creeks below. Meg and Daisy looked down upon a scene of ravaged landscape. Only stumps of trees remained. The earth was overturned and cracked, dry, ashen grey. All along the creeks and up the slopes, the land was cordoned off with many stakes, ropes, and trenches, designating the precise claims. They could see men working like a colony of ants, except there was no overall cooperation as they individually swung pickaxes, dug with shovels, panned the sluices built along Bonanza and Eldorado.
“Looks like a forest fire swept through here,” said Daisy.
In the distance, where the two creeks met, there were a couple of cabins, tents, and a two-storey building that was under construction. “Must be Belinda’s saloon,” said Meg. “Let’s go. Hike, Yukie! I’ve acquired a serious thirst.”
As they hiked past the claims, making their way to the fork of the two creeks, the thin muscular miners laid down their tools to watch the approach of this peculiar pair with the young malamute. Squaw and husband? No. Two women. In odd apparel.
“Well, blow me down if they ain’t good lookin’!” The men took off their sweat-rimmed hats, wiped their mud-smudged faces, swiped their dirt-caked trousers and shirts, grinned.
“Welcome ladies. What can we do you for?”
“Gentlemen.” Meg smiled and nodded, taking off her hat, loosening her hair to tumble around her shoulders. “Any claims left here about?”
“Not much left above or below here on Bonanza. Nor on Eldorado. But then you never know till you actually dig in.”
“Want to stay awhile?” said his partner. “Water your dog? Fine lookin’ malamute. She for sale?”
“Afraid not.”
“Dang! I’ve got good gold to pay.”
“And no manners! Pardon the language of my partner, ma’am,” said the other. “You and your young friend care to wet your whistle? Darcy and me could fire up some tea, real quick. Sit yourselves down, won’t you?”
He motioned to a rough plank bench and table covered with a large tin pail, two tin mugs, plates, and old silver spoons and forks, all washed and stacked neatly beside a mess of sugar tin, tea tin, bacon fat tin, flour sack, bean sack, corked bottles fermenting some liquid, and a row of canned goods with their labels showing proudly, as in a store of prized goods. A shaving soap mug and brush sat beside a wash basin with a not-very-clean cloth draped over it in a hump, covering rising sourdough. Beneath the table were pots and pans, carefully lidded. The miners’ home was a crawl space tent, staked to the ground with tree branch poles, the front flap opened for airing.
“We have apricots.” Darcy picked up a tin from the table, offering to share it.
“Thank you. But we won’t deprive you of your apricots. Or your time, today. We must move on and set up our camp at the fork.”
“We’ll help.”
“Thank you, but we must press on.” Meg and Daisy waved goodbye.
“Come back for supper then.”
“Wait! You haven’t seen our gold.” Darcy lifted a pot from under the table, heavily, using both hands.
His partner miner removed the lid. “See! Full! Pots of gold. We can buy you anything you want. Anything.”
The ladies and their dog pressed on, looked at each other, and burst out laughing. “Anything we want! Anything? This doesn’t sound too rough to me!”
They were stared at or welcomed at every claim as they moved along Bonanza. The new sites were all makeshift. Some tidier than others. Some with a clothesline of underdrawers, socks, and shirts drying in the sun. Miners caught without their shirts on hastily covered themselves at the approach of Meg and Daisy. Doffed their hats. Buttoned up their waistcoats.
Very few were too socially primitive, damaged, or fundamentally uninterested in women not to halt their work and try to have a conversation with Meg and Daisy. Those who found their way to the Klondike in the summer of ’97 were generally seasoned miners, used to looking after themselves in primitive conditions. Their need was not for women as housekeepers. They were desperate for female company and more if they could get it.
Older sites that had been staked in the autumn of ’96 and been worked through the winter and spring had a log cabin and mined tunnels, wooden sluices and dams built on the creek. The banks of Bonanza were continuous piles of sifted earth and stones. Gold nuggets had been sifted out in pans, chunks dug out with shovels, veins of gold hacked away from rock faces by pickaxes.
Meg and Daisy came to a well-established log cabin where a handsome woman sat on a bench out front with her young daughter reading aloud from a children’s book. Both mother and daughter were well dressed, in the latest fashion brought to Dawson. There was a hand-carved sign over the door saying CARMACK. The mother stood up, holding her daughter’s hand and looked unsmilingly at Daisy and Meg.
“Must be Shaaw Tl’áa, you know… Kate Carmack and her daughter Graphie,” said Daisy. “Dressed to the nines on this dirty old claim.”
It was an orderly cabin, tin wash tub hung up on the outside wall, blanket airing on a line. When Daisy addressed Kate in Tagish, she smiled and spoke readily. They conversed in Tagish for some time, Graphie glancing at Meg and digging her feet into the ground impatiently. Meg heard Daisy mention the name Skookum Jim more than once. Then Daisy burst out laughing.
“Shaaw Tl’áa tells me she doesn’t like our Dawson City. Says it’s full of loud women who lift their skirts and mate for money.” She turned back to Kate. “This is my friend, Meg. She’s a medicine man for animals.”
Kate looked nonplussed. “Will you have some tea?” she said, motioning for them to come into the cabin.
The men, Carmack, Jim, and Charlie, had gone off to Belinda’s saloon. Yukon Sally lay down while the women conversed over tea, sitting in the bright light of outdoors. Kate spoke stiffly in English, sometimes narrowing her dark eyes when she addressed Meg’s questions. She laughed and relaxed with Daisy in Tagish. But at the end, she smiled warmly at Meg and agreed to come visit her when next she was in Dawson. She would tell Meg what she knew about plant remedies. Graphie sat and fidgeted, treating her book like a precious toy, delving in and out of it, pretending not to be listening to their conversation, sometimes pouting, sometimes perplexed. Kate waved goodbye sadly.
“All that gold sure isn’t making her life better, is it?” said Meg.
“She isn’t what she used to be,” said Daisy. “I never saw much of her. But my mother talked about her more than anyone else in the clan. Which isn’t saying much, since my mother wasn’t a talker. But she sure admired Shaaw Tl’áa. She could do everything. Cook, trap, hunt, sew, and heal with plants. She was what you call a princess in the Wolf Clan. But she really doesn’t know what to do with gold. Or a husband who has suddenly turned himself into the first King of the Klondike. I’d like to meet this Carmack. Seems he’s changed. Used to consider himself lucky to have married Shaaw Tl’áa. They say he fitted right into the ways of the clan. Unlike my father. My dad just wanted a woman to cook and screw. Then he left her and me when he got fed up with the territory, the cold, and the mountains.” Meg put her arm on Daisy’s shoulder. Daisy removed it.
“Watch it!” she said. “These miners got enough to talk about with you in trousers.”
Meg laughed. “I think,” she said, “that Shaaw … however you say it … Kate, is too trusting. Jim and Charlie too. From what she said, she found the gold. But Carmack has the claims in his name. If it is true that the law wouldn’t permit Kate, because she’s a woman, and Jim and Charlie because they’re Indians, to register their own claims, then the law should be changed. They should take it to court. I’m going to ask Constantine about this.”
“What courts?” said Daisy. “There’s no such thing around here. And don’t think Kate is stupid. She knows the only real way she has, is to make Carmack want to treat her right. She has to keep that pecker happy.”
“Daisy!”
“Don’t Daisy me. It’s true. Kate sees the signs. Now that he’s rich, and doesn’t need her help to survive in this territory, he wants to drop the Tagish ways and turn her into a ‘lady.’ She doesn’t mind much. Likes the fancy dresses, though not all the time. Too hard to work in. And corsets … they hurt. But she likes an adventure. Wants so see what it’s like on the Outside. Carmack says he’ll take her and Graphie to San Francisco where he has relatives. Sounds all right to me.”
“But he’s started yelling at her. That’s not a good sign.”
“I know. But Skookum Jim would never let him hurt her. Can’t wait to see him again. Come on. Hike, Yukon!” Daisy quickened her pace. “Men await us at Belinda’s saloon.”
“It’s unfair that Carmack didn’t take Kate to the saloon with them,” said Meg.
“Then who would look after that sulky brat?”
“She’s just a kid,” said Meg. “Reminds me of my niece.”
They reached the junction of Bonanza and Eldorado. Set back from the claims along the creeks was a camp of some tents, shacks, and an old log cabin with grass and wild flowers growing on its sod roof top. Nearby was the saloon with carpenters working on the second storey. The sign over the saloon door said unequivocally: BELINDA MULRONEY’S. There was as yet no glass in the window spaces and the front door was opened wide to the warm, still sunlit night. Smoke from cigars, pipes, and cigarettes wafted out the windows. A din of men’s voices, hoots, and shouts was coming from within. Outside, sitting on stumps and piles of boards, more men were talking, smoking, drinking from mugs and bottles. They began to rise, put their hands over their eyebrows, the better to see as Meg and Daisy approached. “Let’s pitch our tent and make ourselves more presentable … to Miss Mulroney, shall we?” said Meg to Daisy. Meg donned a skirt and ladies boots. Daisy put on her silk stockings and fine boots. They dusted off their blouses and lowered their rolled up sleeves.
“Blue ribbon for you,” said Meg, handing it to her after they had brushed their hair. “And red for me.”
Several teams of assorted malamutes were tethered to tree stumps near Belinda’s saloon, but at strategic distances apart, so they had their own territory and couldn’t get at one another to fight. Yukon Sally was straining on the leash to make friends, as long as they wanted to play and not try to dominate her. She knew not to interfere with any team. She held up her chin and tail as she walked regally past, not deigning to answer the yelps and howls that teams set up seeing her pass by. Meg let her greet various miners and dogs en route, then settled her, tethered to a stump in view of the saloon’s doorway.
It was Saturday night. Men were spilling out of the doorway to see what was going on. They all stepped back, doffing their hats, making a path for Meg and Daisy into the saloon, through the dim light and smoke-filled air to the large wooden bar behind which stood Belinda Mulroney, also wearing a white blouse and long dark skirt. “Well, if it ain’t!” said Belinda, holding a large jug of whisky. “Long time no see, Dr. Oliphant.”
“Fancy meeting you here! Belinda, if I may.” Meg reached over the bar to shake hands.
“Belinda, it is. And nothing fancy about here,” she laughed, shaking hands. “Though there’s gold dust on the floor. Who’s your friend? And what’ll you have? Whisky or water? It’s all I got. A dollar a shot. And for you, I have a glass. No extra.” She reached under the bar and produced two glasses.
“Pardon me, ladies,” said several men at once offering to pay for them. “Allow me.”
Meg looked into the crowd around them. She was disappointed that Anton Stander was not in sight. Daisy rose up on her toes when she saw who was standing at the end of the bar. A tall, very broad shouldered man, wearing a brimmed hat with a bright red band around it, a red plaid shirt with a yellow and green silk tie loosely knotted at the collar. A chain of gold nuggets was draped across his chest from his right suspender to a watch in the shirt pocket on his left side. His eyes were dark, cheekbones high, lips full but fringed by a scraggly moustache.
“That’s Skookum Jim.” Daisy pulled Meg with her as she moved towards him. She greeted him by his Tagish name, Keish.
He smiled at her and raised his hand high above the crowd. “Drinks all around boys.” He nodded assent to Belinda to begin pouring at his expense. “Welcome to ‘Looks Like a Wolf,’” he said in Tagish, raising his glass, “and friend.”
“To what?” said the men.
“Me, Daisy, and my friend Meg.” Daisy spoke out and smiled as though on stage.
“Kaa Goox,” Jim introduced the man beside him to Daisy and then to Meg. “My cousin, Tagish Charlie.”
Charlie was shorter and stockier, with large dark eyes, prominent nose and cheek bones, no facial hair. He too wore a loud plaid shirt and tie with gold nugget watch chain. Both Jim and Charlie had thick black hair, cut and trimmed in the conventional style of George Carmack, who pushed his way forward to stand between Jim and Charlie. He put his arms over their shoulders. Carmack no longer wore moccasins or any Indian adornment. His shirt was military grey with brass buttons up the front, his trousers well fitted to his trim torso, no need for suspenders. His boots were new. He looked at Daisy and Meg as though they would instantly prefer him.
“Boys,” he said, “partners. Introduce me to your lady friends.”
“I know your wife.” Daisy looked coldly at him. “I was raised by the Wolf Clan.”
George stood up straight, put his glass on the bar for a refill. “I know her clan. I don’t recall having seen you before.”
“Shaaw Tl’áa left with you before my time in the clan. But she came back once with your daughter, Graphie.”
“Well then,” said George, “nice to meet you. And your pretty friend.” He took off his dark grey fedora. “Next round is on me.” He winked at Meg.
She frowned and turned her attention to Charlie. George collected the drink Belinda poured, giving her a wink, which she ignored, then he turned to Jim and Charlie, who had Daisy and Meg’s full attention.
“Well boys, looks like you struck it rich, again. I’ll leave you to your fine company. Ladies.” He raised his glass to them and elbowed his way back into the crowd.
Daisy, Jim, and Charlie launched into their native language after other men introduced themselves to Meg and escorted her around the saloon. She was introduced to Ogilvie, who had surveyed the White Pass, with Skookum Jim doing the muscle work and Moore spurring them on. Now the government had given Ogilvie the job of surveying and thereby settling any disputes on the gold claims. Meg noticed that the miners deferred to him, showing respect for his honesty and judgment, even when they kidded him.
“Ogilvie,” they said, “he’s the real boss man around here. Sharp as a tack and honest as the day is long.”
“Mr. Ogilvie,” Meg asked him, “what if I went prospecting and found some gold, could I stake a claim?”
“No,” he said, matter-of-factly, “not according to law. Women can’t stake claims, but you can buy or invest in a claim already staked. That’s what Belinda does. And Big Alex. They make a pile of money that way, without ever having to lift a shovel. The first prospectors here go crazy just to stake a claim but then they don’t have the money, manpower, equipment, or just plain staying power, to work it. So they sell it and stake another, or go begging for investors. Like Alex Mac-Donald. He’s that big, sober, silent fellow sitting over there. Look at the size of him! Big Moose from Antigonish, they call him. If you come with me I’ll introduce you to him.”
The Big Moose had his back to them as they approached.
“Hey, Alex,” said Ogilvie.
“No!” Alex shouted without turning to see who it was. “No deal!” Then he looked around. “It’s you, Ogilvie.” He tipped his cap to him and to Meg. “Ma’am. Pardon me. Thought you was someone else. Pesterin’ me for loans. How do you do?”
Meg shook his hand, tried to engage in conversation, but he grunted and shied away.
All these men I’m meeting, Meg mused, scanning the room, but not the one I was really hoping to. Where is Anton? And Mitzi? And Finn? She asked if anyone had seen a man called Finn around the creeks.
“He had a bad winter of it,” they said. “Got sick. Had to sell his dogs and team up with that darkie friend of his. What’s his name?”
“Jethro?” said Meg.
“That’s it. Jethro. He’s working a good claim. Finn helping. When he ain’t too drunk or sick to stand. If he can stand, expect you’ll see him here tonight.”
“He owes me,” said Alex but would say no more.
“What about Anton Stander?” Meg tried to say casually. “And Mad Mitzi?”
“Oh they’ll be here. And there’ll be a scene. You betcha.”
“What do you mean?”
The man thought of how to put this politely. “She knows how to get a man’s goat.”
“Amongst other things!” Laughter all around.
“Boys!” It was George Carmack shouting over the crowd. “Let’s have a song. Sing my song, why don’t you? Let’s go.”
He launched into singing about himself as the discoverer of gold on Bonanza Creek, with everyone joining in as soon as he got to the chorus. It was a jumble of rhymes, but the gist was clear. Carmack was first and sole discoverer.
Meg had rejoined Daisy with Jim and Charlie when Carmack began the song. Jim sang along as heartily as anyone.
“Your sister Kate told us she was the first to see the gold,” said Meg. “Isn’t that true?”
“Oh sure,” said Jim. “But we were all in on it together. And George had to stake the claim. He figured they wouldn’t let us stake, bein’ as we’re Indians. And he made up the song. So he gives himself the credit.” Jim smiled. “It’s settled out good enough. Charlie and me are takin’ our share. Ogilvie plays fair. He got our claims recorded right and the Mounties back him up. They let us into the saloons too.” Jim looked around with a smile of satisfaction.
“They should!” Daisy stomped her foot.
“Of course they should,” said Meg. “And Kate too. She should be here.”
“Down, girls,” Jim moved his hand as though he were patting pups. “Settle down. They just want to make sure us Indians don’t get too drunk. Charlie and me, we know how to handle ourselves.”
“George should change that song,” said Meg. “It should be about Kate and you too.”
Jim shrugged. Charlie shrugged.
“Meg and I are good singers,” said Daisy. “We’ll give you a song.” Daisy and Meg were standing on the bar singing “Danny Boy,” Belinda herself joining in, though not from on top of the bar, when Anton Stander appeared in the doorway with Mad Mitzi at his side.
Meg faltered mid-song but Daisy carried on with her harmony. Meg picked up and carried on singing to the end of the song. Anton said something to Mitzi then made his way to the bar. Mitzi stood rigidly in the doorway, her shoulders back in regal posture, her chin raised majestically. She tossed a purple stole over her shoulder then let it slide down to catch in the crook of her arms and reveal her bare shoulders and corsetted breasts pushed up to burst over the neckline of her dark pink taffeta dress. A several-strand necklace of gold nuggets hung heavily from her neck.
When they finished singing, men reached up to lift Daisy and Meg down from the bar. Anton caught Meg and pulled her to his chest in an embrace before she could resist. She slowly extricated herself.
“It is you, Margaret.” He looked at her intensely, then swooped her into his arms again, whispering into her ears. “I cannot believe …”
There was a shriek from the doorway. Mad Mitzi’s arms twirled in the air as she sank to the floor in a faint. The crowd turned to look at her and then back at Anton and Meg.
“Something has happened to your friend,” said Meg. “You had better tend to her.”
Anton hesitated, turning from one to the other. “All right.” Mitzi would not revive until Anton had carried her outside.
“Take me home,” she could be heard screaming hysterically. “Take me home!”
Anton came back inside to say to Meg. “I have to leave now. Can I see you tomorrow? Where will you be?”
“I might be here,” she said. “Or at our tent.”
“What tent? Where?”
“Over there.”
“I’ll find you. Tomorrow. Noon.”
Those in the crowd looked at each other, Skookum Jim at Daisy. Belinda looked to the heavens then wiped her bar top.
Anton did not show up at Meg’s tent until the end of the afternoon. Meg was glad to be found returning from walking with Yukon Sally so that it didn’t look like she had been waiting all afternoon for him. Daisy, who had slept all day after staying up most of the night, emerged from the tent. She stared at Anton, wondering what it was about him that took such a hold on Meg, who maintained her distance with all the other men.
“He’s a wonderful dancer,” was all Meg would say about him. “I thought I knew him quite well, in Vancouver.”
Anton took his hat off and held it at his side as he approached Meg.
“I’m sorry, Margaret,” he said. “I could not be more sorry.”
“For what, Anton?” She lifted her chin. Daisy cleared her throat making her presence known.
“Miss.” He nodded to her then said to Meg. “May we take a walk, please?”
“I’ll take care of Yukie,” said Daisy.
Anton and Meg walked up the hillside bereft of trees and sat down upon rocks overlooking Belinda Mulroney’s and the junction of the creeks.
“Where is Mitzi?” said Meg.
“At my cabin. She is not well.”
“Oh?” said Meg. “What is her ailment?”
“She faints.”
“Yes. We all witnessed that.”
“She is nauseous.” Anton took his hat off again and laid it on the ground, ran his hand through his dark, tangled hair.
“What is it? The cause?”
“Could be consumption. I’ve seen more than one die of that around here.”
“What does Mitzi say it is?”
“She thinks … It’s too soon to say for sure. But she fears … It was very bad this morning. She would not let me near her. But she was outside retching. I couldn’t leave her. Eventually she ordered me to go. I must tell you. She fears …”
“Anton, for God’s sake tell me.” Meg stood up impatiently. “What does Mitzi fear?”
“Ah!” Anton stood up close to her. “My beautiful young widow. So full of purpose. Such fire within. And rhythm …” Anton held out his arms to waltz.
Meg lowered her head and pinched the top of her nose to keep back tears.
Anton put his arms around her. “You have come to me often in my dreams. And now I cannot believe it. You are here. As you were. I feel it. But … how can I know what is true? Madeleine said … I am afraid …”
Meg drew back, dug in her heels. “Of what? Just tell me.”
“She thinks she is bearing my child.”
“Bearing your child! How does she know?”
“She cannot be sure. But she says it runs in her family, that her mother knew immediately when she had conceived. Morning sickness began the next day.”
Meg closed her eyes then turned away. “And you believe that.”
“Time will tell. A few months. Perhaps one or two.”
“Or nine. Or more. Or you may never know.”
“I know.” Anton took her hand. “I know what you’re thinking. She could be deceiving me. She is not like you. She is full of feminine wiles. She can drive a man to distraction. But if you saw her retching today, you would take pity on her. That cannot be faked.”
“You think not? Then you had better pick up your hat and proceed. Marry her. Right away. Before she gives birth. Or dies of consumption.” Meg started down the hill.
“Meg!” Anton called angrily. “Stop! Tell me how could you do that? You who I thought was so kind, and true …” Meg turned around. “Do what?”
“Finn was to be your guide. He told you about everything you needed to get over the Chilkoot and to Dawson. He got you to Moore’s and then you found you could do better with the Indian guides. So you rejected Finn, without pay. Abandoned Madeleine who was such a good friend to you in Vancouver. She got you credit at the stores so you could come to the Klondike loaded with supplies to sell at great profit. Then you sent her over the Pass at the worst time of year in the care of Finn who has turned out to be a violent rapist.” Meg stared at him in disbelief. She began to laugh.
“Margaret, how could you … just laugh?”
“Because you’re such a fool, Anton, if you would believe all that. And not check it out! Have you talked to Finn?”
“I have been working my mine.”
“And Mitzi has been working you. She fancies herself a great dancer, but really she’s an incorrigible actress.”
“She’s had a hard time in life,” said Anton, looking sadly at Meg, who stood firmly with her hands on her hips, “a very hard time, compared to you.”
“Really! You know, Anton, you sound like my sister. And you’re wrong! I have a hard time because I’m trying to do something more with my life than serve myself. Yes I’ve had wonderful help from some in that, and really stupid jealousy and prejudice from others. Can you imagine Mitzi in vet college? Full of men who will make a good income and think of her only as a potential wife and mother who should not be there distracting them? Some actually hating and fearing her because she is ‘abnormal’ and bucking convention? I don’t think she’d spend her nights with books, do you?”
He doesn’t know what I’m pointing to, thought Meg. He does not have the intelligence of Randolph or Mick or Constantine. But then what am I pointing to? Mitzi also bucks convention. In normal society she is condemned, looked down upon for “selling her body.” Here in the Klondike it’s an accepted occupation. It’s only the risk of disease and pregnancy they worry about. Anton is prepared to do the right thing in the case of pregnancy, so why am I angry at him?
“I don’t think I understand you,” said Anton.
“Let’s hope you understand your Madeleine.” Meg started down the hill. “Good luck, Anton. I’m going back to my dog.”
Anton accompanied her down the hill in gentlemanly fashion. Yukon Sally, who had broken away from Daisy, came racing up through brush and stumps to find Meg.
Meg sat with two blankets cushioning herself on the hard ground and tree stump she was leaning against. Yukon Sally lay belly up on the ground close by. She was cooling herself in the heat of the early evening sun by exposing her belly and private parts to the air. It was the posture of complete vulnerability and surrender to the environment. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open.
“Yukie!” said Meg, “You look the way I feel. It is undignified.”
Yukon opened her eyes and rolled over onto her belly. She sat up.
“I didn’t realize I harboured such feelings for Anton until I saw how foolish and misplaced they are.”
Yukon gave a brief empathetic howl. The men sawing and banging boards into place over at Belinda Mulroney’s stopped to look.
“Thank you,” said Meg, putting her arm around Yukon. “But don’t let everyone know how bad I feel.”
Daisy came from the vicinity of Belinda’s carrying a tin mug in each hand, careful not to spill the contents. “She’s a tough one,” said Daisy, “that Belinda. No free drinks. Not even for the wounded in heart.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me. No wait. I think I can guess.” Meg took a gulp of whisky. “A woman’s a fool to get mixed up with men.”
“No.” Daisy sat down by Meg.
“Then tell me. I want to know.” Daisy pondered.
“Don’t give me that Indian silence. Speak. Please. I hate not knowing. I hate secrets.”
“She just said that Anton Stander is a fool for whores. And you’re a fool if you’re broken-hearted over him. So I told her a dog doctor is nobody’s fool. Plunked our money down and took our drinks.”
“Thanks, little sister.”
They sat in silence for some time.
“Whores and fools,” said Meg. “What’s the use of talking that way? It’s too simple. I don’t find it helpful. It’s a cover-up. A habit of our times. Like putting cloths and doilies over every piece of furniture. Elaborate hats on our heads. Skirts so long we trip over them. Here it is, 1897, almost the twentieth century and we’re talking as though we’re in the eighteenth. Whores and fools. Might as well be knaves and slaves. And feminine wiles. Is that a good thing or a bad thing … that I have no feminine wiles?”
Daisy looked over into Meg’s tin mug. It was empty.
“You know,” said Daisy, “that I have not been able to understand half of what you have just said. I’ve never seen a doily or a wile. Masculine or feminine. So explain. I hate not knowing.”
Meg waved her hand in the air, brushing away all concepts. “Psshhst!” she said. “It’s all too ordinary. All too human. Lies. Deceits. Greed for gold. People treating people like rags. I gotta go find my old friend Finn. See how he is. Meanwhile …” she leaned woozily over, holding out her empty mug. “Can I have your drink, please Daisy? You’re really too young for all this.”
Meg woke in the darkness after midnight, slapping at a mosquito buzzing round her face. She could hear fiddling in the distance at Belinda Mulroney’s and the plaintive soprano of Daisy’s voice. Then hooting, whistling, stomping, applause, and the chorus of dogs outside. It was deafeningly loud. She pulled the blanket up over her head until it stopped.
Later she wakened to the sound of Skookum Jim and Daisy saying good night to each other in a language she could understand only in its tones of affection. Then Daisy crawled into the tent, Yukon Sally after her. Daisy undressed and got beneath her cover.
“You awake, Meg?”
“Pretending not to be.”
“Sober?”
“Too much so.”
“I want to stay here and work in Belinda’s saloon for a while. I can make twice as much here as in Dawson. Two, not one dollar a dance and …”
“Be closer to Skookum Jim?”
“That too.”
“Where will you live?”
“Belinda will give me free room and board with a room of my own.”
“Daisy, you aren’t planning to …”
“No. No whoring. Belinda’s orders. It led to too much trouble when Mad Mitzi worked there.”
“Explain. Not too many details, please.”
“She played the miners off against each other. There’d be fights at the end of the night because she would promise to go home with one but then go with another, whoever offered more. Belinda kicked her out. Then Mitzi set up her own auction. Staged it outdoors. Auctioned herself off to the highest bidder, doing a dance with veils to get them all excited. And Anton won, with the veil down to you know where.”
Daisy went with Meg to find Finn.
“Last seen staking on that hopeless hill, north side, above Bonanza,” a miner told them. “Sorry sight. Finn’s lone tent. Ain’t nothin’ up there. Finn’s a good man, but he lacks horse sense.”
They took the hill from a long angle, starting a few claims up from the fork. A lone tent could be seen higher up. Looking down at the creeks, they could see Carmack’s claims on Bonanza. Farther away on the banks of Eldorado were the adjacent claims of Clarence Berry and Anton Stander. It was a grey mess of dug-up ground, tents, cabins, and mud heaps unearthed from mine shafts. Mad Mitzi won’t last long there, thought Meg. Life in a shack and mud fields is not her style.
It was a hive of activity below but high up the hillside, nothing but tree stumps and Finn’s lonely tent. They hiked close up to it. He was not in sight.
“Finn.” Meg cupped her hands around her mouth, calling as loud as she could. “Where are you? It’s Meg.”
They heard a weak voice from within the tent and out came a small, fat malamute pup. Yukon Sally raced over to the pup, sniffing, sporting, dominating it. The pup rolled onto his back and crawled on his belly in submission, but also yelped and bounced against Yukon Sally in delight.
“Finn?” Meg looked into the tent.
Finn was lying on his back, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. He fell back.
“Meg,” he said weakly, “I’m afraid I’m a goner. Look after Jake …” He passed out.
“Is he dead?” said Daisy, crawling into the tent. Meg was examining Finn’s eyes, the sores round his mouth, trying to listen to his heart.
“Looks like advanced scurvy to me,” she concluded.
“I’ll go down to Shaaw Tl’áa for help,” said Daisy. Meg searched around. There was a pan of water for Jake the pup and some high smelling bear meat in a cache. A half-full pail of mountain stream water.
Finn came to again. “Did I conk out?” he said. “Am I dreaming or what?”
“Don’t try to get up,” Meg put her hand firmly on his shoulder. “Save your strength. Help is on its way.”
Skookum Jim came up the hill pulling a sled. Along side was Charlie, Daisy, and Kate with a supply of spruce gum.