THEY MOVED FINN and his tent down the hill to Carmack’s cabin. After several days of rest, with Kate administering her remedy of spruce gum and hot tea, and then the gradual consumption of dried fish, beans, some moose meat, Finn was strong enough to stand but could not move very far.
“Get me to Dawson,” he said, staggering on his feet. “I got to register my claim.”
Daisy rolled her pale eyes skyward. “Your claim on Hopeless Hill,” said Daisy. “How urgent can that be?”
“He needs several weeks, would you say, Kate?” Meg turned to her. “Maybe months, to recuperate?”
Kate nodded. “More than one moon.”
“She means a month,” said Carmack.
“I understood that,” said Meg sharply, then turned back to Kate.
“If I could purchase a supply of that spruce gum from you, I’ll take Finn back to Dawson to recuperate. There should be lots of onions and potatoes shipped in there by now, but this spruce gum works even better than oranges.”
Kate gave her a large container of spruce gum. Would take nothing for it.
“So,” said Daisy to Meg back in their own tent, “are you going to be shacking up with a man in place of me?”
Meg laughed. “I guess so. Being as there’s no hospital yet in Dawson.”
“Finn in the bedroom … it’ll be the talk of the town.”
Meg shrugged. “In Halifax, I might care,” she said. “Though I’d still do it. In Dawson, it doesn’t matter. But how am I going to get him there? That’s the problem.”
“Big Moose is going back by scow, down the Klondike. Why not hitch a ride with him? Skookum Jim could pull Finn down the creeks to get you to the river.”
“That could work,” said Meg. “If I could manage to have a conversation with the Moose that doesn’t begin and end with ‘no!’ My dog is more articulate than he is.”
Alex, The Big Moose from Antigonish, was at Belinda’s that night.
“He’ll do it,” Belinda said to Meg. “He’s a big softee, really. I can out-bargain him any time.”
Meg sallied up to end of the bar where Big Alex stood leaning and watching from his usual post. “Hello Big Moose.” She smiled at him. “Do you mind if I call you that?”
He shook his head in a way that could have meant yes, or no, or complete disdain. Then he moved away, excusing himself with a tip of his hat.
“What have I done?” Meg asked Belinda. “He got so offended I couldn’t even broach the subject.”
“I’ll talk to the big oaf,” she said. “You just get Finn to the scow. Alex will be there to take you. I’ll see to that.”
“Doesn’t he like being called Big Moose?”
“Would you?”
“Is he afraid of women?”
“Drinking ones? Yes.”
Hell and damnation, thought Meg next morning as she walked behind the procession following the creek path to the Klondike. Skookum Jim was in the lead, pulling Finn on a sled. Finn was bumping along, lying on his back, holding the fat pup, Jake, on his chest. Yukon Sally was keeping pace with Jim, and every so often going back to keep Jake in line. Big Moose strode ahead of Meg. I guess I should apologize, Meg said to herself, apologize to this Darwinian ape in front of me. On the other hand, so should he. That was extremely rude to get up and walk away from a lady. A gentleman doesn’t do that.
“Mr. McDonald,” she said in a clear, frank voice. “I will not apologize for drinking, because that is my pleasure, at times. But I do apologize for calling you Big Moose, if it offends you.”
He flapped his hand in the air, brushing the thought away as though it were a mosquito.
Meg quick-stepped to walk beside him. “Mr. McDonald, I do not like walking behind you like a servant. An ill-treated servant.”
“Alex.”
“Thank you. I’m Meg.” Silence.
“You talk with Belinda. Would you please talk with me, in a similar vein?”
“Business.”
“Precisely. My friend Finn has staked a claim and I need …”
“No!”
“No what?”
“No deal. And don’t say please. I can’t stand wheedling.”
Ahah! thought Meg, a full sentence. “I am not wheedling, Alex. I just need to know how to register the claim for Finn. He’s not well enough and he doesn’t have so much as a down payment. But I am a businesswoman myself and I do have some capital.”
“In gold? Gold is trash.”
“Gold is trash?!”
“I bought my first claim for a sack of flour and a half-side of bacon. Now I’m rich as Croesus. A King of the Klondike. But I don’t carry so much as a poke of gold.”
“That first claim turned out to be a fortune in gold. How can you say gold is trash? It’s the basis of your wealth.”
The Big Moose just shrugged.
All right, so he doesn’t like to argue. “Alex. Tell me how you got so rich. Everyone knows you are. But how did you start out?”
“Farm boy near Antigonish.”
“And then what?”
“Took off. Years in Colorado silver mines.”
“And then?”
“Headed north to the Yukon. Not much good at finding anything on my own. Pushed a wheelbarrow around for others. Not much good at talkin’, but got good ears. Know where to trade. Bacon turns into a gold mine. But gold is trash if you throw it away.” Alex took a deep breath, exhausted by this unusual expenditure of words.
“Gold is trash if you throw it away, eh.”
Alex nodded. “Stander throws it away.”
“I see.” Silence.
“What does he throw it away on?” Silence, for many steps.
“I’m not asking for money, or deals, Alex.”
“You should. Got a good head on your shoulders. Like Belinda.”
“Why, thank you for the compliment. But I was asking your opinion on Anton Stander.”
“Throws it away on loose women.”
“Well, that doesn’t include me …” Meg fell off weakly, thinking maybe it did.
“Your friend Finn here. He throws it away on booze. He’s a bad investment.”
“He’s still my friend. But if you’re trying to tell me I throw myself or my money away on men, you’re quite wrong. My money goes to the dogs.”
Alex laughed loud as a moose’s honk. “That’s a good one. Right smart here in the Klondike. I’ll loan you some trash for that business if need be.”
“Thank you, Alex. I’ll bear that in mind.”
Finn looked so wobbly as he got up from the sled that Skookum Jim picked him up and carried him to be laid down in the flat-bottom scow.
“You’ll look after our young Daisy, won’t you please, Jim?” said Meg, shaking his hand.
“She’s a Wolf,” he said. “One of the clan.”
“Good enough,” said Meg. “Thank you. See you all back in Dawson?”
“Sure thing,” said Jim, who liked to use Carmack’s expressions. It was a quiet ride down the muddy brown currents of the Klondike. Meg was amazed at the number of boats with prospectors heading upriver to the gold creeks. There must have been a big influx into Dawson while she was away. She waved to the people. Yukon Sally sat up, alert and cautious as a wolf guarding her pack and pup in uncertain circumstances. Alex sat silent, Finn was in a doze. Meg thought of what Finn had told her when he became lucid, describing what had actually happened when he took Mad Mitzi over the Chilkoot and downriver.
Finn said Mitzi had thrown hysterics, many times. He tried to coax her. She increased her hysterics. He slapped her cheek and threw her over his back. Carried her up the steepest parts. Told her to wait while he went back to carry up the packs. She came running after him. He took her back up mountain. Tied her to a tree. That made her so truly mad with fear of being attacked by bears and cougars that she fell into a petrified silence. Eventually listened to reason and agreed to wait with his gun in her keeping while he transported the packs, then came back to carry her.
“She got so crazy,” Finn said, “I had to worry she would use the gun on me. But in the end, she has a shrewdness about her that gets her around most anything. Makes her hang onto whoever will get her through the worst. And she sure knows how to drive a man wild in the sack. Up against a tree. Wherever … sorry, Meg. But she sure knows how to use what she has and loves a man using her. Even with no money involved. I don’t have any, as you know. But I got her to Whitehorse in spite of some of the worst conditions I’ve seen. The Chilkoot Stairs were greased with ice and rain and early snow. Everywhere it was filling over so fast with ice that the Indians wouldn’t go on the lake and downriver. But I got the loan of their canoe and got us, canoe and all, to Whitehorse.
“Neither Mitzi nor me would get back on that river until it was frozen solid. She had a wild time with the men in Whitehorse. I was busy hunting and ice fishing to feed my dogs, store up a bit for the trip to Dawson. She used my cabin there as her base but spent most time in the other men’s cabins. Made enough at her trade to buy herself some finery once I got her to Dawson. But she wouldn’t pay me for getting her there. Told me she had paid me more than enough with her ‘services.’ Told Constantine I was a woman beater and rapist. Wanted me in jail to get rid of me. Figured me being around with a different story wasn’t good for her business with the Klondike Kings.
“Constantine wasn’t sure who to believe, until my friends arrived and put in some good words for me. Constantine then let me out of the clinker. Wasn’t too bad in there. Free food, just had to chop a lot of wood, and they looked after my dogs good. Constantine made Mitzi pay me enough to get out to the creeks with start up supplies. But it was end of winter, ground still frozen, and I guess I’m not much good at prospectin’. Had to team up with Jethro. Sold him my dogs.” Finn’s eyes watered and he turned away. “They were in bad shape. I hadn’t been able to feed them well enough. Come spring, my bitch, now Jethro’s, had a litter of only one. Jake had all the teats to himself. Little fat boy. But he’s a good-looking malamute. All my dogs are. Best matched team of malamutes around. Jethro’s a good man. He gave me the pup once it was weaned. He’d be a good mate for your Yukon Sally, Meg.”
It was mid-August when Meg landed back in Dawson with Big Alex and Finn, Yukon Sally, and Jake. She was astounded by the growth. So many more boats at the floating docks. The streets filling up with buildings and thronging with people. Constantine in his red serge was superintending the crowds at the docks. The Alice had arrived with many passengers. Fashionably dressed men and women were proceeding down the gangplank. It was a new breed of citizens for Dawson City. Not just new prospectors and entrepreneurs of the saloon entertainment business, but entrepreneurs of all trades. Bankers, jewellers, journalists, cobblers, and cabinet makers.
Constantine came over to greet Meg and company. He saw Big Alex hoist himself up onto the dock and begin to step up onto the river bank but then turn, reach down, and lift Meg up by the armpits to a standing position on the dock. She laughed and saluted Constantine. “Beg to report, sir, I have returned from the battlefields with the sick and wounded.”
Constantine looked at Finn trying to get himself upright. Then he shouted to Wiggins.
“Ambulance required. Finn’s back in town.” He turned to Meg. “Finn the Unfortunate. Ever seen a man so prone to trouble? Though he’s come back with a better class of escort this time.”
Finn was transported to Meg’s in the ambulance, a long cart hauled by the Mounties’ biggest team of malamutes.
Constantine dropped by later that night. “This town is overloaded,” he said, sitting down briefly at Meg’s table. “They’re coming downriver from Skagway and upriver from Alaska. Costs a thousand dollars for that sternwheeler trip upriver from St. Michael’s. They’re better dressed, but worse-equipped riff raff. Arrive with no supplies, expecting to find everything here as if Dawson were a real city. I don’t know what in Tarnation they’re hearing on the Outside. But it’s sure not my reports of this escalating situation. In spring, we had just under two thousand so-called citizens registered. Now I reckon we’re dealing with five thousand.”
But none of them is Jacques or Mick, Meg thought to herself. She had estimated that if her letter arrived in mid- or late July, Jacques could get to Dawson by the end of August, if he acted quickly. Clearly, he had not. There was not so much as a letter of response from Alice. Or from Mick.
“We could do with a medical doctor,” Meg said to Constantine. “Any of those arrived?”
“Not a one, though they were on my request list to headquarters. But we do have ourselves one genuine Catholic priest. Father William Judge.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s not riff raff. I’ll tell you that. Figured he was, at first. With such a name … Father Judge! Arrived just after you left, coming with the hordes of greeds and grubbers from Skagway. Calls himself Judge. Look at me,” Constantine adjusted his hat. “I have to do a judge’s work but I don’t try to con anyone into thinking I’m the genuine article. Got one on order and I can’t wait to hand over a desk to him. But I was wary of this man calling himself Judge, arrives wearing the cloth. Some mighty nasty hustlers can put on the white dog collar and operate in the wilds. You’d be surprised Meg, what strange practices some men have.”
“Strange things go on in real cities too,” said Meg. “I know more than you think I do.”
Constantine looked at her in a way that reminded Meg of one malamute assessing another. She laughed. “Some time, when you have time, Charles, we can tell our own stories. What about Judge?”
“He’s a proper priest. Does his job and more. Not a normal man. Goes far and beyond the call of duty. Mans as many desks as I do. He’s building a church and the pews within, all with his own hands. Mind you, he’s a sorry-looking specimen of a man. Skin and bones. A cannibal would throw him aside.”
When the citizens of Dawson saw Finn recover from an advanced case of scurvy under the care of Dr. Meg, some came to her for medical help.
“It wasn’t me,” said Meg. “It was Kate Carmack’s expertise. Spruce gum and bed rest.”
“Spruce gum. What’s that? Tree sap?”
“It is.”
“Why should I have to pay for that?” “You don’t. Go get it yourself if you want.”
But they didn’t know how. And couldn’t be bothered. Or didn’t believe her. Or had no respect for “Indian medicine.” But others saw, believed, and were willing to pay for the expertise and product. The most influential of these was Father Judge.
He came to her on the recommendation of Finn himself, who when strong enough had walked over to the site of the church under construction and pitched in. Big Alex, also a Catholic, had pitched in a large amount of “trash” to pay for the building materials.
When the church was basically built, Father Judge came knocking on Meg’s door. “I understand you’re not Catholic,” he said. “But you have quite a reputation as a doctor. And I was wondering if you might help me in creating a hospital for people?”
Thus the dog doctor was lured into fundraising and eventually administering at the human hospital of Dawson City.
With his regaining strength, Finn had reached out to Meg and tried to pull her into his bed.
“No, Finn,” she said. “You’re my friend and guest, only.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to thank you, with all I got. You know I’m crazy about you. Always have been. You’re through with Stander. You should have someone. What’s the matter with me?” He threw off the blankets revealing his thin but strong body and his enlarged private parts.
Meg left the room, but couldn’t help smiling as she said through the doorway. “Nothing, Finn. There’s nothing the matter with you. You’re obviously all cured.”
“So I’ll have to move out?”
“Yes. As soon as you find a place.”
“I’m sorry, Meg. I won’t ever show you my pecker again. Forgive me?”
“Of course. You’re a well-built male, Finn.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Finn got a room over Ladue’s sawmill, where he obtained work as a carpenter.
“You don’t have to give me Jake,” Meg said when Finn was moving out.
“Oh, yes I do,” he said. “He’s attached to Yukon Sally and you. And come spring, I’ll be back at the creeks, working that claim you so kindly registered for me. Might be broke and unable to feed myself again. He’s yours.”
“Thank you, Finn.” She hugged him. “Yukie and I will take good care of Jake.”
Not only potential citizens, but tourists began to arrive in Dawson at the end of that summer of ’97. They were wealthy world travellers who wanted to see and contribute to this exotic settlement in the far north that was being advertised worldwide as the site of the last great gold rush on earth. Two such tourists were a female couple who came down the gangplank on the last big passenger boat of the summer, leading two well-groomed Great Danes. The women themselves were an impressive pair. Both wore military-style caps rather than hats. Edith von Born was in a dark, trim dress, Mary E. Hitchcock in a dark tailored suit.
Constable Wiggins was called to the scene. He politely welcomed and interviewed the women then quickly sent word to Constantine about the peculiar nature of their baggage. They had brought an ice cream machine, a magic lantern, a zither, a mandolin, a bowling alley, a score of pigeons, two canaries and a parrot, along with their Great Danes.
“Pigeons and parrots!” Constantine shouted. “What are they going to do when it’s sixty below! Get those women and their zoo back on the boat.” He put his head down to his work at desk number two. “Wait! Pigeons make good pie. And that parrot. We better ask our veterinarian about that.”
Misses von Born and Hitchcock said they would be most interested in meeting a woman dog doctor. “You ladies and your dogs don’t want to stay,” Constantine said bluntly. “We’re going to run out of grub here this winter if the situation doesn’t improve. Dogs have been known to be eaten for food in these climes, in desperate circumstances.”
“Sir,” said Edith von Born, “we ourselves had quickly concluded that this is not a comfortable wintering place. However, we do have the right to dispose of our goods, do we not?”
They did not warm to the Mountie in command of Dawson City but they thought Meg and the teams of sled dogs she introduced them to were a highlight in all their world of travels. Meg had the dogs do “wolf howls” for the ladies. She directed demonstrations of their pulling powers, told them of their Arctic wolf ancestry, pointed to the territory on top of Dome Mountain where a pack of wolves sometimes howled in the night, setting off the dogs of Dawson to howl in response.
“Let us have a photograph of ourselves with these dogs, shall we, Edith?” Mary exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “And we’ll tell everyone they are wolves!”
But there were as yet no photographers in Dawson and their boat was giving a warning bell of imminent departure.
“Thank you for this most interesting tour of Dawson City,” said Edith. “It would appear we have run out of time to carefully dispose of our goods. And I thought they would be so useful to a burgeoning place like this! I have an idea. I hope you will agree with me, Mary, dear. We could donate our birds and goods to this most unusual veterinary clinic. Could we not? A good cause, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Lovely idea,” Mary smiled. “I’m sure our dogs agree.”
Edith turned to Meg. “The income from the sale of our goods would be at your disposal. Perhaps you could have an auction. What do you say to that?”
“Thank you very, very much. Auctioning is a way of life in Dawson.”
There was many an auction at the end of that summer in Dawson City. Saloon girls auctioned themselves off for the winter to the highest bidder for their weight in gold. One girl made it more interesting by presenting herself naked in a tub of wine. Meg presided at the auctions of dogs for breeding and for team work. She added to their value by certifying their health, showing charts of their blood lines, and being the consultant on canine genetics. She advocated selective breeding instead of the laissez-faire system in operation, which was the cause of many a dog fight in Dawson City. Her highest recommended male and female dogs sold for over a thousand dollars that season.
But the best-attended auction of all was the one with Father Judge and Doctor Meg auctioning off an ice cream machine, a magic lantern, a zither, a mandolin, a bowling alley, a score of pigeons, two canaries and a parrot, with all proceeds going to the building of a hospital in Dawson City.
“Pigeons,” Meg shouted from the balcony of a saloon at the huge crowd gathered below on Front Street. “Trained carrier pigeons. Send a message to your loved ones. Fastest mail out of Dawson City.”
“And you’ll be wishing this winter you’d saved them for pie,” Constantine grumbled.
“Canaries,” shouted Meg. “Come on, all you rich Kings of the Klondike. You know there’s no better pet in a mine than a singing canary.”
“And this handsome parrot,” she shouted, while Father Judge held the parrot aloft. “Pope Parrot, is his name; for, he comes with the Church’s blessing, to raise money for our hospital. I’m going to start the bidding at $2,000. And that includes one year of free veterinary checkups.”