THE TREASURE

It took ten mules from the Bartlett Freighting Company to carry our gold to Dawson City. Alongside rode the Bartlett brothers and two North West Mounted Police. Caribou, Tip, and I each rode a horse, bringing up the rear of the procession. We followed the Ridge Road along the hills, as the Bartlett brothers advised, rather than passing through the creek claims.

We estimated we were taking out about three hundred thousand dollars in gold dust and nuggets, although it was impossible to tell for certain until we had it assayed at the Canadian Bank of Commerce in Dawson City. We planned to sell most of it to the bank at the current rate of sixteen dollars an ounce. We also planned to keep a few bags for tossing around.

We were not alone on the Ridge Road that July day. Nearly everyone was leaving the Klondike valley. Some sold their claims, as we had, to large commercial companies who were coming in with heavy mining equipment. Others walked away from their claims, worthless or valuable, without looking back. They headed home or toward the new El Dorado in Nome.

The great Klondike Gold Rush was ending, as quickly as it had begun, three years almost to the day since George Carmack discovered gold on Bonanza Creek, two years since the Excelsior landed in San Francisco and announced it to the world.

I was two years older—sixteen—and five inches taller. And I had found my fortune.

In Dawson City our pack train attracted a considerable amount of attention. In fact, a crowd followed us, like a parade, as we moved along the south side of town down to the bank on Front Street.

Queen Tzipporah rode her black horse in fine style, balancing the pansy hat on top of her head. She had started out wearing her fur coat, which was now draped like bunting over the horse.

Caribou and I looked all right too, in new plaid shirts and polished boots. We would be purchasing bearskin coats just as soon as we had time.

I heard my name called and looked up. The Flower Girls were waving feather boas and throwing kisses from the balcony of the Monte Carlo.

I waved back.

“Another Klondike king,” someone called from the crowd.

“Rich and crazy, I hear.”

“Who are the young ones?” another asked.

“They belong to the old man. They are called Crazy Caribou’s kids.”

“I’ve heard of them before. They struck it rich on Gold Hill. Had a spree at the new Fairview. Ordered champagne for breakfast.”

The crowd murmured and drew back as we dismounted. Caribou winked at Tip and me. Then he motioned for the Bartlett brothers to start unloading.

Tip and Caribou stayed at the Fairview Hotel again. I planned to meet my new partner, Beans, at the Regina, where he had been staying for several days.

When I left Tip and Caribou in the lobby of the Fairview, I felt an uncomfortable prick, although I could not explain it. I was simply changing partners. I was moving on. That is what Pa and I had always done.

Beans was waiting for me on the boardwalk outside the Regina. He slapped me smartly on my back, which brought me out of my melancholy. I liked Beans. He was older, but still out for adventure.

“By the way”—he slapped me on the back again—“there will be three of us in our partnership.

“Three?”

“You don’t object, do you?”

“Of course not,” I replied quickly. “Any friend of yours—”

“A friend of mine will be coming in from the Outside on one of the steamboats. Any day now. We have worked together for years.”

It was all right with me. I was just anxious to strike out for Nome and more gold. That is, after I had spent some time at the tailor’s. My pants came almost up to my knees.

Two days later Beans and I went down to the waterfront to watch the Northern Maid leave—with Tip and Caribou and my bags of gold. Two days, and Tip hardly recognized me.

It was because of my new corduroy suit, I suppose. And my stiff white shirt and bow tie and tweed cap. And a gold watch fob, big as my thumb, hanging from my watch chain.

“Th-those new clothes,” Tip stammered, “they make you look taller than Caribou.” She began to cry.

“It isn’t the clothes,” Caribou said, almost hugging the breath out of me. “He is taller. And he is sixteen.”

I did not like this show of emotion in front of my new partner, so I pushed them aboard the steamer, fast. I had never said good-bye to anyone I cared about in my life. Not Ma. Not Pa. Not anyone. So I did not do a bang-up job of it.

“See you later,” I said. And I walked briskly away with Beans.

I turned, after a few minutes, and looked for them. They were on the second deck, squeezing through the crowd to the railing.

Soon the steamboat blew its whistle. And slowly it moved from the dock.

I felt another uncomfortable prick, only this time it was more like a hammer pounding. And I knew I could not ignore the message.

But Beans interrupted.

“What luck,” he said, slapping my back. “My friend has arrived. Meet your new partner, Erickson.”

I turned and held out my hand.

The man’s head was lowered, his eyes scrutinizing my gold watch fob. When he raised his head, I looked directly into his small shifty eyes, not unlike those of a con man I had once known.

“Partner,” he said.

I did not hear what either one of those men said next. I just heard my pa coming through loud and clear. “Time to move on, son. But not in that direction.”

“I just figured that out, Pa,” I said aloud. “Just did.”

I almost lost my treasure that day in Dawson City, and not my bags of gold on the freight deck of the Northern Maid. My treasure was up on the second deck—a gray-haired man and a skinny girl in white fur.

I ran down to the river, frantically waving my arms. “Stop, stop the boat!”

The steamer was in midchannel, its orange paddle wheel splashing water.

“Stop,” I yelled. “Stop!”

Caribou and Tip were leaning over the railing, gesturing hopelessly. Then Caribou grabbed the leather poke hanging from his belt and ran up the narrow stairs to the pilothouse.

I was a crazy fool, yelling and waving at the steamboat. But slowly it turned and eased itself back to shore. It puffed black smoke and blew its shrill whistle—and dropped its gangplank. And I ran aboard.

Passengers crowded around me, asking questions. “What happened, young man? What happened?”

I did not say. I was too breathless.

Finally, when the crowd fell away and the three of us were alone, I said, “Thanks. Thanks for stopping the boat.”

“Took half his poke,” Tip said. She was fanning herself with her muff.

We leaned against the railing, watching the figures on the waterfront become smaller and smaller, watching Dawson City, the City of Gold in a moose swamp, fade into a mist.

“I never have been able to tell the cons from the regulars—right off,” I said.

“Not right off,” Tip said.

“Well, now what?” Caribou was grinning, unable to hide his pleasure.

What next? I hardly knew myself, since I had not planned to go in this direction. I remembered the faded green boardinghouse on Rincon Hill, floating in the fog. The attic room that Pa and I had called home. Mrs. Maxwell and her weary boarders. Almo at the livery.

I remembered my faithful horse, Rexy, trotting up and down the cobblestone hills. The old miner with his heavy suitcases.

And remembering, I smiled.

“To the Palace Hotel, partners,” I shouted. I put my arms around both of them. “To toss a few gold nuggets from the top-floor windows.”