Chapter Forty-Two

They walked most of the night, stopping only for something to eat and a few hours sleep when it was darkest. Angus chafed at taking even that short break, but Sterling reminded him, once more, they would do his mother no favours if they missed signs in the darkness. Fiona and Sheridan had left the trapper’s cabin not more than eight or nine hours earlier. If they stopped to sleep a full night, the pursuers should catch up to them today.

Angus was in charge of supper tonight. They were having rabbit, roasted over open flame, and the smell was making his mouth water. Of like mind, Millie was attempting to edge closer to the meat. He wished he’d been able to bag a rabbit or ptarmigan, something to contribute to dinner. McAllen had been patient and helpful, showing the boy how to steady and aim the Winchester, how to squeeze the trigger, to anticipate the recoil, how to reload. Despite not killing anything, he felt like a man, proud of his newly learned skill.

“Do you think we’ve been particularly lucky,” Angus said, struggling to open a can of beans, “that the trail’s been easy to follow and people have seen my mother?”

Sterling puffed on his pipe. Firelight danced on the sharp bones of his face and illuminated the depths of his eyes. He’d placed his broad-brimmed hat on top of his pack, and dark hair curled around the back of his neck. The stubble on his face was coming in black and thick. Angus had checked his own face this morning — to his great disappointment there were still no signs of whiskers.

“They say,” Sterling said slowly, “in the far north, where the sun never sets at all in the summer and never rises in the dead of winter, a man can travel hundreds of miles without coming across another human being. Whole ships, great sailing ships, and all their crew have disappeared into that empty land, leaving not a trace behind to tell of their fate. Here, there’s usually someone around, in summer anyway. Indians, trappers, prospectors, not to mention whisky traders and missionaries. Sheridan hasn’t been trying to hide his tracks. If he had, then we might well not be able to follow them so easily.”

Angus was about to announce the rabbits were ready when Millie’s ears shot up and she leapt to her feet with a bark. Sterling grabbed the Winchester and stood up, pipe clenched between his teeth. Donohue and McAllen froze in place. Angus stopped breathing. Within the dark forest, leaves rustled and a branch broke.

“North-West Mounted Police,” Sterling shouted. “Lower your weapon and come forward.”

They heard a sharp puff of air. A horse whinnied and the trees parted. A thin brown horse walked into the clearing. It was wearing a bridle, and a rope trailed between its front legs. Sterling lowered the rifle. McAllen stepped toward the animal and spoke to it in low soothing tones. The horse pawed the ground and allowed the constable to stretch out one hand and stroke the soft nose.

“McAllen,” Sterling ordered, “tie it up. Angus, pull out a handful of oatmeal and give it to him while McAllen gets it secured.”

The horse sucked up the offering and allowed McAllen to grab the rope and loop it around a tree.

“Where do you suppose he’s come from?” Donohue said. Millie returned to guarding the dinner.

“No wild horses in this part of the world,” McAllen said, studying the animal. “And this one isn’t wild in any event.”

“Fiona?” Donohue said. “She was riding a horse, Whiteside told us. Is this it?”

“I’ll assume that’s the case until I know otherwise,” Sterling said.

“How do you suppose ...” Angus said.

“No point in supposing anything,” Sterling interrupted. “We don’t know what it’s doing on its own. At a guess, probably got loose and wandered away from your mother’s campsite and then decided it didn’t want to be out here on its own after all. The horse is clearly unharmed.” It ripped up vegetation and munched happily, ignoring the watching men.

Angus stroked the long neck. “Wish he could talk.”

“McAllen, load some of our gear onto the horse when we’re ready to go. Give us a bit of a break. It smells as if those rabbits are starting to burn. Mr. MacGillivray, better see to your duties.”

Angus wanted to leap on the horse’s back and gallop off down the trail. Surely they were close now. He curbed his impatience and began serving supper.

He fell asleep listening to the horse’s breathing, the stamp of hooves on the hard ground, and the tearing of leaves and grasses. He awoke when Sterling poked his blankets with his foot. “Time to go.” The sun was low in the east. Angus didn’t have to look at his watch to know it was only about four o’clock.

The horse seemed happy enough to have a couple of packs slung over its back, and they set off without bothering with breakfast.

After all, it had only been three hours since supper.

A strong wind had come up during the night, bringing with it high, fast-moving clouds, and the temperature had dropped noticeably while they slept.

Two hours walking brought them to the edge of the forest. Before them stretched the tundra, empty and beautiful. They stood at the top of the hill for a long time. Even Angus felt the urge to pause and stare.

“Wish I’d thought to bring glasses,” Sterling muttered.

“Do you think that’s it?” Donohue slowly lifted his hand and pointed at the single peak rising out of the plain. “Gold Mountain?”

“It might be where Sheridan’s heading,” Sterling snapped, “but it sure isn’t any gold mountain.”

“Does that mountain have a name?” Angus asked. “The one standing all on its own. It must be quite a landmark.”

Sterling rubbed at his chin. “Don’t think it’s on any map. Least not any map I’ve ever seen. McAllen?”

The constable shook his head. “Never even heard anyone talk about it, and there are Mounties and traders with Taylor and Drury who’ve been up this way.”

They soon came to a small creek. Once again there were signs of a fire and camp. The creek was only a few feet wide, and on the other shore they could see more evidence that someone had been there very recently.

Sterling slapped Angus on the back. “Not much longer now, son. We’ll find your mother.”

“Poor Mother,” Angus said. “She swore she’d never set foot in the wilderness again, and now look where she is. I really do want to get her home.”

“I’m supposed to be going to Forty Mile next week,” McAllen said. “Hope we’re back in time.”

“We will be,” Sterling said. He stared across the land and saw Fiona in his mind’s eye. He swallowed the lump of emotion that threatened to choke him. “We’ll get your mother back to the Savoy, Angus, where she belongs.”

“Gold Mountain.” Donohue’s voice was dreamy. “Perhaps it really is true. There are hot springs around, everyone knows that. Why not one so big it can heat a valley? And gold. A mountain of pure gold.”

“No point in standing here talking,” Sterling said. “Let’s go.”

McAllen went first. He crossed quickly, checking for deep spots or places where a man might lose his footing. But the water was very shallow, and he gestured for the remainder of the party to follow.

Graham Donohue put one foot into the water. Then he took it out again. Angus watched as he put it back. And then took it out. Donohue shook himself, all over, and retreated a couple of feet. “I’m awfully tired. Let’s have a rest before we carry on.”

“Are you crazy?” Sterling said. “We stopped for coffee less than an hour ago.”

“I have to catch my breath. You go ahead.”

Sterling was leading the horse. He got several feet across the creek when the rope jerked tight. He looked back. The horse was standing at the water’s edge, its feet locked, eyes wide with terror. “What on earth?” Sterling waded back to the animal. He gathered up loose rope so his hand was under the horse’s neck. “Come on, fellow.” The horse refused to budge. It took a step back, pulling Sterling along with it.

“What’s the matter?” McAllen called.

Sterling studied the clear water beneath his feet. Tiny silver fish darted around the pebbles. Nothing that should frighten a horse, but no matter how hard he pulled on the rope, the animal refused to take a step forward.

“Get over to the other side, Angus,” Sterling said.

Angus stepped into the water. Millie put her front paws in and stopped dead. Angus pulled on the lead. Millie pulled back. She whined and the short hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. “Come on, Millie,” Angus said. “I’m not going to carry you.”

The dog growled at him, her teeth bared. Angus blinked in surprise. “Mr. Sterling, she doesn’t want to come either.”

Sterling looked around. McAllen was on the other bank, his young face curious as to what was taking everyone so long. Donohue had sat down, removed his right boot and sock and was rubbing his naked foot with a look of mind disinterest.

“Never seen anything like this before,” Sterling said. “It’s as if they’re mutinying. Donohue, will you get the heck up. We’re not waiting for you. This is obviously the way. Mrs. MacGillivray was here last night and I suspect they’re not more than a few hours ahead of us, if that.”

Donohue shook his head. “Sorry. Don’t know what came over me.” He put his footwear back on and stood.

“Don’t you show me your teeth,” Angus said to Millie, pitching his voice deep and low and giving a growl of his own. He pulled hard on the dog’s lead. “Now, come on.” She snarled and resisted. “Don’t you want to help Mother? You helped her before. She needs you again.”

The big white dog looked at him for a long time. Angus stared into her eyes, wondering what thoughts were going on behind them. Then she gave a single loud bark and ran across the creek with such speed it seemed as if her feet didn’t touch the surface of the water. It was all Angus could do to keep his own feet from being pulled out from under him.

Graham Donohue stood with one foot in the water. His face was lined with strain as if he were involved in a game of tug-of-war and his side was losing. Then all the tension drained out of his face and he stepped back.

“Not today,” he said. “You men carry on. I’ll catch you up later.”

“Are you nuts?” Sterling said. He was still in the creek, still gripping the horse’s lead. Icy water was beginning to find its way through the stitching in his boots. Unlike Millie, the horse wasn’t budging. “Stay here, then,” he said, swallowing a string of curses. With short, angry movements he untied the bags from the horse’s back. All Donohue was carrying were his own things. Sterling threw the rope to the newspaperman. “Mrs. MacGillivray may need to ride. Be sure you’re here when we get back or I’ll see that you get a blue ticket. Hear me, Donohue?”

Donohue waved his hand in the air. “Just need a short rest, then I’ll follow. This seems like a nice spot.” He lay back and closed his eyes. The end of the rope was loose in his hand and the horse stood beside him.

Sterling and McAllen exchanged glances. “Strangest damn thing I ever did see. Begging your pardon, Angus.”