10. A Warning
Eleanor must have taken my words to heart, because when they emerged from their tent the next morning, Anna appeared in much better spirits than she’d been in some time. She abandoned her lonely station in the center of the boat to join Eleanor in the bow, watching for hidden snags or other dangers. Her voice rang out high and excited as she pointed out swimming beavers or leaping fish. Roland smiled at the two of them with indulgent relief.
After a few more days of sailing, we crossed into the Tagish River. And there, on the river’s edge, hung the first sign of true civilization we’d seen since leaving Seattle: the bright colors of the British flag waving above a rough-hewn building with Canadian Customs House painted above the door.
Other boats were putting in and pulling away, and sharp-eyed Mounties waited on the shore to make certain no one slipped past without paying. Some men had pitched tents around the customs house, and as usual an enterprising person had knocked together a few tables and a rudimentary kitchen to make a restaurant.
As we pulled up, Anna turned to her husband. “Please, Roland, may we eat there? It would be so good to have one night not to cook.”
“It’ll cost an arm and a leg,” Doug warned.
Roland gave him a measured look, then turned to Anna. “Of course, my girl,” he said. “What does money mean to us now, when we’ll soon have all the gold we can possibly want?”
Doug huffed, but didn’t argue. Instead, he said, “Let me talk to the customs men. Perhaps I can save us some coin.”
Steve gave him a curious look. When Doug only turned and jogged toward the Canadian officials making their way toward us, he turned the look on me.
Damn.
“My brother has a-a way with words.” That was the hundred-percent truth. “He can be quite persuasive when he wishes to be.”
Roland’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he went to Anna and offered his arm. “May I escort you to dinner, my lady wife?” he asked with exaggerated courtesy.
She took his arm, though to me it seemed as though she hesitated for a split second, her expression dimming before she smoothed it away.
They led the way to the restaurant, Roland leaning heavily on his crutch. A woman, presumably the owner, stood behind a plank inside the tent, ladling moose stew into bowls. The stew, which would have cost a nickel anywhere else, went for an eye-watering twenty-five cents per bowl, along with a “complimentary” cup of coffee.
Eleanor hesitated when she saw the prices, but Roland loudly proclaimed, “Dinner is on me.”
I never turned down a free dinner. We collected our bowls and sat down at one of the three rough tables. The stew was uninspired: hunks of meat in a broth thickened with flour, a sliver or two of potato floating alongside if you were lucky. But it was warm and filling, and the coffee hot. The tent kept out the merciless wind, and a stove provided more heat than I’d felt in a month. The damp air smelled of wet wool and boiled meat.
Doug soon joined us, a triumphant expression on his face. “I talked them down to twenty dollars in duties,” he said as he slid in beside me. “They’re charging some poor saps as much as fifty.”
“How did you do that?” Steve asked in surprise.
Doug shrugged. “I traded one of them the revolver we took from Clarke’s body. Oh, and your rifle.”
Steve’s spoon clattered in his bowl. “You did what? That was mine! We need it!”
“Why? This late in the year, there won’t be any game to hunt, will there? Maybe if we’d made better time, but now?” He shrugged again.
This was too far. “Doug, you can’t just take other people’s things without their permission.”
“Fine.” Doug sighed. “I’ll go back and tell him we’d rather scrape together thirty more dollars.”
“Wait,” Roland said, holding up a hand. “That’s…that’s a lot of money, far more than the rifle is worth.”
“But—” Steve tried to protest.
“Once we have the gold, I’ll buy you the finest rifle available.” Roland glanced down at his bowl, not meeting his son’s questioning gaze. “But if we’re to afford the claim fees…”
Steve’s shoulders slumped. “I see. All right.” He cut a sharp glare at Doug. “But don’t do anything like this again without asking first.”
Doug held up a hand. “I swear it on my honor.”
I’d seen him make the same empty promise a thousand times. We settled down to our stew, but only managed a few bites before the next interruption.
“Excuse me,” said a man at my elbow. “May I sit down?”
He was dressed in the red serge of a Mounty; my chest tightened with fear at the sight. Were we about to get arrested for bribing a customs officer?
“Of course,” Doug said with an easy smile. As if he’d never done an illegal thing in his life.
The Mounty sat stiffly beside me. Clearly, he wasn’t there to eat, as he had no bowl or coffee. “I saw the women with you, so I want to give you fair warning,” he said, nodding politely in the direction of Anna and Eleanor. “According to what I’ve heard, none of the steamers meant to resupply Dawson City for the winter have made it through. Food is going to run out long before spring comes. If you’re thinking to over-winter there, you might want to change your plans.”
“Thank you for the warning, but we plan to spend the coldest months working our own claims,” Steve said.
The Mounty frowned slightly. “Winter is coming quickly. You won’t have much time to build a cabin.”
“Are you saying I can’t take care of my wife?” Roland demanded, his face flushing dark red.
“No, of course not?—”
Steve put a reassuring hand to the Mounty’s wrist, and I had to push down an unexpected surge of jealousy. “I’m accustomed to surviving in the woods, unlike many of our fellow Klondikers,” Steve told him. “We appreciate your concern, but it’s unnecessary.”
“As you say, sir.” The man pulled away and stood up. “I wish you all luck, then.”
It was clear he thought us fools. As he left, Anna said, “If there’s no food…”
“We’re well equipped,” Eleanor reassured her.
“And even if we weren’t, there’s nothing to worry about,” Roland added. “Do you really think no one’s going to push through to Dawson with supplies, when there’s a literal mountain of gold waiting to pay them for it? These Canadians don’t understand good old American ingenuity. If there’s money to be made, someone will figure out how to make it. No one is going to starve.”
“Besides, it isn’t as if we can go back now,” Doug pointed out. “We’d be sailing against the current, and even if we made it all the way back to Lake Lindeman before freeze-up, we’d still have to try to walk out. We’d end up trapped in the wilderness, with no shelter but our tents.”
He didn’t have to point out that would be a death sentence. My brother was right: we had no choice now but to race against winter, and hope it didn’t catch us before we could find shelter.
The bracelet in my pocket clinked softly.