14. Claimed
The Gold Commissioner’s office consisted of a log cabin, every bit as rough and dirty as the rest in Dawson. A line of men trailed out the front door: cheechakos like us, all eager to register our claims before freeze-up and winter made travel to and from the city difficult. As we joined the line, those around us were eagerly swapping stories about their finds—or lack thereof.
“Five dollars a pan,” one said, “down on Last Chance Creek.”
“I ain’t found nothing yet,” said another. “But the sourdoughs I staked next to said they’re pulling out ten a pan, so that’s good enough for me!”
Eventually, attention drifted to us. “What about you, friends?” someone asked.
As usual, Doug took the lead. “We’re taking a bit of a chance on a creek we spotted on the way here, about seventy miles off. Not much to look at, only eight cents a pan, but who knows?” He shrugged, grinning like a fool as he did so.
Clarke had said the miner’s code was to always share news of a find. But of course that meant nothing to Doug. I might have contradicted him…but I didn’t.
I never did.
Perhaps things had been different, once, in that long ago time I tried never to think about. The first time I remembered for certain that I’d followed his lies was standing in front of our parents. I couldn’t recall if we’d been in the parlor, or the front yard, or somewhere else.
He’d sworn up and down that the two of us had gone to look for frogs in the marsh, as we often did at that age. The opposite direction from the house and the railroad tracks. And we hadn’t seen Bessie all morning, had assumed she was helping Mom shell peas or else playing with dolls. We had no idea why she would have been on that train by herself, little as she was.
We—I—had nothing to do with her death. Indeed, I’d gotten hurt trying to save her, even though we’d arrived far too late.
I’d felt like I was standing outside myself as he spun his tale. And when it was over, when Dad turned his grief-filled eyes on me and asked if it was true…I went along with the lie.
Six months later, we left. Our parents had stopped caring for anything but their loss, Mom either weeping or asleep, dreaming laudanum dreams. Dad turned to the whiskey bottle. The two of us might as well have been ghosts in our own house, as if we’d died alongside Bessie.
I should have, if I weren’t such a coward.
By then Doug realized he could lie to adults and get away with it. So the lies continued, gradually turning into schemes, and now here we were. Breaking the miner’s code, even though we’d just seen that code send a man to his death for defying it.
Was stealing worse than withholding information about a strike? Or did it depend on the day, on the mood of the men handing out the justice, on the silver tongue of the accused?
Our arrival at the head of the line jolted me out of my morose thoughts. The cabin was sectioned off; the front room where we stood contained gold scales of all sizes, as well as a large desk hewn from the same timber as the walls. Notices posted on the walls advised that the Canadian government taxed all finds at ten-percent for any claim yielding under five-hundred dollars a day, and twenty-percent for anything over.
Five-hundred dollars a day. The very idea made my head spin.
A harried-looking man sat behind the desk, paperwork piled high all around him. “Name and location of your claim,” he said without a greeting.
“Douglas Muir, Coffin Bone Creek.”
The official scowled and shoved a map toward him. “That creek isn’t listed yet—find it on the map and mark your location.”
So the unfortunate Bill had never made it into Dawson to register his stake. We were free and clear to claim it for ourselves.
We’d told the Kilgores we’d make sure everyone’s names were on part of the claim, listed as co-owners. Doug had even made them write their names down, to make sure we had the spelling correct. In a fair world, Eleanor would be listed as well, considering it was her money that had brought us here. But women weren’t allowed to register claims.
Our agreement was that we’d share everything—the work, the cabin, our supplies. Then we’d split whatever gold we found right down the middle, half to the Kilgores and half to Eleanor and us. After, each group would divide it up according to whatever original agreements they’d made amongst themselves.
The official grunted at the map, then turned to the register. “I take it you’re the discoverer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re entitled to the discovery claim of a thousand feet by a thousand feet, then.”
“I’ll take that.” He jerked his thumb at me. “And my brother here is laying claim to Number One Above.”
He made no mention of the Kilgores.
* * *
I wanted—needed—to protest. To remind him of our deal with our partners.
Except Doug had never seen them as partners, only as marks. And if I said something in front of this mining official, he would rightfully grow suspicious. He might deny us the claims.
And then all of the expense and the struggle to get here would have been for nothing. We might find ourselves forced out of the cabin, off the land, only to wander the streets with all the other aimless men in Dawson.
The official recorded our claims in his book, then had us hold up our hands and swear we told the truth. I did so numbly, my stomach clenching in dread even though I’d long abandoned any belief in the God I now swore by. We then paid ten dollars each for our mining licenses, plus the fifteen dollar filing fee, all of which had been sourced by pooling our remaining money with the Kilgores. The official copied our information onto certificates of ownership, passed them to us, and called on the next miner without so much as a suspicious glance.
Once we were back outside, I grabbed Doug’s arm and steered him away from the line waiting to get in. “What are you doing?” I hissed. “That wasn’t the deal!”
Doug heaved a sigh. “And this is why I didn’t tell you beforehand. Let me spell it out for you: you and I are now the legal owners of any and all gold that comes out of the ground on these claims. When we follow through with our plan next summer, chances are the Kilgores will go to the Mounties and the commission to report us. Except we won’t have broken a single law; the gold we take will belong to us fair and square.”
“There’s nothing ‘fair and square’ about it,” I snapped.
“If they wanted to have their names registered, they should have come themselves,” he said with supreme indifference. “Seems fair enough to me.”
A strange heat invaded my chest, though it took me a moment to recognize it as anger. I never got angry with Doug—I couldn’t afford to. Unsure what to do with the emotion, I said, “It’s not right.”
Doug turned abruptly, his hands closing on the front of my mackinaw. “Listen to me, little brother,” he said in a low voice. His gold tooth flashed as his lip curled with anger. “Don’t you go thinking of the Kilgores, of Eleanor, as friends. We haven’t got any friends. Friends make a man weak, especially in this line of work. It’s just you and me, like always.”
It had been so much easier to follow his rules when we were constantly on the move. After spending so much time with Steve—and the others, of course—I couldn’t help but come to know him. To like him, perhaps a bit more than I should.
Doug’s fingers tightened, pressing my collar into my throat. “What would they all think if they knew the truth about you?” he asked in a soft, dangerous voice. “Shall we find out? Go back to the cabin, tell them that you lured our baby sister to her death, then stood by and did nothing to save her?”
I wanted to protest it had been an accident, that I never thought it would turn out the way it had…but what did that matter? It changed nothing.
I imagined Steve’s look of disgust, the hate-filled glares of the women. Roland might have me tossed out into the snow, to die slow, like the poor thief we’d seen earlier.
I backed down. “All right. We’ll do it your way.”
Doug immediately smiled and released me, his mood switching from stormy to sunny in an instant. “I’m glad you’ve seen reason,” he said, smoothing down the front of my coat. “If any of the others ask about the certificates, say we left them in the safe-keeping of the Gold Commissioner, just in case of some disaster like the cabin burning down.”
I nodded my understanding, and he stepped away. “Come on—I’m in need of a drink after all. We’ll go to one of the smaller establishments this time.”
He headed off, humming happily to himself. I followed, my mood much lower.
From the start, I’d told myself that I’d be able to convince him to abandon the plan of stealing from our comrades. That over the winter, he’d come to see them as partners rather than marks.
But now…I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure at all.