Chapter 39
Dawson had been a settlement of less than five hundred souls only a year ago, and now it numbered in the thousands.
Like Juneau, albeit smaller and rougher, its muddy streets were lined with a motley mix of dwellings—log cabins, tin-roofed shacks, tents, and the odd more dignified structure with a wooden facade.
The streets themselves were full of prospectors—some who had already struck it rich, others who were desperate to strike out and find the yellow dust for themselves.
After five hundred miles on the Yukon, it felt strange to tie up the boat and walk into Dawson’s trading post, where miners brought their gold to be weighed, and paid sky-high prices for the few necessary staples on offer.
Maggie had no idea what she looked like; although her dip in the Yukon had washed her clean, she hadn’t looked in a mirror in over a month.
It had been a week since her accident, and after two days in Hootalinqua, where Brendan had repaired their boat, they’d journeyed on.
He’d insisted she get out at Five Finger Rapids, and as there were no pilots to be had, he’d had to navigate them by himself. He’d lost a sack of potatoes and a couple of pans when the boat went over a particularly high swell, but, otherwise, he and the craft had remained unscathed.
And now they were no more than a handful of miles from Danny and her da, the endless river behind them.
They’d agreed that first they needed to find her father and brother, and after that they’d tend to the official business of getting married.
A week on from that first kiss, Maggie’s feelings felt as solid as the mountains all around them, and she knew Brendan’s were, as well.
All the doubt and fear she’d once felt had vanished like the morning mist over the river.
All she felt now was certainty… and love.
“O’Halloran?” The man at the trading post scratched his cheek. “They’re out by Hunker Creek, aren’t they? Haven’t seen them in a while, though. Couple of months.”
“How far is Hunker Creek?” Brendan asked, and the man shrugged.
“Twelve, fourteen miles up the Klondike? You have to walk it, though. Can’t paddle upstream.”
“All right,” Brendan replied easily. “We’ve paddled enough as it is. A walk might be nice.”
The man eyed them curiously. “You come down the Yukon?”
“We surely did,” Brendan answered with a laugh.
He whistled in appreciation. “Not many women can manage that. I guess you aren’t a couple of cheechakos, are you?”
Maggie laughed at that. She felt both exhausted and exultant now that they were here, but the anxiety for her father and brother still swirled through her stomach. “We were,” she told the man. “But thank you.”
They took what they needed from their dwindling supplies and stored the rest at the trading post, pulling the scow up on the shore, and then they started to walk.
It was a pleasant day, the breeze chilly but the sun warm, as they walked along the fast-flowing Klondike River toward where it met with the smaller Hunker Creek.
The man at the trading post had told them the O’Hallorans had a claim about a mile down the creek; they’d built a cabin right by the water, the second one you’d come across, walking from Dawson.
“A little too close to the creek, if you ask me,” he’d added. “But those two never seemed like they knew what they were doing.”
“But they have plenty of pluck to make up for it,” Brendan had said quickly.
He’d glanced at Maggie, who had tried not to show her growing dread and fear.
What if her father and brother really were dead?
If they hadn’t been seen in months… and it had now been over two months since the Inuit had come upon them.
It seemed an unfathomable amount of time for her brother to be suffering from a broken leg, her father and brother both near to starving.
“There’s no point to worrying,” Brendan told her gently as he caught her hand in his. “We’re almost there, Maggie, and soon we’ll know.”
“Yes.” She squeezed her hand. “Yes, we will.”
It took them the rest of the day to walk to Hunker Creek, a small stream, especially in comparison with the mighty Klondike, whose gentle waters possessed a greenish tinge.
They passed one cabin, a grizzled-looking man knee-deep in the stream with a sluicing box.
He gave them a suspicious look as they passed.
“We’re looking for Declan and Danny O’Halloran,” Brendan called. “Have you seen them?”
“Those fools?” The man spat in the water.
“No more sense than God gave them, that’s for damned certain.
They’ve been holed up in their cabin all summer.
Declan comes out on occasion to dredge, but I ain’t see the boy in months.
Maybe his da killed him.” He let out a laugh.
“Wouldn’t blame him, either. That boy had a mouth on him, and he was lazy to boot. ”
Maggie exchanged a nervous glance with Brendan. That sounded like Danny, she thought, but it didn’t sound good.
“Where’s their cabin?” Brendan called over, keeping his voice friendly.
“Next one over. About a quarter-mile more.” The man turned away, intent on his sluice box, and Maggie and Brendan kept walking.
“You’d think they’d be friendlier, since they hardly ever see a soul,” she remarked once they’d passed.
“Maybe that’s why they’re not,” Brendan replied with a chuckle. “A man loses his social skills when he’s out on his own. Probably goes a little crazy, too. There’s more than one reason why they call it gold fever.”
“I suppose,” Maggie said, and Brendan squeezed her hand.
“We’re almost there.” It wasn’t the same as saying her father and brother would be all right, and as much as she dreaded whatever was next, Maggie appreciated his honesty. It reminded her of how much she could trust him.
Ten minutes later, they came upon a shabby little cabin, the visible cracks between the rough-hewn logs stuffed with dried moss, the canvas-covered roof listing, the shabby little structure indeed built too close to the creek.
“This looks like the place,” Brendan said cheerfully, only to falter as they both saw how quiet and empty it seemed. There was no panning operation on the creek, no smokehouse or clothing line or anything that suggested someone was living there. Weeds and grass grew long all around the cabin.
Maggie started running. “Da?” she called, her voice coming out in a screech. “Danny? Da? It’s me, Maggie?—”
The only sound was the twitter of a bird high up in a tree.
“No…” Maggie whispered. She ran to the cabin’s door, which was practically rotting off its hinges, and tried to wrench it open, but it was latched.
“Who’s there?” a hoarse voice called. “I’ll blow your head off, I will, if you come any closer.”
“Da…” Maggie whispered, and then she pounded on the door. “Da! It’s me, Maggie!”
“Lass?” She heard scrabbling, and then the heavy sound of someone limping across the room. Finally, the latch was thrown open and her father stood there, swaying, emaciated, looking worse than Maggie had ever seen him.
“Da…” she whispered, and he smiled to reveal a set of blackened teeth. He was nothing but skin and bone, a scruffy, patchy beard covering his gaunt cheeks, his eyes sunken into his skull.
“Maggie, lass. You came.” Tears started in his eyes as he shook his head slowly in wonder. “You really came.”
“And Brendan, too.” She stepped into the cabin, nearly reeling back at the stench of unwashed humanity that assaulted her.
Danny lay on a cot in the corner, one leg out at an unnatural angle, his face pale and sheened with sweat.
“Oh, dear heaven.” Maggie hurried toward him and laid a hand against his forehead. “He’s burning up!”
Her father nodded soberly. “He started with the fever about a week ago. Something’s gone wrong with his leg… we thought it had healed as best as it could, but he never could walk on it, and we ran out of food weeks ago…”
“Weeks…” Maggie stared at him in horror.
“Oh, we’ve managed all right,” her da assured her with a ghostly remnant of his old cheerfulness. “Berries and nuts and what have you… although don’t eat those little red ones. I had just the one and was sick for days. Powerful sick.”
“Oh, Da.” Maggie shook her head despairingly. As thankful as she was to see them both alive, they were clearly in a terrible state, and she hadn’t even looked at Danny’s leg yet. She was almost afraid to.
“I can’t believe you made it, lass!” her father exclaimed, rocking back on his heels. “All that way? Did you sail down the Yukon?”
“We did,” Maggie confirmed. “It wasn’t easy.” She glanced at Brendan. “I couldn’t have done it without Brendan.”
“Ah, the man of the hour!” Her father shuffled over to shake Brendan’s hand. He seemed almost too weak to stand. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you,” Brendan replied as he gently returned the handshake. “We weren’t sure what we’d find.”
“To be sure, another week or two and we might have been nothing but bones!” Her father laughed, even though it seemed all too possible to Maggie. What if they’d been delayed, or hadn’t come at all?
“Why didn’t you go into Dawson?” she asked, caught between despair and frustration. “It’s only fifteen miles! They might have a doctor there?—”
Her father shook his head. “No doctor. They say they’re going to get one, maybe this summer, but…” He shrugged. “And, in any case, we couldn’t leave our claim.”
“Why not?” Maggie cried.
“Because of this.” Her father crossed the room to a locked tin box and, taking a key from around his neck, opened it and then reverently lifted something out. He turned to Maggie and Brendan, opening his palm to reveal a nugget the size of a plum.
“Is that… gold?” Maggie asked incredulously, and her father nodded proudly.