by Gene Curry
“You all right?” a husky voice said. A woman’s voice: there was no mistaking it. Well, I was so surprised you could have knocked me down again with a lot less than a club. I must have mumbled because she shook me and slapped me lightly in the face. She had to be six feet tall, not an inch less, and even through the blinding snow I was able to make out an angular, determined face. Her accent was Swedish, some kind of Scandinavian.
“How do you feel?” she asked, and shook me again, and even through the fur coat I could feel the strength of her fingers. “Listen to what I am saying.”
I straightened up against the wall. “My head hurts, that’s all.”
The first man was beginning to groan and she kicked him twice in the thigh muscle to keep him from getting up. “Stay down or I will cripple you,” she warned in a voice that was suddenly dangerous.
Then she bent over the two men and took revolvers from their pockets. “You know these men? They tried to rob you, yes?”
I bent down to look at the man she had kicked. All I could make out was the outline of his face, but I knew I hadn’t seen him before.
“Not this one,” I said. It was a day for surprises all right, because when I turned over the second club-swinger it was my old pal Kelso. I told her his name and how I’d come downriver with him. “Maybe they were out to rob me. Maybe it was something else. You mind telling me who you are?”
“Hella Kekkonen,” she said. “You have heard of me, yes. I am famous all over the Yukon and Alaska.”
I told her my name. “Famous for what?”
She sounded disappointed, a little resentful. “Then you have not heard of me. I am famous for mushing.”
I didn’t get it at first. Maybe it was the blow on the head. “You mean for driving dog sleds?”
“That is what it means, Mr. Saddler. Anywhere there is mushing to be done, I do it. I have a contract to haul the mails. I go wherever supplies are needed. I make a lot of money at what I do. Now you will guard these men while I go for the redcoats.”
After she came back with two Mounties we all went to the police barracks, a squat log building with bars on the windows. A sergeant with red hair sat behind a desk in front of a fire. Rifles were chained to a rack on the wall and the whole place was neat and smelled of scrubbing soap. There were cells in the back and in one of them a drunk was yelling for water. The sergeant looked weary from long hours and lack of sleep. He was an irritable man, like so many men with red hair.
But he listened patiently enough while I told my story, keeping it as short as I could. “Is that what happened, Hella?” he asked when I finished.
Her hair, peeping out from under her fur hat was so blond it was almost white. She had the slanted eyes and high cheekbones you find in some Scandinavians. I guessed she was a Finn.
“That is how it happened, yes,” she agreed.
The sergeant made Kelso and the other man empty their pockets out on his desk. Between them they only had six dollars and change. Neither had a watch or any other valuables.
“Robbery with violence, attempted,” the sergeant said, writing down the charge in a book. “Mr. Saddler, you’ll have to remain in Dawson until the judge gets back from the other camps.”
That didn’t suit me much. “How long will that be?”
“About two weeks. The weather is turning bad. You’ll be here. Case’ll be dismissed if you don’t show up in court.”
“Can’t you just ship them back to the States?” I said. “I’m on my way downriver to the Alaska side.”
The sergeant let out an exasperated sigh that showed how tired he was. “I’d like to ship a lot of Americans back to the States. These two thugs I’d prefer to ship off to prison. What about you, Hella?”
Hella shook her head. “I too have urgent business.” The sergeant closed his book with a bang that made Kelso jump. “Very well then,” he said angrily. “If that’s what you want, so be it.” He pointed at Kelso and the other man who said his name was Al Rebstock. “You’re going back to White Pass under guard. We know what you look like now, so don’t come back. If you do I’ll find a charge that will put you away for a long time. Until a supply party is ready to go back you will remain in the lockup.”
The prisoners were locked up, but there was no kicking or pushing as there might have been in an American hoosegow. Mounties are the politest lawmen in the world. “Wait a moment, Mr. Saddler,” the sergeant said. “I’d like to know your business downriver. I want you to tell the truth. There is such a charge as obstructing justice.”
Leaving out the parts about Soapy Smith and the Slocum brothers, I told him about bringing out the judge’s body. “That’s the general intention,” I said.
“Mr. Saddler, you’re crazy,” the sergeant said. “In the dead of winter, you have to be crazy.”
I grinned at him. “Everybody keeps telling me that, Sergeant.”
“Everybody is right,” the sergeant said.
Outside, Hella said she was going to take a look at my head. “Do not argue about it, Mr. Saddler. It is my custom to have my own way. If there is concussion you could die on the trail. You have a place to stay? My own house is far from town. I do not like the noise and stink of the town.”
“I think I have a shack,” I said. “No, there’s nothing wrong with my head. I just have to pay the rest of the money.”
And I explained about the old Yankee in the cook tent.
“Old Percy,” she said. “We will go there, make a fire, drink whiskey, and look at your head.”
The Yankee took the money and told me where to find the shack. “If you want to stay on after tomorrow, come back and pay for it. You’ll like it down there by the river. Got a nice view. Here’s the key and go easy on the stove wood.”
The snow was easing off by the time we found the shack. It was smaller than I expected, but it was clean enough for a rat’s-ass town like Dawson. There was wood in the stove and the oil lamp was full. The cabin was built of chinked logs, with a packed dirt floor covered with river sand. As the Yankee promised, the window was real store glass and could be shuttered from the outside. There was a table, a chair and a good-sized bunk covered with Hudson Bay blankets.
“Take off your hat,” Hella ordered.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said obediently, hoping that I was going to take off more than that before the night was over.
Chapter Five
The stove burned bright in minutes and I got tin cups from a box by the stove and poured us drinks. I held the lamp while Hella felt around the top of my head with expert fingers. After she looked at my eyes she decided it was just a knock on the head and nothing more.
“You will have a lump there for a few days,” she said. “Now you will lie down and I will put some ice on it.”
“Well, there’s plenty of ice around here,” I said. “Look, I can do without the ice.”
“Do not say foolish things,” she said.
I handed her the drink, a big one, and she drank it off in two swallows.
“I like to drink whiskey, Mr. Saddler.”
“Make that Jim or just Saddler, will you. You make me sound like an old man.”
“How old are you ... Jim?”
She had a way of making everything seem simple and honest. “Thirty-three,” I said. “You think that’s old?”
“Not so old. I am twenty-seven.”
Warmed by the whiskey, she told me about herself. She was a Finn like I thought, but from the far north of her country. It was much like Alaska, she said. Long bitter winters and brief summers.
“This country was no surprise to me when I got here,” she said. “Ten years I have been in Alaska and the Yukon. My poor father came to look for gold, but died after one year. In that year we were in many wild places. Since then I have been in many more wild places than few people have ever seen. At first men laughed at me when I became a musher, but they were wrong, yes. I am very strong and healthy and the cold has no terror for me. My father said I should have be
en an Eskimo. He made foolish jokes like that, poor man.”
“Why didn’t you go back to Finland?”
“There is nothing there for me. All dead. I am the last of them. If I went back there I would be nothing in that old country. Here I am famous and my name has been in the newspapers many times. I have broken records with my team and I will break more.”
“I don’t doubt it for a minute. But don’t you ever get tired of it? All those weeks on the trail with no one else around.”
Hella poured more drinks for us. The cabin was warm enough for us to take off our coats, and I saw that she had a fine supple body and firm breasts that jutted against the heavy wool shirt she was wearing. Her white-blond hair was short and cut carelessly. But it was her slanted green eyes that held my attention. They were clear and direct and very beautiful.
“On the trail, with the snow blowing from the drifts, that is the best time.” Hella brushed snow from her coat. “I love this wild country. When we came here we crossed America by train and passed through many cities and towns. Noise and dirt and too many people. This town has too many people, but only a few miles away nothing has changed. You do not like this country?”
“I’d be a liar if I said I did.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“For a lady, the judge’s widow.”
“Ah,” Hella said. “But not just any lady. I can tell from the sound of your voice. Is she a beautiful lady? Is she as beautiful as me?”
I said in a different way. “We’ve known each other for a long time. If she doesn’t get the judge’s body back she may lose all her money. She’d hate that.”
Hella smiled. “Poor lady. Do you love her?”
“Not exactly. We’re more like loving friends.”
Hella nodded in her grave, wise way. “I think that is possible. It will be a long time before you get back to her. And there will be no loving friends on the trail.”'
I had just enough whiskey in me to say it. “You could come along with me. Or I could come along with you. Then the trail wouldn’t be so lonely. Besides, I’ll split the money with you. I’m not doing this for the money, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
The lump of ice she was holding to my head was melting fast and she got up to throw it out the door. She slammed the door before too much snowy air could rush in.
“I am not thinking anything,” she said. “We all do things for our own reasons. You think my life is strange—I know that—but it is right for me. When my father died I was very poor and had nothing. Now I am independent and will remain that way. Tomorrow I must start on a long journey to Cooper’s Creek with mail and supplies. If I don’t go I will lose my contract.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“No. What you are going to try will make you famous if you succeed. If I came with you I would have only a share of your success. I have been alone so long, I do not like to share. It is not meant to be selfish. It is something I can’t explain. But now you are going on a dangerous journey and I will share something with you. Because I like you.”
“What do you want to share?”
“At this moment, your bed.”
I didn’t think she wanted me to undress her, so I didn’t try. But the way she did it was as good as if I’d done it myself. It was warm in the cabin and she didn’t just peel off and jump under the blankets. I was grateful to Old Percy and his little box of a cabin. My cock was standing up like a rod before I got my pants off and Hella took it and put it between her legs while we were still on our feet. We were almost the same height and I was able to slide it into her without having to bend down like you do with short women. She gave a gasp when it went in all the way. We stood like that for a while, tall and strong together. Then I lifted her, with my cock still in her, and she wrapped her legs around me, gasping with pleasure. She was so wet I could feel her hot juice running down my leg. Slowly, still driving in and out of her, I eased her onto the soft blankets. I don’t know what made it so good. Most of it was her wonderful body; part of it was the wind howling outside, the feeling of being inside a warm, beautiful woman. It was good and it got better. They say that Scandinavian women are freer about sex than any women in the world. This one certainly was. She pushed her tongue into my mouth and her breath was sweet and fresh except for the pleasant, lingering taste of whiskey. Her whole body seemed to respond to every thrust of my cock. Her heels drummed on the blankets and she reached down from behind and stroked my balls, causing me to get bigger and harder. Then she came with a scream of delight that was louder than the shrieking of the wind. One orgasm followed another until her body quivered like a taut wire.
“Oh Jim, come deep inside me!” she cried out. “As far as you can go. Push it in hard as you can. I want to feel myself all around you when you come.” Just as I was about to come, she swung her legs up over my shoulder, so I could get in as far as possible. I went in until my bush was hot and wet against hers. My balls were tight with longing for her. I volleyed into her, sucking her breasts as I shot my load.
“Oh Jim, that was wonderful,” she said, running her fingers over my face. “It has been so long I forgot what it was like. I am so grateful to you.”
Of course that was the craziest thing I ever heard in my life. Any man in his right mind would have been glad to get down on his knees and beg for a chance to make love to this beautiful woman. We lay together exploring each other’s bodies, and I knew that I would remember her for a very long time. There were women and there were women. This one was the second kind. Smiling, she took a mouthful of whiskey, but didn’t swallow it. Still holding the whiskey in her mouth, she took in the head of my prick and for an instant the whiskey burned, but then it grew hot with sudden pleasure as the liquor took its effect on the nerves. She hummed until my cock vibrated with a feeling that was almost unbearable. When I exploded in her mouth she swallowed the whiskey and my jism.
Later, wanting to repay the pleasure she had given me, I separated her legs and put my mouth between them, searching for her with my tongue. We lay together there panting.
It was well into the evening when we rolled apart, pleasantly jaded with lovemaking. The stove threw out its cheerful glow and I hated her to leave. We were going in different directions, and there was no telling that I’d ever see her again. I don’t say I wanted to marry her—I’ll never marry any woman—but I wanted it to last for a while. Everything comes to an end naturally, but this was over too fast. I wanted more of her. I wanted all I could get.
Hella’s fucking was athletic; she could bend and use her body in ways that seemed incredible to me. She was nothing less than a sex contortionist. At one point she hooked her ankles over my shoulder and I fucked her that way. That changed the angle of my shaft; I had seldom felt anything so good. Then she got down on her hands and knees and we fucked dog-style, with me sticking it between her legs from behind. Her ass was like a firm but resilient cushion.
“Slowly, Jim, do it slowly. It feels so good this way. It is one of the favorite ways in my country. I think it is a favorite because it feels so different.”
I had to agree it was different, and I was getting as much pleasure as she was. She crooned softly every time I thrust deep into her. She spoke soft words in Finnish. I didn’t know a word of Finnish, but I didn’t have to—I knew what she was saying.
We continued to fuck dog-style, then her entire body began to quiver and she came with a loud gasp. I continued to pump in and out of her, not wanting this favorite Finnish fuck to end. Her hands gripped the blankets when I thrust my shaft in all the way and held it there while I came. She moaned, tightening her cunt muscles, then relaxing them. My cock was getting limp, but I kept pumping as long as there was some stiffness left in it. Finally I had to stop and I lay on top of her, with my soft cock still in her. The softness and smell of her body were wonderful.
“I like having your weight on top of me,” she whispered. “Often in bed at night I long to have a big man’s weigh
t on top of me. The weight and the warmth, that is what I miss. Now I have it and I am happy.”
“Me too,” I said.
“I have had a few men here,” she whispered. “Very few. Men here, most of them, are so dirty. And all they do is talk of gold. One crazy man who had struck it rich wanted to buy me. Not marry me, buy me. I knew he was crazy because he told me all his life he wanted to buy a beautiful woman if he got rich enough. He wanted me to be his slave girl, he told me in bed. He was a nice enough man, but he was a lunatic and not so good in bed. I got rid of him as quickly as I could. I wonder if he succeeded in his search for a sex slave.”
“He’ll find someone,” I said.
“I pity the girl,” Hella said. “How ugly to be a sex slave! I find it hard to believe there are such men.”
“You’ll never be a slave, sex or otherwise.”
“Never. I like my life. I like what I am.”
“So do I. And I like your favorite Finnish way.” Hella laughed. “We will do it again if we meet. It’s possible. I would like us to get together again.”
“There’s nothing like hope,” I said.
“I will think of your big cock when you are far away. I will cherish the memory of your big cock. Take care of it, Jim.”
“You bet I will. And out on the trail I’ll think of you. Your sweet pussy, the rest of you.”
We fucked again when I got hard enough. One great thing about being a woman is you don’t have to wait. That’s why really horny women fuck twenty times a day. I knew we would have to part soon—this would be our last fuck—so we put our hearts into it. This time. Hella’s fucking was almost frantic. I knew I was going to miss this woman, as much for herself as for her wonderful fucking.
