Then a rough hand covers my mouth.
Jerks me back.
I land against someone solid as a tree trunk.
An awful feeling spreads through my chest.
“Here he is again, the kid who can’t keep to himself, minding everybody’s business but his own.”
Frank Hazard’s got ahold of me. Mel and Stanley don’t know where I am. Oh, I’m in a heap of trouble.
I gotta keep my head.
“Come on out, Albert. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a visitor.”
Baldy leaves the cover of a broad-limbed spruce. His eyes get jumpy when he sees me. “The boy from the Chilkoot? What’s he doing here?”
“That I’d like to know,” Frank says. He uncovers my mouth and turns me around. Both men wait for me to speak.
What am I supposed to say? “I thought the woods might be a shortcut.” It’s steep and icy off the trail, not exactly easy going. My story don’t sound likely, even to me.
“I don’t buy that so long as you’re here.” Frank pulls the green muffler from my neck and wraps it around my wrists. “I want to know exactly where you are and what you’re doing.” He finishes with a solid knot.
My fingers grow real cold and clammy.
“Now tell me why you really came.”
“I saw Bal—” I swallow and start again. Frank called this fellow Albert. “I saw Albert walk into the woods and thought I’d follow. Because—” I glance at him real quick. He ain’t tough or mean like I reckon a criminal should look. “Because I thought maybe he’d taken something that wasn’t his.”
Albert goes white. “Did you call the Mounties on me?”
“Well, what do you know?” Frank’s lip curls. “One crook keeping an eye on the other.”
Frank means Pa’s timepiece, which he accused me of stealing at the Chilkoot Pass. I ain’t gonna take the bait. I don’t know what he’s got planned, my wrists tied up like this, but I sure ain’t gonna give him a reason to do nothing more.
Frank pushes hard on my shoulder. “Take a seat.”
I plop right down on them damp pine needles.
He unwinds part of the muffler from my wrists and wraps it around a tree trunk. “Get comfortable,” Frank says. “You ain’t going nowhere.”
“Why’d you tell me to meet you here?” Albert asks.
“We’ve got to talk,” Frank says. “I got some questions about what you told me. You’ll answer, too, unless you want them Mounties on your tail.”
“No Mounties. Please. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Albert eyes me nervously. “What about the kid?”
“Don’t worry about him. We’ll talk over there.” Frank points to a cluster of bare trees, a few yellow leaves still clinging to their lower branches.
The wet pine needles below cover the sound of their footsteps as they walk across the forest. The farther they go, the more silent this empty place is. Are they gonna leave me here, tied up like this forever? Frank stops near them trees he pointed to, far enough away I can only catch a word or two of what they’re saying.
If Albert really did steal Old Joe’s gold for Frank, this is when he’d hand it over.
I squint to get the best look I can. Frank talks, then Albert starts in, but he don’t give Frank that knotted hankie. He shakes his head and moves his hands in front of him, like Miss Stapleton used to do when she’d had enough.
No. Stop. Enough. That’s what Albert’s telling Frank with his body.
Maybe he means he won’t do Frank’s dirty work, that if he wants to steal an old-timer’s gold, he’s got to do it on his own. I’m so wrapped up in the story I’m spinning, I almost miss the words.
“All staked.” It’s Albert who says it.
Frank holds up empty hands, and Albert nods.
Staked? That word’s used when a mine’s been claimed. What’s Albert know about that? Frank’s the fellow who’s mined before.
Frank’s feet are set wide. His fists are planted on his hips. He’s two heads taller than Albert, and Albert’s no shorty.
Whatever Frank says to him, it makes Albert wither, like a plucked leaf in the sun.
Frank grabs him around the arm and gives Albert a shake.
Albert hangs his head. Then he does a real interesting thing. He slips his hand in his pocket and offers what he’s got to Frank. It ain’t Old Joe’s knotted hankie. It’s a piece of wood about the size of a book. Albert touches the wood, then points in the direction of the Yukon.
Frank runs his fingers over it and holds it to his face.
A spark ignites in my belly and tingles down my arms. That’s a Riley clue. I know it! Albert’s telling Frank he found it in the river. Something’s on that piece of wood, I can tell from the way Frank studies it so closely. Riley must have dropped pieces in the Yukon with his clues carved on one side.
Frank shoves the clue in the pocket of his long fur coat. He makes a fist with his other hand, his thumb pointing up on top. Then he motions over his shoulder with it. What he’s saying’s clear as day. Frank wants Albert to go.
Albert takes off running, and Frank lets out a belly laugh, real deep and ugly.
He starts to leave the same way Albert went, but then he turns around. Frank Hazard’s heading toward me.
I drop my head. He don’t need to see I watched everything that happened with him and Albert. My heart pounds faster the closer he gets. What’s he mean to do with me?
Frank squats in front of me, so we’re face-to-face.
“No wonder you’ve always got one eye screwed up so tight.” He pokes a finger straight through the spot where my missing lens should be.
“You got yourself a Riley clue.” I don’t realize I’ve said them words out loud until Frank’s eyes go cold as stone. I duck, afraid his fist is gonna swing.
He smirks, like he’s thought of his own private joke. “You didn’t see nothing here, you understand?”
Before I know what’s happened, Frank’s wrenched my glasses off my face. I just make out his arm as he tosses them over his shoulder. “Best of luck finding the trail again.”
The blur that’s Frank Hazard disappears.
Every part of me shakes. I can’t see two feet in front of me, but at least I ain’t hurt.
The muffler’s snug around my wrists. I yank and pull my hands apart until the knot loosens, then tug with my teeth till the muffler falls. One tug releases it from the tree trunk, then it’s back around my neck. I run my hands over the ground, feeling for my glasses. Snow soaks through my trousers, and pine needles prick my palms. Where did Frank throw them? How far? They made a soft sound when they landed, so they didn’t hit a rock. Oh, I gotta find them. There’s no way I’ll make it out of these woods without them.
On my hands and knees I scramble around. I gotta be careful not to crush the other lens. I know Mel’s gotta be worried by now, but I ain’t leaving here without them. Where can they be?
I inch forward, my hands pat every space around me. Just up ahead sunlight trickles through tree branches. There’s a patch of gleaming light. My glasses? I squint hard as I can, but I ain’t sure what I see. I crawl a little closer until I reach the sunny spot. And then I feel them. I wrap my hand around them glasses and hold them near my face. Oh, thank goodness. They ain’t any more bent out of shape than they was before.
Swift as I can, I race to the trail high above the canyon walls. The whole time I run the path, I try to make sense of what happened back there.
Albert shook his head no and said all staked. Then Frank grabbed that piece of wood. He didn’t say it was a Riley clue, but he didn’t deny it, either.
All staked. All taken’s what that means. Is Albert saying there ain’t any mines left in the Klondike? How would he know that? Then I remember what Albert said on the Chilkoot, that he knew something that might be useful to Frank.
My feet pound the trail as I dodge them fellows who roll their boats and haul their gear. A sharpness twinges in my middle with every breath, but I won’t slow down.
So Frank’s got a piece of wood I’m sure is a Riley clue. But he ain’t gonna find One-Eyed Riley’s claim and neither is Albert. That’s for me and Mel to do.
I make it clear to the other side of the canyon, where men reload their boats before traveling on. Mel and Stanley watch at the end of the trail.
“Where’ve you been?” Mel rushes to me. He ain’t mad, only relieved. “What happened?”
“Sorry. I got turned around and had to run to catch you.” It’s sort of true. “Is Mr. Theroux all right?”
The color in Stanley’s cheeks has come back. “See for yourself.” He points to a heap of gear scattered on the shore. There’s a whole lot less than what the raft carried earlier. “Most washed overboard. Uncle’s drying what’s left.”
We should have portaged. The three of us know it, but me and Mel, we ain’t free to say so.
“Help me load, why don’t you?” Mr. Theroux says when we get near. Beyond the tent, there’s a wooden crate and two soaked sacks of flour. Nothing else is left. “I sure saved us a lot of time riding through the canyon. Bet we’ll beat them that portaged by at least a day.”
Almost everything is gone, and what ain’t is nearly ruined. Forget that coffee Mr. Theroux likes so much, that’s a treat compared with eating regular, which ain’t gonna happen now that so many things are gone. How are them two gonna sleep without their blankets or work a mine without gear? Don’t Mr. Theroux think he made a mistake?
No one says anything. Oh, my head’s crammed full of words I want to tell him. I can’t hardly peek at Mel for worrying I’ll let something slip, words that will cost us our trip to Dawson City.
Me and Mel load one of them flour sacks, which is near about worthless now. “Why are you boys so quiet?” Mr. Theroux asks.
Stanley answers. “I’ll tell you why.”
“I ain’t interested in you. It’s him I want to hear from.” Mr. Theroux steps in front of Mel, that kerchief around his neck as stained with tobacco juice as it was at Lindeman. “What was it you wanted to tell me back before the canyon?”
“Nothing.” Melvin hangs his head.
“What’s that?”
He lifts his gaze to Mr. Theroux, looks him straight in the eye. “It was nothing.”
Your plan to ride the rapids was plain stupid, I holler in my head.
Mr. Theroux crosses his arms and rests them on his bulging belly. “I’ve watched and listened since we took you on, and you know what? You got an air about you I ain’t fond of, Melvin Johnson.”
Mel presses his lips together.
“Here you are, new to everything, but not once have you asked for my advice. Not when we built the raft. Not about mining. Nothing.”
Still Mel don’t say a word.
Mr. Theroux could have never made that raft without Melvin. He and Stanley did most of the work while the mister moaned about his achy joints.
“You go on and on about that mining book of yours. ‘I heard this’ and ‘I heard that.’ Well, you know what I heard? It’s an impolite boy who don’t ask direction from his elders. But what did I expect? A pa who lets his young’uns run off to Canada without him surely didn’t learn them any manners.”
“My brother’s better than a whole pile of you any day of the week!” The words jump out before I can stop them, but you know what? I don’t care. What’s Mr. Theroux know about manners, anyhow?
“Jasper,” Melvin whispers, “careful now.”
“Why should I bother? He said you don’t have any manners when Mama taught us good and—”
“Jasper,” Mel says, “hush!”
“Well, now, knock me over with a feather. I had no idea you two had a mama. Sure don’t act like boys raised by any sort of woman I know. She’s got a thing or two to learn about mothering if you boys are evidence of her skills.”
Splotchy red patches burn on Melvin’s neck. His eyes get fierce. “How dare you talk about our mama like that.”
Mr. Theroux’s grin is smug. “I can say what I please. I’m in charge, if you recall.”
Mel draws his arm back and lets loose a solid punch, socks Mr. Theroux right in the face!
He clutches his cheek and howls like a lonely dog.
Stanley don’t know what to do.
“That’s it.” Mr. Theroux’s voice is muffled, since he talks through his fingers. “I won’t take you two any farther.”
“We wouldn’t go another mile with you if you were the only man on the Yukon,” Mel says.
Mr. Theroux moves his hand from his cheek. Already it’s puffed up red. “It’s time for you boys to pay up for your ride.”
“Pay up?” Mel says. “For half a trip? You got more than enough work from us. I say we’re even.”
Them eyes of the mister’s have gone shiny. Now I recognize what I saw in his face when he spied Pa’s watch and that gold dust at Lake Lindeman.
It was greed.
I hold them firm in my pocket.
“I recall Jasper here has a mighty fine watch and a bit of gold. A couple weeks of food and shelter, another sailing down the river. Sounds like a fair deal to me.”
“I earned that gold fair and square.”
“That watch is our pa’s,” Mel says.
Mr. Theroux’s eyes near about sparkle. “And I’m sure he knows you’ve taken it.”
Oh, he thinks he’s clever. Well, he ain’t the only one quick on his feet. I cook up a story on the spot. “We took it with our mama’s blessing. She told us to take it to our pa. See”—I get bolder as the story builds—“he’s already in the Klondike. We didn’t run off without him. We plan to meet him there.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Mel’s mouth.
“Our pa’s got an awful temper. If he knew you’d taken it from us he’d . . . he’d turn you in to the Mounties.” The threat don’t have much bite, but it’s all I can think of. Somehow it gets the mister moving.
“Come on, Stanley. Load what’s left.” Mr. Theroux grabs the only crate that made it through the rapids and tosses it on the raft. His cheek has swollen enough to puff out his scraggly beard to one side.
Stanley glances at us with eyes big and sorrowful. Slowly he lifts the other sack of useless flour. Mr. Theroux unties the raft from where it’s tethered and pulls Stanley on board.
Since Lindeman City, them Therouxs have been our only chance. We ain’t gonna find another.
They pole out into the middle of the Yukon. “Good luck finding your way to Dawson City,” Mr. Theroux shouts as the raft disappears around a bend.
Chapter 9
“So,” Mel says.
“So,” I answer. “Just the two of us again.” We don’t have to deal with them Therouxs no more, but now we’re all alone with no means to get to Dawson.
Mel’s shoulders are hunched, his hands sunk deep in his pockets. “That punch. It wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Mr. Theroux deserved it, if you ask me.” No one talks about Mama like that. Though she wouldn’t have approved, I’m right proud of my brother. “That’s the last we’ll ever see of them.”
“It better be.”
Beside us, the Yukon swirls, slower now that it’s past them rapids. Men who portaged shove in to ride. Them with boats are a couple weeks out of Dawson. And here we are with nothing but our own two feet. What are we gonna do?
Where before there was sunshine, fat clouds drape the sky. A stiff wind streaks across the river. The forest along the shoreline moans. September’s a horrible time to be stuck without a boat, with winter closing in.
“We’d better move,” Mel says. “It’s four miles to White Horse, the next set of rapids. It can’t be much
different from what we saw in Miles Canyon.”
It’s all we can do.
We walk side by side between the spruce and pine, the Yukon to the right our guide. The forest slows the wind that races from the river, but it don’t help to cut the cold. Mel takes out his other pair of woolen socks and gives one to me. “Wear this over your hand,” he says, “and keep your other in your pocket.”
“What happens to us now, Mel?”
“We could build a boat,” he says.
“With what? We don’t got nothing more than Mama’s washboard, two pairs of rubber boots, your knapsack, and that silly sled.” I poke the sled runners Mel’s looped his stockinged hand through. Why he keeps it, I don’t know.
“Then we’ll have to team up again.”
“Who would want to take us on?”
“Oh, Jasper, I don’t know. But what else are we going to do?”
Maybe this ain’t the best time to tell him what I learned in Miles Canyon, that the claim we’ve hoped for since Mel bought that newspaper in July has probably been snatched up. But if One-Eyed Riley’s mine truly is our only shot, I gotta win Mel over. He has to see.
“I heard something in the canyon,” I say.
Mel kicks a pinecone from one foot to the next.
“It’s about them Klondike claims.”
“What about them?” Mel asks.
“Well”—there ain’t no way to pretty this up, so I out and say it—“everything’s been staked.”
Mel stops, his eyes unsure. “How could that be true?”
“I don’t know, but I believe it.” The details ain’t clear, but I’m certain that’s what Albert said. There ain’t no reason to tell my brother about what happened in the woods. He’s got enough on his mind. “Them folks in Skagway and Dyea, them others on the Chilkoot and at Lake Lindeman, if this is true, they’ve come for nothing. But it ain’t gonna be like that for us. That’s why we gotta focus on Riley’s mine.”
Mel kicks that pinecone hard. It skitters across the snow. “I don’t believe it.”
“We can’t know until we get there,” I say, “but wouldn’t it be best to be ready?”
Jasper and the Riddle of Riley's Mine Page 13
