Romancing the Klondike

by Donadlson-Yarmey, Joan;

  “Neither he nor Gordon were glad to see us. And I think the only reason Donald is, is because he has taken a shine to the grown-up you.”

  “But that doesn’t help us.” Emma sighed. “There doesn’t seem to be a way for us to make any money. So, I guess we’ll just have to be dance hall girls.”

  “No man would pay to see me dance.” Pearl giggled. “I don’t have any appropriate clothes and I think our tent is a little too small.”

  Emma laughed. “Yes, we could only have an audience of one at a time.”

  The tent had warmed while they talked and Pearl threw aside her blankets. “Well, we’re not earning money lying here.”

  After breakfast Pearl opened the flap of the tent. The rain had created puddles and water ran in all directions, and she blessed the fact they had picked higher ground to set up camp. The wind had started blowing and whipping the sides and roof of the canvas. There was nothing for them to do but wait inside for the storm to subside.

  Pearl set her writing pad on the table and began to work on her articles.

  “I miss bread,” Emma exclaimed. “I’m going to try making some sourdough bread.”

  Pearl made a face. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

  “I don’t, but I’m hoping I will acquire a taste. Donald told me the basic recipe. It takes several days to make just the starter for that appealing and flavourful bread.”

  “Aw, darn.” Pearl put on her best disappointed look. “You mean we’re not going to have bread for supper?”

  “Nope, but you get first taste when we do.” Emma laughed.

  “Great,” Pearl groaned. “I can hardly wait.”

  Pearl watched as Emma measured out equal amounts of flour and water and stirred them in a pot. She covered it with a towel and set it on the table.

  “That’s it?” Pearl asked.

  “For now. I’m supposed to keep it in a warm place and let it sit a couple of days until bubbles start to form. Then I have to add water and flour over the next several days. Once the starter, as it is called, is bubbly and frothy then it is ready to use.”

  * * *

  “What are you doing?” a small voice asked.

  Sam jumped and turned around from where he was chopping wood. Coming towards him was a young boy.

  “Who are you?” Sam asked.

  “I’m Gregory Drury,” the boy said, holding out his hand. “Who are you?”

  Sam smiled at the gesture as he buried the blade of the axe in the chopping block and shook the small hand. “I’m Sam Owens.” He had heard about the young boy named Gregory who spent a lot of time wandering the area visiting the miners.

  “Nice to meet you, Sam Owens.”

  “You’re a long ways from home. Do your parents know where you are?” He’d met Gregory’s father, so he knew they had a claim on the Eldorado.

  Gregory shrugged. “Mother told me to stay close.”

  “This isn’t very close to where you live.”

  Apparently that didn’t seem to bother Gregory. He looked around the small yard in front of the cabin.

  “My dad has a larger stack of firewood than you do. I helped him pile it.”

  “Good for you.”

  Sam didn’t know what to do with the boy. Should he send him home? Would he even go home?”

  “Do you want me to cut some trees down for you?” Gregory asked. He reached over and struggled to pull Sam’s axe from the stump. He stumbled when it came free.

  “No.” Sam quickly took the axe away. He didn’t need Gregory hurting himself.

  “My dad lets me use the axe all the time.”

  “I’ll bet he does,” Sam muttered.

  “Have you found any gold?” Gregory asked.

  “Some.”

  “My dad says everyone who has a claim is going to be rich.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep. He says some will have to work hard for it and others will be lucky and find it easily.”

  “And which way will he be doing it?”

  “He figures he will have to work hard. Are you finding it easily?”

  “Well, I haven’t found it lying on top of the ground so I guess it will be the hard way.” Sam smiled. Gregory was a very inquisitive boy in a tiring but cute kind of way.

  Gregory walked over to the cabin. “My mom says it’s really difficult to keep our cabin clean because we have a dirt floor. Do you have a dirt floor, too?” Gregory opened the door and looked in.

  Geeze, didn’t anyone teach the kid to ask permission? “As you can see, we do.” Sam pulled the door shut. He wished he had gone with Donald and Gordon to chop some trees. It would be easier than dealing with this kid.

  Gregory went and picked up Gordon’s gold pan. “Can I try panning?”

  “Leave that alone!” Gordon roared, as he strode into the yard dragging a limbed tree behind him. He dropped the tree and grabbed the pan away from Gregory.

  Sam couldn’t believe the wild look in Gordon’s eyes as he scowled at the boy. Gregory backed away, his eyes wide with fear.

  “It’s okay, Gordon.” Sam held up his hands in a pacifying way. “He was just looking at it.”

  “He’s got no right to touch my things.” Gordon turned to Sam. “What’s he doing here anyway?”

  “He’s just asking questions and getting to know his neighbours.”

  “Well, get him out of here. We’ve got no time to be looking after sniveling kids.” Gordon turned and left as abruptly as he had come, his pan in his hand.

  Sam heard a noise behind him. He turned, surprised that Gregory was still there. “What?” Sam asked.

  “I’m not a sniveling kid,” Gregory said, louder.

  “Of course not, but I think you should go back to your parents now.”

  “Is he crazy?”

  “No.” Sam wasn’t sure if he sounded convincing. “He was just angry.”

  “My grandpa sometimes looked like that when he lived with us. My friends said he had gone crazy from living here too long. They also said he killed himself, but mother says he died from old age.”

  Sam fleetingly wondered who that had been as Gregory suddenly changed the subject. He pointed up the creek. “Who’s lives that way?”

  “More prospectors,” Sam said. “But they are busy just like me. They don’t have time to spend with you.”

  It was as if Gregory hadn’t heard him. He walked away in that direction. Sam began to worry. Should he let the kid go or try to send him home again? Why was it even his responsibility? Gregory had parents who should be keeping track of him.

  * * *

  Pearl spent the morning splitting some of the lengths of wood into quarters, while Emma piled them in layers beside the tent. When done, Emma went for her usual walk while Pearl gathered her pad and pencil and went to sketch the river and far bank. Men were still arriving from up and down the Yukon River, some during the day, some at night and the boats were piling higher and deeper on the bench above the water.

  She watched the activity on the river and land then blocked it out, concentrating on her work. Once, when she looked up, she saw Joseph standing on a raft loaded with rough-cut lumber. She watched him drift on the current and direct the raft to the shore with a pole. He stepped off and tied the raft to a rock.

  Joseph immediately began to unload the lumber. He carried it up the rise but didn’t stack it at the top. Pearl thought he was counting steps the way he walked away from the water. Finally, he stopped and set the lumber down. He went back for more.

  Again, his actions held her interest. She hadn’t had a chance to ask him what he had been doing the first time she met him. She wasn’t going to let that happened this time. Pearl watched until he was just about finished carrying the lumber then walked over. She stood beside the tall pile as he came up with the last few boards. His face seemed to light up when he saw her and he smiled. Her heart beat faster as she smiled back.

  He placed the boards on top of the pile and dusted off his sleeves an
d hands.

  “What are you doing now?” Pearl asked.

  “Building a town.”

  “A town? Here?” Pearl couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. She looked at the boggy flats around her.

  “Yes. You are standing on Front Street.” He gestured with his left and right hands. “It’s going to run perpendicular to the river like that.”

  “You’ve already named the streets?”

  “Just this one so far.”

  “How come you get to decide what to name it?” Pearl was happy that she was acting like a real reporter, asking questions to get information. Too bad her questions were reflex responses to his statements.

  “Because I own it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I bought one-hundred-sixty acres from the government for ten dollars an acre and registered it at the Mining Recorder’s office at Fortymile. Now, I’m going to establish a town here to serve all the prospectors who will be coming to the north in search of gold.”

  “How do you start a town?” Pearl had never thought about how a town or city began. This might make a good article.

  “First, I’m going to lay out streets and avenues and survey lots for businesses and houses.”

  “What makes you think people are going to flock here to buy them?”

  “Oh, they will.” Joseph nodded. “They will. And I’m moving my saw mill here in a few days so that I can saw the lumber for them.”

  “Do you have a name for this town?” Pearl asked.

  “Not yet, but I’ll figure one out.”

  “What are you going to build with this lumber?” Pearl scrutinized the man in front of her. He seemed normal, but his dreams didn’t.

  “A store. I want to have everything the prospectors need so they don’t have to go to Fortymile. Then I need a cabin to live in so that will probably be next.”

  “Do my cousin and I have to move our tent?”

  “No. You can stay there as long as you want.” Joseph removed his hat and wiped this sweaty forehead. He replaced his hat. “Although, this really isn’t a place for two women. How long do you plan on staying?”

  Pearl shrugged. “We don’t know.”

  “What does Sam say?”

  The question irked her. What did it matter what Sam said? “He’s busy on his claim. Besides, this is my life, my job.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Joseph tipped his hat a little. “It’s none of my business.”

  Pearl instantly regretted her anger. He was just being polite. And was he a little concerned about her?

  * * *

  Sam wandered over to the Discovery claim. He needed to get away from Gordon for a while. His attitude kept worsening. Sometimes he would be sullen and morose and other times gruff and churlish. And, he had begun to secrete cans of food under the blankets of his bed.

  George Carmack, Skookum Jim, and Tagish Charley were building a cabin. He waved to some of the men who were still trudging up and down the creek, looking to stake or on their way out to register their claims.

  He saw George’s native wife, Kate, making coffee over the fire. The men were lifting a log to set in place and Sam hurried to help. The ends of the log settled into the grooves of the ones along the other two walls.

  “Let’s have coffee,” George said.

  Kate made the best camp coffee and there was no way Sam would pass up an opportunity for some. He squatted with the others on the dirt around the fire and Kate passed them each a metal cup of coffee. It was hot and Sam blew on it to cool it. The others, though, drank immediately.

  Sam felt honoured to be sitting with the men who had discovered the gold along Rabbit Creek. George Carmack was an easy-going man with a round face and drooping moustache. Like many of the others, George had a story as to why he was in the north. He had lost his parents at a young age and been brought up by his older sister. He’d left home at twenty-one and met Skookum Jim and Tagish Charley in Skagway in the mid-1880s. After his first wife died, Carmack married Jim’s sister, Kate, and the four of them spent the next decade prospecting and trading between Skagway and Fortymile. He liked it when men used his nickname Siwash George because it was a well-known fact that George liked the Indian way of life and considered himself a Siwash Indian.

  Sam especially admired Skookum Jim. He was a large, powerfully built man with fierce black eyes. He’d earned his nickname, Skookum, which meant husky or strong, because he had once packed a record one hundred and fifty-six pounds of bacon on his back over the Chilkoot Pass.

  The best way he could describe Tagish Charley was that he was wiry and supple as a cat. He had an alert look about him that made Sam think he never missed anything that was going on around him. He was also very shy and quiet.

  “Tell me how you happened to come to this spot on this creek to look for gold,” Sam said to George.

  George swallowed his sip of coffee and nodded. “One day, Bob Henderson stopped in at our fishing camp at the mouth of the Klondike and told me that he had found gold on Gold Bottom Creek that emptied into the Klondike River about fifteen miles upstream. The boys and I were looking for logs along Rabbit Creek to float down to the mill at Fortymile and we tried a little panning as we went. Eventually, we worked our way over to see what Henderson was all excited about. We didn’t find much and returned here to cut our logs. We tried panning again and this is where we found the gold.”

  “So, if you hadn’t been looking for trees to cut, you wouldn’t have made the discovery,” Sam said.

  “Probably not.” Carmack grinned.

  “How did it feel when you found that first pan of gold?” Sam asked, remembering his, Donald’s, and Gordon’s reaction.

  Carmack glanced at Jim and Charley. “Well, we did do some whooping and hollering and a rough combination of a jig, reel, hornpipe, and hula dance,” he said. “Then we filled that shotgun shell that I showed you.”

  “Did you ever get your logs out?”

  “I had to.” Carmack laughed. “I had to earn money to get lumber for a sluice box and for supplies.”

  “How does it feel to be the ones who started all this activity on the creek?” Sam asked, pointing his chin at two men who were walking by, backpacks strapped to their backs.

  “I feel as if I have been dealt a royal flush in the game of life,” George said.

  Sam looked at the other two.

  “We haven’t seen much gold, yet,” Jim said. “But it is coming.”

  Charley shrugged and finished his coffee. He stood and returned to the nearly completed cabin.

  “I’d better get back to work on my claim, too,” Sam said, pushing himself to his feet.

  George and Jim joined Charley.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” Sam said to Kate.

  “It’s always here,” Kate said.

  Sam hesitated. There was one question he would like answered. “I have heard many stories as to who was the real person who first discovered the gold on Rabbit Creek, One is that it was your husband, another is your brother Skookum Jim discovered it while washing out a pan in the sand, the third is you were the one who found the first nugget. Which one is true?”

  “All I can tell you is that it wasn’t me,” Kate said. She pointed at the other men. “You’ll have to ask them.”

  On his way back to his claim, Sam marvelled how, if George hadn’t been searching for trees to cut for logs, if Gordon hadn’t wanted to say goodbye to Joe, if Joe hadn’t told them about the gold Henderson had found, and if they hadn’t met up with George and his relatives, Gordon, Donald, and maybe he, could quite possibly have been on their way home right now. Instead, now they could quite possibly be on their way to riches.

  All those coincidences must have been for a reason.

  When Sam got back, he found Gregory peeking in through the open window. He jerked back when he heard Sam.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Is the crazy man here?”

  “His name is Mr. Baker, and he’s not cra
zy.” At least Sam hoped he wasn’t.

  Gregory shrugged. He walked up to Sam. “What are you doing today?”

  “We’re cutting wood.” Sam liked Gregory, but he didn’t want to encourage the boy to stay. He wasn’t sure when Donald and Gordon would be back.

  “Yes, my dad is always cutting down trees. He says that with all the men on claims needing wood for cabins and fires there soon won’t be any trees left.”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  There was a noise in the bush. Gregory swung in that direction. “Is that the crazy…uh Mr. Baker coming back?”

  Sam wasn’t sure if Gregory was apprehensive or eager. “Yes, so you’d better go.”

  Gregory slowly backed towards the creek keeping his eyes on the bush. Sam smiled as Gregory took off running when Gordon and Donald stepped into sight.

  One of the first things they had learned when they come north was that while a gold pan was easy to carry when looking for gold, a sluice box made separating the gold from the gravel and black sand so much quicker and easier.

  “Let’s get back to work,” Sam said. “We need a sluice box.”

  They measured and cut pieces of wood and hammered them together to form a long, rectangular three-sided box. The sides were short and they left one end open. On a separate piece of wood, slightly smaller than the box they transversely spaced small pieces of wood that would act as riffles. This they dropped into the box.

  The water in the creek was running slowly but they decided to try out the box. They set it in the creek and shovelled gravel and dirt into it. They each dipped a pail in the water and poured it in at the top of slope. The force of the water flushed the stones and debris over the riffles and out the open end. They continued to pail water until there was nothing left, then shovelled in more rocks and dirt. When they had washed through ten shovelfuls they checked the riffles to see if the heavier gold had settle on the inside of them. There were a few small pieces and some flakes.

  “Looks like it’s going to work,” Sam grinned, as he pulled out the riffles and held the wood on edge over a pail.