“Git offa my land!” A haggard, hairy man stood several feet away. Even from a distance and despite the stranger’s unkempt mustache, Ian could see his sneer.
“Just passin’ through.”
“No, you ain’t.” The man’s eyes narrowed. He bounced his hand up and down, giving Ian a glimpse of the rock he held as a weapon. “Not ’less you brung vittles.”
“You’re hungry?”
An ugly laugh filled the air. “Boy, you’re dumb as a stump. Ain’t nobody up here who ain’t had his belly growlin’ worse’n a grizzly.”
From his reading, Ian knew the winters would be horrendous, but he also knew game abounded. He frowned. “Is the hunting hereabouts bad?”
“You gonna gimme grub, or are you gonna turn tail and get offa my claim?”
“A hungry man oughtn’t be turned away.” Ma’s words echoed in his mind. Ma and Da sometimes spoke of how carefully they had to ration food while traversing the Oregon Trail.
Da’s advice followed just as swiftly. “Don’t give away more than you can safely afford.”
“I can spare a wee bit.”
The man drew closer. “A lot. I wanna lot.”
Christian charity prompted Ian to share; prudence demanded that he make sure he kept enough to supply his own needs for a long while. “Here.” He pulled the sandwich he’d bought in town from inside a burlap bag. That sandwich cost the exorbitant price of two dollars.
“That’s a start. What else you gonna gimme?”
“This and my thanks. If that’s not enough, I’ll walk the border of your claim and carry on.”
The man grunted, swiped the sandwich, and lumbered off.
By the time Ian made his way around the last bend in the river before nearing his new claim, he’d met two more surly miners. Whate’er I endure here, Lord, help me stay civil to my fellow man. And, Lord? If You’re of a mind, I’d appreciate a good neighbor.
The next instant, a gunshot tore the air.
Two
“Hey!”
“Next shot won’t be a warning.” Though no one was visible, the voice came from a stand of trees.
“Mr. Abrams?” an unmistakably feminine voice called from across the river. “Are you all right?”
Ian watched in utter amazement as a woman in a rust-colored cape came into view. What was a woman doing out here in the bitterly cold wilds? He immediately whisked off his hat. “Ma’am.”
“Mr. Abrams?” she repeated.
“Got me a claim jumper.”
Ian heaved a sigh. “I’ve a claim of my own. I don’t want yours.”
“You don’t want mine?” Mr. Abrams finally stepped into view. “Well, how do you like that? Meredith, this whipper-snapper is insulting my claim!”
“I’m sure it’s a grand claim.” Ian nodded to emphasize his point.
“Indeed, it is. A very fine claim,” the woman tacked on.
“But I’m eager to set to work my own stake.” Ian reached into his coat pocket and produced his map. “And I ought to reach it as soon as I cross the river here.”
“Did you buy Percy’s claim?”
“That I did.” Ian squared his shoulders. “Word in Skaguay was that the Chilkoot Pass is nigh unto impassable, but folks are clamoring about the benefits of going that direction anyhow. By now, most of the decent claims have to be gone. I reckoned that heading off in a different direction made sense.”
A man joined the woman, and it didn’t escape Ian’s notice that he held a rifle. She smiled up at her man. Gently pushing the butt of the rifle toward the ground, she said, “This gentleman is our new neighbor.”
“Ian Rafferty.”
The man studied him for a moment, then rasped, “Tucker and Meredith Smith.” It didn’t escape Ian’s notice that Tucker Smith still kept a tight grip on his weapon.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Cold as it was, Ian longed to slap his hat back on, but that would be rude. He turned a shade to his left. “And I gather you’re Mr. Abrams.”
Mr. Abrams kicked the muddy sled. “You might make it ’cross, but ain’t no way to get your b’longings over.”
The woman looked at the chunks of ice bobbing on the rough current. “I’m sure the gentleman must have a plan, Mr. Abrams.” She turned her gaze onto Ian.
“Indeed, I do.”
“Tucker and I are willing to help.”
Tucker’s head dipped once in curt agreement.
“Name him a steep price,” Abrams advised. “He’s got plenty.”
“I will not!” Tucker boomed in outrage. He turned his attention on Ian. “We offered our help, and it’s yours. What’s your plan?”
During his trek, Ian had considered this eventuality and formulated a plan. “I’ve a ball of twine—”
Abrams hooted with laughter.
Ian pretended the miner hadn’t made a sound. “I’ll tie one end to an arrow and shoot it into that pine. Once ’tis on your side, if you can pull the twine, I’ll tie a sturdy rope to the end. Once we’ve hitched the line betwixt trees, I can ferry parcels across.”
“No use you doing that much work—especially with the river so mean right now.” Tucker shook his head. “We can each have a line and stay on opposite sides. It’ll be safer and quicker.”
“That’s a generous offer. I’ve a pair of pulleys. They’ll make things glide more smoothly.”
“Now just you hold on a minute.” Mr. Abrams scowled. “You’re supposing I’ll allow you to use one of my trees.”
Lord, give me patience. This old coot’s quibbling over something that petty?
“Smith might be willing to help you outta Christian charity, but I’m not.” Abrams smacked himself in the chest. “Bible-thumpin’ folks can do what they please, but charity begins at home, and you’re standin’ on my property.”
Ian set aside his irritation over the man’s greed as his heart jumped at how quickly the Lord had answered his prayers to have Christian neighbors.
“Mr. Abrams,” the woman called in a sweet voice, “I’m sure you’ll be willing to help out while I prepare supper. Then we can all break bread together to welcome Mr. Rafferty properly.”
Abrams’s eyes lit up. “You got bread? Real flour-built bread?”
Even from across the water, Ian watched as her features pulled, then quickly resumed a strained smile. She’s out of flour. He blurted out, “The first thing I’ll send over is flour. It’s only right that I contribute something to the meal.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” The joy in her voice was unmistakable.
“I hope it’s not too much trouble for you to bake it.”
“Not at all!” Suddenly, her beaming smile faded. “Oh. Well, I mean, I have soda. I can bake biscuits. We ran out of flour awhile ago, so I’ve lost my starter.”
“I’ve a small packet of sourdough starter I bought from an old woman in Skaguay. That and a few cakes of Fleischmann’s yeast.” For all of her upset o’er me leaving, Ma gave me fine directions on the essentials. I’d have never thought of starter.
Mrs. Smith pressed a hand to her bosom and said in a shaky voice, “You have starter?”
The last thing he wanted to do was set a woman to tears. Ian scuffed a small pebble with the toe of his boot and wondered what else they’d run out of. Whatever it was, he’d do his best to share. They’d already offered their friendship and help. He could do no less. “I’d take it as a favor if you’d use the starter I brought and freshen it. Left to myself, I’m afraid I’d not bake for another few days and have it go bad.”
Tucker said something to her, and she nodded before walking off.
“We ain’t got all day.” Abrams motioned at Ian. “Get busy.” As soon as Ian pulled out his bow, the crusty man gave it a dubious look. “Sure you can hit the broad side of a barn with that?”
“I’ll be hitting that spot where the bark’s scraped off of the pine,” Ian called out to Tucker. A moment later, the arrow cut the air and landed precisely where he’d s
aid it would.
Tucker whistled. “Impressive.”
“I’d be more impressed if he’d hit something I could eat.” Abrams watched as Ian tied his end of the twine to a rope. Tucker pulled the twine until the rope spanned the river. Once Tucker secured it to the pine, Abrams started dragging the other end toward a fat old red alder. “Got them pulleys, or are they stuck somewhere in that big mess of junk you hauled up here?”
“Here they are.” Ian pulled them from the burlap bag he’d tied with string. He felt every bit as eager to get to his claim as Abrams was to eat.
Tucker stood with his feet braced apart and rested his hand on his hips. “Don’t give in to the temptation to go fast and heavy on the loads. Make them light and well balanced. Better that you take time and save it all than go quick and drop something in the drink. You can’t afford to lose anything up here.”
It took just slightly under four hours to set up the rig and transfer his possessions over the tumultuous water. As the last load went across, Abrams kicked the sled. “What’re you gonna do with this now?”
“Taking it over.” Ian had plans for every part of that sled.
Abrams scowled at him. “You tetched in the head?”
“Not that I know.” Ian chuckled. “But if I were, I suppose I’d be the last to know.”
“Humph.”
Bess balked at crossing the river, but she finally did so. She twitched, shook, and brayed once she hit land. Tucker picked up what looked to be a burlap sack and started to dry her off a bit.
Lord, You exceeded my very thoughts and wishes with the Tuckers for my neighbors. They’re God-fearing, helpful, and even show consideration to a beast. Thank You for settling me next to them.
Ian held fast to the rope and swung his feet up. Mud splattered off his boots as he crossed his ankles over the rope. Pulling himself from one side of the river to the other didn’t strain him in the least. If anything, each moment managed to invigorate him further. As soon as he hit ground, he went over to assume Bess’s care.
“She’s fine.” Tucker ruffled the mule’s coarse mane. She wandered off and cropped at some fresh grass.
“Thanks for seeing to her.” Ian took out his bandanna and dipped it in the water. As he started to wash the grime from his hands and face, he called out, “Come on over, Mr. Abrams. The rope’s sturdy.”
Abrams coughed and spat. “I’m too old for that nonsense.”
“Oh, but supper will be ready in a jiffy,” Mrs. Smith called to him. “I set a place for you.”
“Can’t disappoint the lady.” Abrams swung up on the rope and shimmied over with more dexterity than Ian had expected. The old man dropped down next to Tucker Smith. “Been so long since I had me some bread, I woulda swum over here to have a taste.”
“You can’t swim,” Tucker said.
“Woulda lernt how.” Abrams marched toward the cabin.
Until that moment, Ian hadn’t paid much attention to the small building. Percy said he’d erected a shelter on the claim. Though small, it looked sturdy enough. If anything, the nine-by-ten-foot log cabin would be generous for a man on his own. A bigger place would require more wood to heat. This is perfect for me.
He and Tucker followed close behind the old man. “Once we eat and Abrams makes it back to his claim, I’ll help you use the rope to hang your provender.”
Ian gave Tucker a surprised look. “I appreciate the offer, but it hardly seems necessary.”
“Bears and raccoons are active. Most of this could be gone in a day.”
Ian shrugged. “The cabin looks quite sturdy.”
Confusion plowed lines on Smith’s forehead. “You want me to store your goods?”
“Dinner’s going to get cold,” the woman called to them from the door.
At that moment, Ian realized this was her home, not his. “My apologies. I mistook your cabin for mine.”
Tucker’s brows shot upward. “What cabin?”
“Hooo-ooo-ey!” Abrams wheeled around and laughed so hard, he started coughing. “Percy snookered you!”
Dread filled Ian. “He swore he’d constructed a shelter.”
“He did.” Abrams pointed to a half-hidden jumble of logs. “He just didn’t tell you what kind.”
When he stared at the ramshackle lean-to, Ian questioned the sanity of his plan for the first time.
Three
“Tucker caught an abundance of fish today.”
“I brung my appetite with me. I could eat the legs off a runnin’ skunk.” Abrams smacked Ian on the shoulder. “Betcha you’re starvin’ after walking all this way.”
Until he’d seen the lean-to, Ian had felt ravenous. But his appetite had disappeared. Just before he said so, he looked at Mrs. Smith. Miss Smith, he thought as he got a closer look at her abundant brown hair and warm hazel eyes. Her features were finer and softer than Tucker’s, but there could be no mistaking the truth. They weren’t man and wife—they were brother and sister.
“Are you hungry, Mr. Rafferty?” Her glance darted to the lean-to and back.
Ian suddenly remembered his manners and whisked off his hat. He didn’t want to lie, so he settled on the only truth he could muster. “Something smells wonderful, ma’am.”
“It’s your bread.” She inhaled deeply. “In the Bible, there’s talk of incense burning before the Lord. I don’t know about all the sweet-smelling things they used, but I won’t be disappointed if heaven smells like fresh, hot bread.”
“If that was true, I might could think ’bout mendin’ my ways and getting churchified.” Mr. Abrams plowed on into the cabin.
Accustomed to stomping the field soil from his shoes and wiping his feet on the veranda mat, Ian noticed the Smiths had no such mat. His next realization was that the cabin had a dirt floor. Nonetheless, he stomped his feet and did his best to knock off the worst of the dried crumbles.
“No need for that,” Miss Smith murmured.
“I’d beg to disagree. Your floor is hard packed; the soil on my boots would scatter all over and make a mess.” He flashed her a wry smile. “Besides, my ma would wallop me if she ever heard I tracked dirt into anyone’s house.”
Miss Smith laughed.
A table made of raw-cut timber completely filled the space between a pair of beds. Packing crates formed a crude storage area along the far wall on each side of a stone fireplace. Most of the dishes sat on the table; an appalling lack of food on the shelves stunned Ian. And still, they invited me to supper.
“You men can sit on that side.” Tucker waved at one of the beds. He sat next to his sister on the other.
“How lovely to have you gentlemen join us.” Miss Smith’s hazel eyes sparkled with delight.
She’s living on the edge of hunger, yet she’s glad to share. Ian smiled at her. “Honored to be invited, ma’am. It’s generous of you.”
“Yeah.” Abrams nodded as he swiped the biggest slice of bread and stuffed half of it in his mouth.
“In our home, we ask a blessing before each meal.” Tucker folded his hands.
Abrams crammed the rest of the bread in his mouth and bowed his head. The second Tucker’s prayer ended, Abrams grabbed for another slice of bread and squinted at Tucker. “Dunno much about all that God stuff, but didn’t you forget one of your lines? The one ’bout daily bread?”
“That’s the Lord’s Prayer.” Tucker lifted the platter of fish and started to pass it to Ian.
Ian tilted his head toward Miss Smith. “Ladies first.”
Tucker’s brow rose, but he held the platter so his sister could serve herself.
Abrams took a gigantic bite of the bread and spoke with his mouth full. “Ain’t all the prayers His?”
Miss Smith served her brother first, then herself. “All of our prayers are said to the Lord, but Jesus taught the disciples one as an example of how to pray. We call that the Lord’s Prayer.”
“Humph. Just as well.” The old man took the platter and speared the largest fish with his fork. As he l
ifted, the fish flaked apart and half flopped back onto the platter. He scraped the fish directly from the platter onto his plate and plunked the platter down without offering it to Ian. “I recollect there’s another part of that prayer that don’t settle with me. I ain’t no trespasser, and I ain’t a-gonna forgive nobody else for trespassing on my claim.”
“Jesus forgives all of us if we ask Him to. Christians want to be like Him, so we try to forgive others.” Miss Smith deftly lifted Abrams’s mug and pressed it into his hand as he reached for a third slice of bread.
Tucker pushed the bread toward Ian. Tucker’s eyes gave a silent bid for him to hurry and claim his fair share.
Ian took a slice and immediately gave the plate to Tucker. “After you and Miss Smith help yourselves, perhaps you could set this behind you.”
“No reason to do that,” Abrams roared with outrage.
“Of course there is. I’m clumsy.” Ian pointed at the serving platter that lay off center in the middle of the tiny table. “I aim to scoot that closer, or I’m going to drop fish on the table and make a mess.” He proceeded to pull the entrée over and serve himself.
“As I said”—Tucker cleared his throat—“bears can be a problem around here.”
Ian grimaced. “Then how did Percy live in a lean-to?”
“Stink.” Abrams bobbed his head knowingly. “He stunk so bad, bears like to thought he was a skunk.”
Miss Smith coughed. Is she really choking, or is she trying to hide laughter?
“Tucker, whap her on the back a few times. Something’s going down the wrong pipe.” Abrams waggled his fork in the air. “Yep. Stink’s what kept the bears from Percy.”
Miss Smith’s cough turned to a splutter. If Mr. Abrams had bathed even once in the past six months, Ian would have been amazed. Out in the open, his smell hadn’t been quite so overpowering, but in the close confines of the cabin, Abrams’s stench grew stronger by the second. Opening the one tiny window wouldn’t begin to help.
“Miss Smith”—Ian looked across the table at her—“do you need some fresh air?”
Tucker grabbed his plate and hers as he shot to his feet. “Good of you to understand, Rafferty. Come, Sis. We’ll all go on outside to finish supper. After the long winter, it’s best you get as much light and fresh air as you can.”
Golden Dawn Page 2
