Murphy, Gold Rush Dog

by Alison Hart

Sight would not help me. I had to rely on my nose.

  Dropping my head, I retraced my steps. The bears’ scents wound to and fro, and I often had to stop and circle back. I feared for Sally, who’d never been alone at night. Not that I was a great protector. It seemed all I could do was run away.

  I quickened my step, stopping only to find my trail or listen for the river. Did I go in this direction before? With the bear hot on my tail, I had run blindly.

  The chilly wind made me shiver. The vast sameness of the tundra confused me. I caught my scent again and trotted off, suddenly realizing I was tracking back the way I had just come. Sitting on my haunches, I tipped back my head and bayed.

  “Murphy!” Sally’s voice was faint, but it was enough.

  With renewed energy, I galloped toward the sound. A distant light glowed in the air.

  “Murphy!”

  I woofed, telling Sally I was coming. The light bobbed closer as if she was running too. With one last leap, I landed at her feet. She dropped her torch, which hissed in the bog.

  “I thought you were gone forever!” She hugged me tightly against her. “What happened? Where were you?”

  Lost, I wanted to tell Sally, but I could only wiggle and nuzzle her.

  “It doesn’t matter. Only you must never leave me again. Nothing is more important than you—and Mama—I realize that now.” Sally choked on her words and I could hear the sob in her voice. “It doesn’t matter if we don’t find that nugget. Tomorrow we’ll head back to Nome. If Mama’s there, if she didn’t leave for Seattle, I’ll tell her how sorry I am—about leaving her and making her worry. Oh, I hope she will be there!”

  Scrambling to her feet, Sally wrapped her fingers around my collar. Then she picked up the torch and held it in front of her. It shone on a piece of paper stuck on a thorn. “This way, Murphy. I marked my trail with pages from Grimm’s Fairy Tales so I wouldn’t get lost. I wasn’t going to be as foolish as Hansel. Now let’s go back and start packing. We’ll leave in the morning.”

  I barked, ready to go home too. I’d had enough of wolves, mosquitoes, storms, bogs—and bears!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A Long Journey

  August 21, 1900

  We do have quite a bit of gold flour and flakes,” Sally said as she tightened the harness around my chest. “It is safe in my silver vial. Perhaps Mr. and Mr. Hughes will take that as a first payment for the cabin. We can hope, can’t we, Murphy?”

  I sat on my haunches, resting before the long trek home. Sally darted around the camp like a blackfly. She couldn’t stay still and I worried she would wear herself out before we left.

  “Let me clean the frying pan before I tie it to your harness.” She glanced up at the sky. “Oh, clouds are gathering again! I hope we make it to Nome before another storm.”

  The wind whisked from the north, cutting through my fur, which was starting to thicken for the winter. Sally wore her leggings and jacket against the chill. I was glad we were leaving before the weather grew worse.

  She gathered sand and used it to scrub the pan, which was greasy from the last of the bacon that she had cooked for our breakfast. “Do you think our tent is still waiting on the Nome beach?” Peering back at me, she wrinkled her nose. “Though after camping in the quiet of the tundra, I do not wish to live there again. That’s another reason we need a cabin. The Hughes home is far enough from town to be peaceful, but near enough to walk to Front Street even in four feet of snow.”

  She dipped the pan in the river to rinse it, then froze. Frowning, she stooped and peered into the water. Then she gasped, dropped the frying pan, and slowly reached her hand into the water. When she withdrew it, something glistened from between her thumb and finger.

  “Murphy,” she whispered. “It’s the nugget. I found it!” Whooping, she sprang into the air, keeping her fist wrapped tight around the gold. She opened her hand. “Look at it! It’s the size of a coin! Oh, I won’t lose it this time.”

  Yanking at the leather strap around her neck, she drew the vial from her bodice. Then she looked over at me. “I know a better place to keep this safe.” She found the pocket on the inside of my canvas collar and tucked the nugget inside. It felt like a knot at my neck. “You are the only one I trust, Murphy.”

  Something wet plopped on my nose. A snowflake. Tipping back my head, I looked skyward. The clouds were thick and low.

  “Snow in August. Ugh. Come on, Murphy. It’s time to go.” Sally stood and surveyed the camp where we’d spent the past weeks. Then, hitching her pack securely on her shoulders, she strode off.

  Snow began to fall harder as we trudged downriver, keeping the water in sight as best as we could. We followed a deer path that meandered along one side, until it curved inland. By then I was making deep tracks in the snow. We had to stop often to shake off Sally’s mukluks and pull ice balls from my paws.

  When the snow got too thick and the sky too dark to see, Sally stopped under a tangle of willow roots. It was clear underneath and gave some protection from the wind. She unhooked my harness, which dropped to the ground with a clang of supplies. Then she pulled the blanket from her pack and wrapped it around herself. She opened a can of beef and shared it with me. I was weary, and I could tell Sally was just as tired. Draping the oilcloth on top of the roots, she crawled underneath. “Come on, Murphy.” She gestured for me to join her, but I scooted away. I needed to keep lookout. Sleep for me would not be easy. Snow did not keep Alaskan creatures from hunting.

  I dozed fitfully until the sky turned from black to gray. It was still snowing, and a small drift kept us snug under the roots until Sally woke up. Breakfast was a bit of dried beef and the last of the biscuits, which were as hard as stones. My mouth watered for a juicy salmon.

  “Nome should be one or two more days’ trek,” Sally said as she packed up her gear and tied on my harness. “Hunger will make us walk faster.”

  But when we crawled from the hole, we realized that the snow was much deeper now. It reached the top of Sally’s mukluks and almost touched my belly. It was wet and heavy, making our journey slow and hard.

  Sally tried to stay next to the river, where the heat from the rushing water had melted some of the snow. But it was slippery, and after falling twice, she gave up and climbed back to the flat tundra.

  When we reached the high bank where the trail cut into the ridge, Sally cheered. “This is where we camped the first night. We are halfway home!” Then her face fell. “Not quite. I forgot that Mr. Lindblom ferried us farther up the river. We’ll have to make it to Point Crossing before we can catch the boat.” She sighed wearily. “At least it is not too cold.”

  Reaching into her pack, she pulled out the beef and a few dried apricots. “This will be our lunch and dinner.” We ate standing, fat flakes settling on her shoulders and hat and on my back. I shook, but the snow was so wet that it stuck. Sally ran her hand along my spine to clear it. Then she took off her hat and banged it against her leg.

  “We’ll have to carefully make our way along this path,” she said. “The snow’s packed on the ridge that hangs over the trail. And there’s a steep drop to the river.” She shivered as she glanced down to the rushing water. It would be slippery too.

  Sally went first, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. The flakes fell so fast and heavy that I could barely see her. Then above us, I heard a rumble. I barked. Sally turned and looked at me, then up at the overhang. Under the brim of her hat, I saw fear in her eyes as the rumble turned to a roar. The overhang, heavy with wet snow, gave way. It crashed over Sally, and she vanished in a cloud of white.

  For an instant, I stood frozen in horror. The snow and Sally tumbled down toward the river in a swirl of mud and rock, and it landed in a huge mound. Without hesitating I leaped to the riverbank. Furiously I began to dig.

  Somewhere in the icy pile, Sally was buried—and I had to get her out!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Desperation!

  August 21, 1900
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br />   Snow and mud flew from beneath my paws as I dug, desperately trying to get to Sally. I barked, hoping she could hear me. I plowed into the mound with my muzzle, smelling for her. When I scented her jacket and felt her warmth, I dug even harder. Finally, I found her arm.

  Grabbing her sleeve, I yanked, pulling until I could get a grip on the shoulder of her jacket. I tugged with all my might, until I could see her head.

  I licked Sally’s face clear of snow. Her eyes fluttered, and she tried to struggle upright. Her legs were still buried and I clawed at the snow packed around them, careful not to scratch her. Once they were uncovered, I barked encouragement.

  Sally’s lips were blue. She needed to move to get warm again. Holding on to me, she tried to stand. She winced when she put weight on one leg. “I fear I twisted my ankle, Murphy. I need to make a splint. Grandpapa showed me how to fashion one like he had to during the war.”

  She took off her belt and slid off the sheath, the knife still in it. She secured the sheath to her ankle with her belt to create a splint. “This will have to do,” she said grimly.

  I stood next to her and she leaned on me to rise. “We have to get to Point Crossing and the mining camp before nightfall,” she told me. “Thank the Lord the snow has stopped. That at least is in our favor.”

  Using me as a crutch, Sally hobbled along the river until we found a gentle rise up the bank. There we found a path trampled by animals and followed it. The sun peeked through the clouds. It warmed us, but also made the snow sticky like the oatmeal I used to lick from Mama’s bowl.

  Half walking, half hopping, and always leaning on me, Sally made her way. I could feel the exhaustion in her grip on my shoulder. I was tired too. And hungry. I did not know how far we had to go to reach Point Crossing. Before, we had traveled easily by boat. Plowing through thick snow was slow going. Could we make it by nightfall?

  Suddenly Sally slumped down on a small hillock. Her cheeks were white. Undoing the belt, she rubbed her ankle. It was swollen under her legging. “I can’t go any farther, Murphy,” she said. “Point Crossing is at least two more miles. Only I can’t move another inch. My leg hurts so, and slogging through the snow is like walking in mush. Tomorrow we can go on.”

  I pranced in front of her, whining, willing her to try. The feeble sun was dipping behind the horizon, the air growing sharp with cold. Sally’s clothes were wet from her fall into the river. They would freeze stiff overnight. I didn’t think she could survive outside with no fire.

  Pulling off her pack, she removed the blanket and oilcloth and wrapped herself in them. Then she slid down in the protection of the hillock, curled in a ball, and shut her eyes.

  I barked, but she didn’t move. Frantic, I raced around her. I had to do something! I couldn’t build a fire. I couldn’t drag her two miles.

  I could drape myself over her to keep her warm until morning. Or I could go to Point Crossing and summon help.

  I hated to leave Sally, but I knew this was what I needed to do. I would run as fast as a deer in the snow. I would get to Point Crossing before nightfall and bring rescuers back to Sally.

  I knew which way to go. The river guided me, and without Sally, I moved swiftly. Before long, I smelled smoke.

  By the time I saw the glow of the campfire, the sky was dark. I bounded into a circle of men sitting on crates around a fire and eating from metal plates. Two of them sprang up and reached for rifles. Another held up a lantern.

  For a second, I was blinded by the brightness. Fear coursed through me as I remembered the gang of men chasing me down the street in Nome. My legs wanted to turn and run, but I thought of Sally.

  “What in tarnation is that?” one of the men exclaimed.

  I barked and whirled in the direction I had come.

  “Put down your rifles, you idiots,” a deep voice said. “It’s a dog.”

  “A mighty big dog,” another added.

  A tall man rose from his seat on a crate. “Looks like he’s wearing a pack. Must be a miner’s dog.”

  “Boss said he’d heard rumors someone was panning at the bend.”

  I barked again. The tall man stepped closer but I darted out of reach. I looked over my shoulder and whined. Follow me. Follow me.

  “If it’s a miner’s dog, where’s the miner?”

  “The beast wants us to go with him,” the tall man said. “Could be the miner’s injured, and the dog’s asking for help. Ford, Jones: grab your snowshoes and come with me.”

  “We worked like mules all day,” one of the men grumbled. “If a man’s foolish enough to be out in this snow and cold, he deserves to die.”

  This way! This way! I barked and barked until the tall man again gestured to two others. “That’s an order. Let’s see what this fool dog wants. If it’s a miner, Carlick might give us a reward for putting a bullet in his head.”

  “Or might be the dog’ll lead us to a steak dinner,” another said with a chuckle.

  With the three men following me, I trotted down the path away from the fire. They carried lanterns and rifles. But since they wore snowshoes and I had already carved a trail, we made fast time.

  The moon had risen, so I could see the dark lump that was Sally. Whining, I nosed her and then woofed at the men: Hurry! Hurry!

  The tall man bent over and shook Sally’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up.” When there was no response, he peeled back the oilcloth from around her head. “Why, it’s a youngun’,” he said. Shrugging off his coat, he wrapped it around her. “Kid’s alive. Warm, actually. Let’s get him back to camp.” He bent to pick her up.

  As he started to lift her, Sally awoke and began to struggle. “Who are you? What are you doing? Put me down!”

  “What in the world?” He lifted his lantern higher. “It’s a girl!”

  “A feisty one.”

  “Calm down, miss,” the tall man said. “I’m Jacob Beamer. We’re from the Alaska Gold Mining Company at Point Crossing. Your dog came into camp and wouldn’t leave us alone until we followed him.”

  “Lucky he did,” the second man added, “or you’d be a grizzly dinner.”

  Sally’s eyes shifted to me. I wagged my tail and lifted my lip in a smile of relief. She smiled back.

  “We need to get you to our fire,” Mr. Beamer said. “Can you walk?”

  “My ankle is twisted.”

  “I’ll carry you then. Grab her gear,” he told one of the men, as he hoisted Sally in his arms.

  They all headed down the trail. Sally’s head nodded against Mr. Beamer’s shoulder.

  When we reached the camp, he set her on a rock near the fire. She leaned forward and warmed her hands. Then she unhooked my harness so I could rest too.

  I hugged her side, my gaze anxious. The men had saved Sally, yet they did not seem friendly.

  “I’ll get the boss,” one of them said. He hurried over to a log cabin.

  Mr. Beamer handed Sally a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of beef and beans. She took them with a gracious “thank-you,” but I could see the wariness in her own eyes as she ate. When she was half- finished she set the plate in front of me so I could lap up the rest.

  “I appreciate your help and the hearty meal, sir,” Sally said. “Do you know when Mr. Lindblom will be arriving?”

  “Midday tomorrow as always,” he replied. “Are you going to tell us what you were doing on the tundra in the middle of a storm?”

  “I’ll tell you what she was doing!” A man strode toward us. “She was trespassing on my land and panning my gold.”

  My hair bristled. I knew who it was even before the flames lighted his face. Carlick.

  A growl rose in my throat. Sally clutched my collar as Carlick marched up to us. Crossing his arms, he glared down at her.

  “Right, little missy? You must be the one who’s been mining the bend upriver. We heard rumors and sometimes smelled smoke. Did you know that land belongs to my company? Which means any gold you found belongs to me.”

  Sally’s face paled and
she set down the coffee mug. Her eyes darted around the campfire as if hoping for an ally. But suddenly the other miners were looking away, finishing a meal, or cleaning equipment. Only Mr. Beamer appeared to be listening.

  “The law says that’s trespassing and stealing,” Carlick went on. “We need to take her into town and have her arrested.”

  But Carlick didn’t know Sally. My mistress had smudged cheeks, sodden clothes, and brush sticking out of her hair. Still, she slowly stood up in front of him, trying not to wince when she put weight on her sore leg. I stood too, ready to flee. I knew the meanness in Carlick. Sally didn’t.

  Tipping up her chin, she studied Carlick with a clear gaze. “And who are you, sir, to be issuing such threats?”

  “Mr. Ruston Carlick, at your service.” He grinned smugly. “Half owner of Alaskan Gold Mining Company, which has claimed the Snake River from Nome all the way to heaven.”

  “Oh, then you definitely don’t own that bend; that camp might be described as purgatory, but never as heaven.”

  Several men chuckled, and Carlick shot them warning looks.

  Stooping, Sally picked up her pack and mine. “I thank your men for carrying me to the fire, fixing me a meal, and letting me warm myself, but my dog and I will be on our way.”

  Carlick’s grin vanished. “Wrong, miss. You will not be on your way until you give me any gold you panned from that claim.”

  Sally’s brow furrowed. I nudged her side, wanting her to give the man what he wanted so we could be gone.

  “No, sir. I will not,” she said. “I have heard of your reputation. You and McKenzie may have evicted the rightful owners from their claims with the help of Judge Noyes. You may have stolen gold from half the prospectors in Nome. But you will not take my hard-earned gains.”

  Throwing back his head, Carlick laughed uproariously. Then in one swift movement, he slapped Sally across the cheek, sending her sprawling sideways.

  Anger coursed through me. I had run from Carlick and men like him all my life. But none of them had ever hurt Sally.