[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North

by Tracie Peterson

  He quickly penned some thoughts related to Colton Shipping and arranged for a runner to deliver a message to the telegraph operator. He would do what he had to in order to see the Coltons back on their feet. If it benefited him in the process, so much the better. After all, he was a businessman.

  Martin glanced at his watch as soon as the message was on its way. He had agreed to meet with a Mr. Jones in regard to selling him a warehouse near the docks. When a knock sounded on the suite door, Martin nodded, glad to see that the man was punctual.

  ‘‘Come in,’’ he called in a loud, booming voice.

  The man, a few years Paxton’s senior, bounded into the room. ‘‘Have you heard it, Mr. Paxton?’’ he questioned enthusiastically. ‘‘Gold! Imagine gold nuggets as big as dogs.’’

  ‘‘Are we talking poodles or wolfhounds, Mr. Jones?’’

  Jones stopped for a moment as if considering the question, then laughed. ‘‘Who cares, so long as it’s real and worth a fortune!’’

  ‘‘So you’ve caught the fever, eh?’’ Martin leaned back in his chair, already knowing the answer.

  The man nodded. ‘‘I’m selling everything and going north. I plan to make my fortune and live out life as a wealthy man.’’

  ‘‘Do you know anything about gold mining in the Yukon?’’

  Mr. Jones could not contain his excitement. ‘‘It’s really rather simple. The stuff is spread atop the ground for the taking. I’ve already heard tell that you just walk about picking up the gold until you’ve collected your fill. It’s in the creek beds and the rivers, it’s on the mountainsides and in the streets. Why, one man said the natives use the stuff to make fences and to line their wells.’’

  Paxton would have burst out laughing had the man not been so pathetic. ‘‘So you’ve come to sell me your warehouse?’’

  ‘‘That’s right. I want to have traveling money. I plan to go in grand style.’’

  ‘‘And just what style would that be in this situation?’’

  ‘‘I’ll take a ship all the way around Alaska. A man can pay a pretty penny for it, but there are steamers to be had out of St. Michael that will take you east along the Yukon River and eventually land you in Dawson City. None of that strenuous hiking for me. I’m no billy goat to be climbing over mountains.’’ He laughed in a grating manner that set Martin’s nerves on edge. ‘‘No, sir, I’ll stay aboard the ship until I reach the land of milk and honey.’’

  ‘‘I thought it was all made of gold,’’ Martin chided.

  ‘‘And so it is,’’ Mr. Jones replied. ‘‘And I intend to see my name assigned to a good portion of it.’’

  ‘‘Very well,’’ Martin replied. ‘‘Then let us get down to business. I’d hate to delay you further.’’

  ‘‘Well, ladies,’’ Aunt Doris began, ‘‘it appears we have arrived.’’

  ‘‘Do you suppose anyone will be here to meet us?’’ Karen questioned, stretching across Grace to look out to the depot platform. ‘‘I suppose what with this craziness to go north, we’ll never get out of here.’’

  ‘‘What did the paper say about the gold rush?’’ Doris questioned. ‘‘Is it happening near Skagway?’’

  ‘‘No, the gold is much farther north. However, Skagway is the stopping-off point for northbound ships. The paper said the two towns are hardly more than tent cities, but that they are sure to grow with the popularity of the routes they offer. I remember mother’s letters saying there was little more than a trading post and a Tlingit Indian village in Dyea and nothing of value in Skagway.’’

  ‘‘Your sister stated that the ship they’ve booked us on will dock in Skagway. Do you suppose there is transportation to Dyea?’’ Doris questioned.

  ‘‘I’m sure there must be. Both towns afford a passageway over the mountains and north to the Yukon, but apparently the trail is shorter or better out of Dyea. The papers don’t give much information on it, but my deduction from personal accounts would seem to suggest that one route is superior to the other,’’ Karen replied.

  ‘‘My, my,’’ Doris said, shaking her head. ‘‘Such a fuss. Greed. That’s all it is, pure and simple.’’

  Karen knew it to be true, but her heart was heavy nevertheless. With so many people vying for positions on the northbound ships, there would be no hope of privacy. On the other hand, with such a crowd they would not be easily remembered. What bothered her most, however, was how they would find her father with thousands of people pouring into the territory on a weekly basis.

  ‘‘It looks rather frightening,’’ Grace said, turning her pale face to Karen.

  Karen smiled and clutched her friend’s gloved hand. ‘‘Think of it as an adventure,’’ she said. ‘‘An adventure that is certainly better than the one planned out for you back in Chicago.’’

  Grace nodded. ‘‘I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.’’

  ‘‘You didn’t,’’ Karen reassured. ‘‘Just remember what awaits you back there, and the future can’t seem half so frightening. In this case, the evil we know is far worse than any supposed trouble we might conjure to mind.’’

  At least she hoped that was the case, because given her own vivid imagination, Karen could conjure quite a few unwelcome thoughts.

  9

  —[ CHAPTER NINE ]—

  SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

  ABOARD HIS SHIP, Merry Maid, Peter Colton pulled off his bandana and wiped it over his sweat-soaked hair. The day had been nothing but trouble. First he’d had to deal with torn cargo nets and a broken hoist. Then there was a mix-up of invoices and lack of cargo to load once the nets were replaced.

  Nothing was going right. In fact, not much had gone right in months.

  Retying the scarf around his neck, Peter snugged a blue cap over his damp hair and wondered what he was going to do about getting the hoist repaired. He gave the bill of his cap a quick solid yank to shield the sun from his eyes and squared his broad shoulders. He’d have to reason it through later. Surely an answer would come to him.

  ‘‘Captain, this message came for you,’’ a scrawny-looking teenager announced. He thrust a piece of paper into Peter’s hands before heading back to his original task.

  ‘‘ ‘Come home at once,’ ’’ Peter read aloud. The script was clearly his father’s handwriting. Fearful that something worse than a broken net had befallen his family, Peter barked out orders to his men, then hurried in the direction of home.

  At nearly twenty-seven years of age, some thought it rather strange that he should still live at home with his father, mother, and younger sister, Miranda. But in truth, with the shipping business he was so often away that he thought it completely unreasonable to consider marriage and a home of his own. Not that he didn’t long for a wife at times. There were always quiet moments when Peter silently wished for a companion with whom to share his ambitions and dreams. There were even moments of longing for the passionate touch of someone he could love. But he always put such notions aside. The shipping business was failing. His father’s lack of direction and interest had cost them dearly. Bringing a woman into his life at this point would only complicate matters.

  Besides, women were of a queer state of mind these days. They were more outspoken and demanding—so unlike his demure little mother who lived to serve her husband and children. So unlike his sister who, at four years his junior, worshiped the ground he walked on and sought him without fail for advice. In fact, his entire family looked to him for advice and wisdom. Even his father recognized that Peter had a certain gift for working a matter through to a more positive benefit and often yielded his own authority to Peter. That kind of adoration was hard to find in anyone, much less a wife.

  Hiking up the dock to the embarcadero, Peter hailed a ride with a passing freighter and jumped off several minutes later. He was still a good six blocks from his family’s three-story home, but he crossed the distance in brisk strides. He tried not to worry. The note did not necessarily denote a problem. Knowing his family’s hig
h regard for his opinion, they might just as well need him to make the final choice in some purchase. He breathed a little easier, sure it was nothing worth fretting over.

  His home came into view. Sandwiched between and connected side by side with other town houses, the Colton home was not anything to brag about. It was clean and well kept by the women who loved it, but Peter knew there were repairs that desperately needed to be made. A broken step, a cracked window, and a desperate need for paint and a new roof were all listed in a ledger Peter kept. These, along with a dozen other minor problems, were enough to keep Peter on the ship as much as possible. There was no money to see to the upkeep of their home, and he hated that his family should have to live in such disrepair. But like the problems of his ship, Peter buried his concern in order to focus on the matter at hand.

  Bounding up the front steps two at a time, Peter pulled open the screen door and called out, ‘‘Father! I’m here!’’

  Ephraim Colton, a wiry and weathered fellow in his fifties, appeared at the end of the hall. ‘‘We’ve gathered in the music room, Peter. Miranda was keeping us entertained while we waited to share the news.’’

  ‘‘Good news or bad?’’ Peter questioned, tossing his cap aside.

  ‘‘Good. Come and hear for yourself,’’ he said, beckoning Peter to come quickly.

  Peter nodded. His father’s spirits seemed considerably lifted since their earlier talk at breakfast. In fact, he looked as if he could break into a jig at any moment.

  Glancing at his sister, Peter took up a straight-backed chair and sat. Miranda, ever prim and properly attired, grinned and nodded at Peter as if to suggest he was in for a treat. Easing against the chair, he looked back to his father. ‘‘So tell me everything.’’

  ‘‘Oh, Peter, it is the very best of news,’’ his mother, Amelia, stated before her husband could take the letter from her hands. ‘‘Indeed it has made us all very happy.’’

  ‘‘So tell me and let me share in your happiness.’’

  ‘‘The letter is from our good friend Martin Paxton. He’s been spending time in Chicago these past two months,’’ Ephraim told his son. ‘‘While there, he’s benefited from the news of the gold rush and wishes to help us benefit as well.’’

  Now Peter’s interest was captured. ‘‘In what way?’’

  ‘‘He wants to hire us to take freight to Skagway. With folks making their way north, Martin sees the profit of selling goods. He wants to give it a trial run and if the money is good, he will continue to invest with us. He’s wired money to the bank here in San Francisco and told me to use it as I wish to get the ships up and running.’’

  ‘‘Isn’t Mr. Paxton generous to offer us such a commission?’’ his mother said with obvious adoration.

  ‘‘What sort of interest is he charging us?’’ Peter asked quickly, as if to cast suspicion on the generosity of Mr. Paxton.

  His father looked confused. ‘‘No interest. This isn’t really a loan in full. The money is there for our use, true enough. But we will be purchasing supplies for Mr. Paxton’s store and moving them north. We can take a reasonable shipping fee and take on passengers as well—if we choose.’’

  ‘‘Sounds most agreeable,’’ Peter replied, thinking of what it could mean for the family.

  ‘‘Son, what are your views on this push to the north? Apparently there are more willing souls to head north than there are ships to crate them. Shall we join in this rush?’’

  ‘‘In truth, Father, I’ve considered this very thing,’’ Peter admitted. ‘‘Seems like good money for minimal work, especially if we haul passengers without extending a lot of fancy services. Charge a fair price, but offer nothing more than two meals a day and shared quarters. Out of Seattle and with good weather, it would take no more than five days to reach Skag-way.’’

  ‘‘But I thought the most coveted route would go north around Nome and up the Yukon River,’’ his father said.

  Peter was surprised his father had become interested enough to remember these details. Even the excitement of easy gold had never been enough to turn his father’s head.

  ‘‘It’s true,’’ Peter began. ‘‘Many of the lines are offering service to the Yukon via an all-water route. But there are just as many who are dumping loads of passengers and goods off at the towns of Skagway and Dyea. I was talking to the captain of the Florence Marie, and he told me about the passageway and the harbors there. Neither town has much in the way of a dock, but that will soon change. They generally anchor offshore and use barges to take the goods and people to awaiting wagons. He assures me plans are already in the making for proper docks.’’

  ‘‘And you think it would be better to bring folks into this Skagway rather than take the Yukon River route and deliver them to their destination of Dawson City?’’

  Peter nodded. ‘‘Much shorter time and less trouble; thus, we could charge customers less. I could make several trips a month and see immediate results. The Yukon route would take months, and frankly, without extensive repairs I doubt either Merry Maid or your Summer Song could withstand the harsh conditions.’’

  ‘‘Aye, Summer Song would need work, that’s to be sure. But what of the trip to Skagway. She’ll need work for that as well.’’

  Peter considered the situation for a moment. ‘‘My suggestion is to take Mr. Paxton up on his offer, but to advise him that certain repairs and alterations will have to be made up front before we can proceed.’’

  ‘‘But that might well result in him canceling his plans,’’ Ephraim said. The worried look on his face spoke more than his words.

  ‘‘If Mr. Paxton is the friend you claim him to be, he would not want you or me to risk our lives. In addition, he’d want to know his cargo was safe.’’

  ‘‘Aye. I’ll get a telegram off to him straightaway. But what of the alterations and repairs?’’

  ‘‘Yes, Peter, is there anything we can do to help?’’ Miranda asked.

  Peter looked to the eager expressions of his sister and mother. ‘‘I can get Jim Goodson down to look over the accommodations on the Merry Maid. He can work miracles, and if there are funds to pay for them, Jim is the one I’d trust to do the work.’’

  ‘‘Do you suppose he would have time to get right to it? Time is of the utmost importance,’’ Ephraim replied.

  ‘‘I’ll clean up and go to see Jim. Meanwhile, Father, you must arrange for the goods Mr. Paxton wants shipped. I’m supposing he sent you a list?’’

  ‘‘Aye,’’ Ephraim replied. ‘‘I can get to it after sending the post. We should make certain he wants us to continue despite the need for repair work.’’

  ‘‘Very well. If his reply is positive, we will need to act fast. There is always the possibility that in the midst of this gold madness supplies will be unavailable. I would hate to disappoint such a generous man.’’ Peter looked to his mother and sister. ‘‘As for you two, if you wish to be of the utmost help, assist me in planning for the sleeping arrangements. We’ll need blankets and sheets, pillows and such.’’

  ‘‘Of course,’’ Amelia Colton replied, nodding. ‘‘We can see to all of that.’’

  For the first time in months, Peter felt truly encouraged. ‘‘Good. Then let’s get to work!’’

  Hours later after arranging with Jim Goodson for several alterations to the Merry Maid, Peter headed home. He’d decided it was in their best interest to get Jim right on the job. If Paxton wouldn’t advance them the money, Jim was a good enough friend to wait until Peter could return. One run, Peter thought, one run is all I need to make enough to pay off Jim. Then he could see to their debts and get both ships properly fitted.

  He hated that Summer Song and Merry Maid had suffered such wear over the years. It reflected poorly on him. He wanted nothing more than to show his father that he was fully capable of seeing to the needs of their family, and yet they were hopelessly in debt and perilously close to bankruptcy. Paxton’s offer couldn’t have come at a better time, and yet Peter h
ad to fight back feelings of inadequacy.

  ‘‘I should have figured a way out,’’ he muttered to himself. He kicked an empty can out of the way and watched as the wind picked up the game and sent the object clattering down the road.

  ‘‘If only Father would have—’’ He stopped himself in mid-sentence. He wouldn’t bad-mouth his father. Ephraim Colton was simply not the best of businessmen. He’d made an adequate living for his family. Peter could not fault him for holding steady rather than pushing for great wealth. Neither could he fault his father for the depression that had robbed the shipping industry and everyone else of their well-being.

  Merry Maid and Summer Song had been fairly new when his father had taken them on. They were small, classy new steamers with sail capabilities that made them both economical and efficient. The elder Colton had invested heavily, mortgaging everything he had and throwing in all his savings, which at that time had been considerable due to a family inheritance. But twenty years and a depression later, Peter could hardly find a way to keep their heads above the debt.

  It was quite late by the time he reached the house, and Peter knew his family would already be asleep. Slipping quietly up the steps, he paused at the top and without thinking much about what he was doing, he sat down to contemplate their new situation.

  The past months had weighed heavily on Peter, and he had worried over what they would do and how they would manage to keep in business. The gold rush news had brought a fury of activity to the bay area, but Peter had felt too cautious to simply jump in with both feet. It wasn’t a lack of desire that had kept him homebound, but rather a measure of respect for his less-adventurous father. Ephraim Colton took things at a much slower speed these days. His father had suffered the past ten years, fretting and worrying about poor decisions. It had taken the spirit out of him. For as long as Peter could remember, he had known the business to be in trouble. Living in the west had seemed like Ephraim’s dream come true, but the life here had been harder than he had anticipated, and his worries over his wife and children had caused him to change his thinking. He had once told Peter that nothing grieved him more than the thought of leaving a penniless widow behind to raise two children on her own. When a modest inheritance had come to Ephraim, he saw it as his ability to ensure his family’s needs. His choices, however, hadn’t been the wisest. The ships he’d purchased were costly and the resulting business transactions were not to the family’s advantage.