Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [184]
The snow lay in a thick and pristine white blanket on the river banks, the stumps of all the felled trees making a curious lumpy pattern. But further back, where the hills were too steep for logging, the snow-covered firs looked beautiful. There was no sound but the dogs panting, their paws thudding rhythmically and the swish of metal skids on the snow. She knew Cal was standing on the back of the sledge, but he was so silent, it was as if she was entirely alone with the racing dogs.
Weak rays of sun were slanting through the clouds, and it was good to leave the noise, ugliness and gossip of Dawson behind.
It occurred to Beth that she’d never experienced such utter peace before. As far back as she could remember there had always been people and noise all around her. Even up in the mountains on the trail, there had always been people close by. Back in Dawson, she often asked old Sourdoughs who lived miles from their nearest neighbour how they stood such isolation. Almost all of them said they loved it. She had an inkling now why that was. Silence was a great healer.
‘Almost there now.’ Cal bent down by her ear to speak to her. ‘In a couple of minutes we’ll be in Bonanza. It was called Rabbit Creek until they found the gold and I bet it was a pretty place then.’
The dogs veered off from the Yukon into the creek. Within minutes they passed the first of many small snow-covered cabins, smoke rising from the chimneys. Dogs barked as they went by, and from then on others joined in, almost as if each dog was passing the message along that a stranger was coming their way.
All Beth’s imaginings about the fabled goldfields were set in summer, an idyllic scene with flower-strewn meadows, men in shirtsleeves panning in the water and shady trees overhead. Perhaps it had been that way before the stampede, but the trees were cut down now, and each tiny cabin or shack they passed was surrounded by snow-covered machinery; sluice boxes, picks, shovels and wheelbarrows were strewn around on the dirty, trampled snow. Men who looked more like apes in their heavy coats and hats were bent over fires or shovelling out dirt from holes in the ground.
‘This is Ostrich’s claim up ahead,’ Cal shouted to her. ‘See his flag flying? He hoists it up every morning. He sewed it himself.’
Beth could see a blue flag fluttering, with something brown on it, but it wasn’t until the dogs began to slow down that she smiled as she saw that the brown shape was an ostrich cut out of leather.
Two big malamutes, one black and white, the other grey and white, came charging down from the cabin, tails wagging and making that woo-woo sound Beth had come to know was typical of their breed.
‘They know I always bring them something,’ Cal said, pulling up his dogs and jumping off the back of the sledge. ‘But you give it to them.’
Beth got off the sledge and took the bag Cal was holding out. It contained two large bones and she gave them to the dogs a little nervously. She must have met thousands of sledge dogs, this breed and huskies too, since she’d started out in Skagway. She admired their strength and courage enormously, but she had never been at such close quarters with them before.
‘Don’t be scared of them,’ Cal said. ‘Malamutes like people, and they’ll like you.’
‘Howdy, Cal,’ a voice called from the cabin, and an older man with a bushy beard, in a thick coat and matted fur hat, came shuffling down the path towards them. ‘You stoppin’, or are you taking that purty young lady on a jaunt?’
Beth smiled.
‘Her jaunt ends here, Oz,’ Cal said. ‘This is Miss Bolton, the famed Klondike Gypsy Queen. She’s come to see Jack.’
Before Beth could even shake Oz’s hand, he turned and yelled to Jack to come, his voice so loud it made