Gold Mountain. Vicki Delany

turned away. “I thought you said you weren’t interested in prospecting. You aren’t going to find gold hanging around Dawson. You have to go to the Creeks.”

      Sheridan tapped the side of his nose. “Ah, boy, there you’re wrong. Let everyone else go to the Creeks and find a nugget or two, a couple of ounces of dust. Me, I have bigger plans.”

      Despite himself, Angus asked, “What plans?”

      “That’s why I need to talk to your mother. I went to collect her for supper last night, but Walker threw me out. I didn’t even get to see her. I sent word I was waiting, but Walker never gave her my message. I must have stood in the street for an hour or more. I don’t like waiting.” His voice turned hard on the last sentence.

      Remembering he was supposed to be friendly, he gave Angus a smile that was more of a grimace.

      “Why’s the bloody town so quiet anyway? Where the hell’s everyone gone?”

      “It’s Sunday. Businesses are closed.”

      “I’d heard they did that. Didn’t actually believe it. You mean men in this town are lily-livered enough to let the Fly Bulls shut their business down for a whole day?”

      “Not only business, but any work. A man was arrested last winter for chopping wood for his own stove.” Angus debated telling Sheridan that he could also be arrested for using vile language, particularly in the presence of a female or a minor, but he held his tongue. Let the man learn the hard way.

      Sheridan shook his head as he digested the news. “Soapy’s done for,” he said apropos of nothing. “Losing control of the town. Fellows coming in don’t want to do what Soapy tells them. Townsfolk are thinking Soapy’s bad for business. Miners coming back out are avoiding Skagway ’cause they don’t want trouble from Soapy. Business owners don’t like that. There’s talk they’re getting a committee together to force Soapy out.”

      “Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” Angus said.

      “So, being the sensible fellow I am, I figured it was time to strike out on my own.” Sheridan pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. Last night’s rainfall had done nothing to cut the day’s heat. “Look, Angus, let’s go round to your house now. I’ll talk to your mother and tell her my plan.”

      “Uh, my ma’s uh, not home. She’s gone for lunch at a … friend’s house. That’s right, she’s having lunch with a friend. A lady friend.”

      “I’ll join her there, escort her home.”

      “I don’t know where it is. Her friend’s house, I mean.”

      “You wouldn’t be having me on, would you boy? I don’t like to be lied to.”

      “No, sir. Why don’t you tell me your plan and I’ll talk to Ma about it. See if she’s interested.”

      Sheridan touched his hand to his chest. He stroked his jacket pocket. “No. You let your tongue slip and the news’ll be all over town.”

      Angus didn’t much care. He doubted Paul Sheridan had any great secret, and he was about as sure as he could be his mother wasn’t interested in any harebrained scheme the man might come up with. “Suit yourself. I gotta go. Bye.”

      Angus darted across the street. Mud squelched under his boots and he heard Sheridan shout after him, “I can tell you one thing, boy. You’ll want to start packing.”

      Chapter Nine

      The first night we spent in Skagway, I scarcely slept a wink. Bad enough that it was daylight long into what should have been the night, but I kept going over numbers in my head. I’d have to pay my entertainers whether I was charging admittance or not. And probably pay a month’s rent on the theatre premises in advance. Plus, find a place for Angus and me to live. We certainly couldn’t stay here.

      Fortunately, my son was a heavy sleeper, and he’d had a most exciting day. He’d come running up the stairs as I was about to go in search of him, full of chatter about the things he’d seen and the boys he met. Pleased he’d found potential friends, I didn’t scold him too severely for going out on his own.

      The room next door to us was not being used, shall I say, for sleeping. Every half-hour the door would open and close, and then open and close again. The floorboards would creak, a man would grunt and a woman would reply. And then the bed would start to shake, sometimes softly, sometimes with enough force I feared for the occupants of the rooms below. The woman would alternately squeal or moan. Then about five minutes of quiet before the bed creaked, footsteps crossed the floor, and the whole process would begin again.

      The last customer left before Angus awoke.

      I roused the hotel proprietor as soon as we were up and demanded another, quieter, room. As expected, he didn’t have any empty rooms, I was lucky to get a room at all, couldn’t I see how busy the town was. But if I absolutely insisted, he could move people around. Of course, a quieter room would be more expensive. I bit my tongue and agreed.

      The English tradition of the highwayman was alive and well in Alaska in the year 1897.

      I went back upstairs and repacked my own sheets.

      For breakfast I took us in search of a restaurant, not feeling much like finishing off the cold corned beef. We located an establishment whose sign consisted of a pair of men’s trousers, very large men’s trousers, with the name written across the seat.

      The muck they served at this place was hot, and although it was perfectly dreadful, the coffee held a vague resemblance to coffee.

      As Angus was mopping up his beans with a slice of stale bread, I said, “Now that we’ve arrived safely, would you like to send a telegram to your friends back at school? I’m sure they’d be most pleased to hear from you.”

      “Telegram?”

      “It’s quite expensive, five dollars, but I’d like to treat you.”

      “Telegram?”

      “Why do you keep repeating what I say, Angus?”

      “Mother, there’s no telegraph here.”

      “Oh, but there is. In my survey of the town, I saw a sign for the telegraph office. Five dollars to send a missive anywhere in the world.”

      He laughed. “Look around you, Mother. There isn’t a boat dock. There are tree stumps sticking out of the middle of the road, we’re eating our breakfast in a tent, and everyone is living and doing business out of tents. Do you really think someone has cleared a line though the forest, or laid a cable under the ocean for a thousand miles, and set up a telegraph office before worrying about things like running water or even a government office? I’m sure there’s a telegraph machine, and someone to take your money. But there won’t be anyone at the other end.”

      “Oh,” I said, feeling rather foolish. I, who should know a thing or two about fleecing unsuspecting innocents, had almost fallen into a trap. My pride was considerably hurt, and for the first time I wondered if I was a match for this place.

      As Angus and I stepped outside after our meal, he spotted two young boys squatting on the wooden walkway opposite. They were no dirtier than anyone else in town, but had good teeth and bright smiles. They stood and nodded to me politely.

      “Hey,” Angus said, clearly delighted. “Those are my friends, Mother. Can I go with them?”

      “You may. Perhaps your friends can assist you.” I pulled a twenty dollar bill out of my reticule and gave it to him. “I’m going to locate my employees. While I’m doing that, you can move our things to our new room in the hotel. You’ll have to hire men to carry the trunks. Pay no more than twenty dollars. Then scrub the room down.”

      “Sure.”

      I handed him another bill. “Once that’s done, you can take your young friends for refreshment.”