The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Vicki Delany

ate and talked.

      “Drifted around town in the morning, then ran into a lad from the old country who knew my gran.”

      “This man’s name?”

      “Ray Walker.”

      “About what time did you meet Mr. Walker?”

      “Late morning. Eleven or so. We talked mostly, about Glasgow and the old days, and walked through town? He showed me the sights. Ha! Not much o’ them. Walker told me not ta waste my time prospecting. Said the real money’s to be made in town. Guess I should have listened to him, right, boy?”

      Angus opened his mouth to agree then, catching sight of Sterling’s stern face, snapped it shut. He wasn’t supposed to be offering his opinions.

      Millie paid the men no attention and licked her private parts with gusto.

      “What time did you last see Walker?”

      “Hey, Johnny. Time to get back at it.” The men on the slag heap yelled as they reluctantly got to their feet.

      Stewart blew a sigh, full of cheap pipe smoke and expensive regrets. “We had supper round five o’clock, maybe a wee bit later. I had ta get off to bed; we was leaving first thing the next morning. Prob’ly left Walker five thirty, six.”

      “You were with Walker the whole day?”

      “Yea.”

      “He couldn’t have been in your sight the whole time.”

      “The fellow had to go to the loo now an’ again, didn’t he? So did I. But no more than that.”

      “Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary when he got back from the privy? His clothes look the same?”

      Steward shrugged. “Clothes are clothes. Didn’t notice anything funny. Sorry, Constable, but I gotta get back to work. First days on the job, can’t seem to be slacking off. Me and Ray, we spent Sunday talking ’bout Glasgow and our aunties and grandmas. I’ve nothing else ta tell ye.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Stewart,” Sterling said. “I appreciate your giving me your time.”

      “Couple more days, and we’ll strike it rich, what d’ ye think, laddie?” Stewart snuffed out his pipe and stuffed it back into his coat pocket. He winced as the blisters on his hands rubbed against the dirt-encrusted wool.

      “I think that’s great, sir.” Angus said, trying to sound as if he believed it. “My ma owns the best dance hall in all of Dawson, it’s called the Savoy. On Front Street. When you and your friends are in town, you should come and visit.”

      Stewart was a couple of inches shorter than Angus, but he reached up and ruffled the boy’s hair. “My wee lad’s about your age,” he said. “Him and his sister and their mum’s waiting in Halifax. Waiting for me to strike it rich and come and fetch them.”

      “Stewart,” one of the men called. “For Christ’s sake, you wanna be fired? Get up here.”

      The Scot climbed up the pile of gravel and slag, his back bowed and his shoulders bent. He turned around and looked at Angus. His eyes were blue and very bright. “You think they’ll be waiting long, son?” And he disappeared into the unforgiving earth.

      Angus blew out a lungful of air. Sterling scribbled in his notebook with a stub of pencil. Millie continued to wash herself, making happy doggy noises all the while.

      Sterling put his notebook and pencil back into his jacket pocket. He read the expression on Angus’s face. “No one forced these men to come here, son,” he said. “They’re free men. Not slaves. Let’s head home.”

      Angus pulled himself back to the moment. “Did he tell you what you wanted to hear, sir?”

      “I didn’t want to hear anything, Angus. I simply wrote down what Stewart said.” They started down the slope. “He confirmed what Walker had to say about the events of Sunday afternoon.” His voice dropped as if he were talking to himself. “So maybe it was what I wanted to hear at that.”

      Chapter Thirty-Six

      Five long days passed. Ray went to the fort where he found out that Sterling had, indeed, gone to the Creeks. No one would, or could, tell him why, but he guessed it had something to do with his friend, Stewart. Mr. Mann stopped ranting about the ungrateful boy and assumed a worried frown. I was usually up when he came in for his breakfast because I didn’t sleep much.

      The bartenders, the croupiers and the dance hall girls, most of whom had gotten to know Angus, and to care for him, looked at me with questioning eyes and glanced away when they saw the negative reply in mine. Helen almost wore her apron to bits, wringing it between her tough old fingers. Some of the prominent citizens in town—Mouse O’Brien, Big Alex Macdonald, Belinda Mulroney among them—had started to put together a party to go to the Creeks in search of Sterling and Angus. That people cared so much, in this cold, hard town, where no one ventured except in search of fortune, touched me again to the point of tears. Hearing of my plight, Sergeant Lancaster refrained, wisely, from pressing his suit.

      Of course, nothing could dampen business at the Savoy. Everything that happened to us seemed only to increase our custom. I was so run off my feet those long nights that I scarcely had a moment to think about my missing child.

      Then on Friday afternoon, Richard Sterling and Angus MacGillivray walked into the Savoy. Sterling looked like Zeus, the avenging Greek god I’d learned about in the schoolroom, and Angus… Angus looked as if he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. News of the depth of our concern, not only mine but also half of Dawson, had reached them.

      I was making my way into the gambling hall when all conversation in the saloon died. Convinced that some unimaginable terror had struck, I whirled around. Every man in the place was looking at me. My knees buckled. Sterling pushed Angus in the small of his back, propelling my boy a few reluctant feet through the narrow passage that had opened between us.

      Ray stood behind the bar, a glass of whisky half poured. The look of relief on his face was so great that I understood, only at that moment, that he had been far more worried about my son than he’d let on.

      I marched past Angus hissing, “Upstairs,” underneath my breath. Sterling followed. Not a man spoke as we climbed the stairs. But as I walked down the corridor, exclamations, questions, and shouts erupted beneath my feet like the spring flood spilling through a broken dam.

      I didn’t know whether to take my son, as tall as I, over my knee or to kiss every inch of his beloved face.

      “Mother, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am,” he said, his head downcast. “I left you a note. I told you not to worry.”

      Still undecided, I turned on the nearest available target. “How could you?” I growled at Constable Richard Sterling. “How could you take a twelve-year-old child into the wilderness without his mother’s permission? I ought to have you up on charges.”

      “That might well happen, Mrs. MacGillivray,” Sterling said. He didn’t look at Angus, scuffing the floorboards with one mud-encrusted toe. “We walked into Fort Herchmer less than half an hour ago, to find that the whole town is in an uproar of unprecedented proportions, and some prominent citizens were in the process of putting together a group of men to go in search of a member of the NWMP. Inspector Starnes is not pleased, I can assure you.” Inspector Cortlandt Starnes was the officer in charge of the Mounties in Dawson.

      “It’s all my fault, Mother,” Angus said to the floor. His voice broke, and for a moment I thought he might burst into tears, but he swallowed hard and fought to regain some of his composure. “I didn’t mean to get Constable Sterling in any trouble. I thought it would be a good opportunity to learn to be a Mountie.”

      “We’ll deal with that shortly, Angus.” I glanced at Sterling. He struggled to hold his thoughts inside his big frame.

      “Do you have anything to say about this, Constable?