William Johnstone - Winter Kill

Frank had faced death more times than he could remember, had heard bullets whistle past his ears probably hundreds of times, and yet he had never felt as close to the grave as he did during that long, gray morning as they climbed toward the pass. He was numb in body, mind, and soul, and his brain had slowed to the point that all he could think about was holding on to the reins and putting one foot in front of the other.

He was in such bad shape that he didn’t even notice at first when the slope underneath him changed. He had taken several steps before he realized that he was going down, not up.

“Salty!” he shouted over the wind as he came to a sudden stop. “Salty!”

“Yeah, I know!” the old-timer’s voice came back to him. “I know, Frank! We’re there!”

They had reached the top of Chilkoot Pass.

Chapter 30

The ordeal wasn’t over, of course. Far from it. But the pass represented a milestone to Frank and to the others. They had more reason to hope now that they could actually make it to Whitehorse and find the destinies that awaited them there.

But first they had to get down from this frozen, windswept pass.

Frank, Salty, and Pete Conway unhitched the dogs from the sleds and tied ropes from each sled to the next in line. Then Salty used the harnesses to attach about half the dogs to the last sled.

“That’s just for the first part, ’cause it’s the steepest and slickest,” the old-timer explained. “When we get lower, we’ll hitch the teams back on normal-like and put chains on the runners to slow ’em down, so they won’t overrun the dogs.”

That made sense to Frank. He said, “You’d better let me go down first with the horses. If they slip and start to fall, they won’t take anybody else with them.”

“Nobody but you,” Meg protested.

“I’ll be all right,” he assured her. “Salty, how far are we talking about?”

“Worst of it’s about a quarter of a mile,” the old sourdough said. “Be mighty careful, Frank. I’d hate to think about havin’ to go the rest o’ the way to Whitehorse without ye.”

Frank looked around at everyone, nodded, and then tightly grasped the reins, Stormy’s in his left hand, Goldy’s in his right. He stepped out onto the slope again. The horses hesitated, clearly uncertain whether they wanted to try it, but they had gone into danger and battle so many times with Frank, their gallant hearts wouldn’t let them quit now. They stepped onto the hard-packed snow.

It took Frank close to an hour to lead the two horses down the worst of the slope, one careful step at a time. But at the end of that time, they moved onto relatively level ground and he felt relief flood through him. Looking up at the pass, he pushed back the hood of his parka, took off his hat, and waved it over his head to let the others know that he had made it all right. A few minutes later, he saw the sleds begin to make the descent, followed by the dogs and the other members of the party.

Getting everybody down took awhile, but by late in the afternoon, they were all together again. Salty suggested that they make camp and wait for morning to continue on toward Whitehorse.

“It’ll be dark soon,” he said, “and we still got some tricky slopes in front of us. We’ll need to be able to see where we’re goin’.”

No one complained, and while they were all still exhausted, the air of gloom and despair that had hung over the previous camp seemed to have evaporated. Frank thought that Fiona was still a little out of sorts, but everyone else seemed to have at least a trace of optimism about them again. Some of the young women chattered amongst themselves, Conway and Jessica sat near the fire with her head resting on his shoulder, Salty tossed dried fish to the dogs, and Meg came over to Frank to ask, “Are we going to start standing guard at night again?”

He smiled. “Salty and I never stopped. We’ve been switching off. We just didn’t tell anybody. We figured y’all could use all the rest you could get.”

“That’s not fair! I would have taken my turn.”

“We’ll probably start doing it again like we were on the other side of the pass, even though I don’t think we have to worry about Smith anymore. We’re too far from Skagway now. It wouldn’t be worth his time and trouble to come after us.”

“You can’t be sure of that, though,” Meg said.

“Nope. That’s why we’ll keep on standing guard until we get to Whitehorse and get you ladies matched up with your husbands.”

“Oh. Yeah, there’s still that to do, isn’t there?”

Frank said, “You don’t sound very happy about the prospect.”

A forlorn note crept into Meg’s voice as she said, “I guess I never really thought about what it would mean. I agreed to spend the rest of my life with a man I don’t even know. What if he’s awful, Frank?”

“That’s a chance you take with any marriage, I reckon. Spending time with somebody when you’re courting isn’t like spending the rest of your life with ’em. You may think you know what’s in another person’s heart and mind, but chances are, you don’t. Not all of it, anyway.”

“I know you,” she said softly.

“You know I’m good with a gun and I can fight. I don’t spook easy. That’s about it.”

“Not really. I know you love Dog and those horses of yours. You were kind to Mr. Jennings, you respect Salty, and you’ve tried to help Pete. You’ve risked your life to save ours over and over again. You’re brave, and you’re a man of your word.”

He laughed. “You’d have me blushing, I reckon, if I was that sort of fella.”

“But you’re not. And I knew that, too.”

“There’s something else about me you didn’t mention…I’m more than twice your age.”

“Some people are born old,” she said with a smile. “I think I’m one of them.”

Frank recalled Diana Woodford, back in Buckskin, Nevada. She had shown some romantic interest in him, too, not long after he had pinned on the badge as Buckskin’s marshal, and she was about Meg’s age. Frank had nipped that in the bud and had never even thought about doing otherwise.

There was something about Meg Goodwin, though…some quality of maturity that Diana had never possessed. Maybe she was right. Maybe some people were older than their actual years.

But it didn’t matter, because Meg was promised to somebody else. And like she had said, Frank was a man of his word and believed that other people should honor their promises, too.

“I’m sure everything will be fine once you get to Whitehorse and get to know the fella who sent for you,” he said. “You’re just a mite nervous because it’s all going to be strange to you.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then said, “Yes, I’m sure that’s all it is. Just nerves.”

She didn’t sound like she believed it, though.

For the next few days, Meg seemed to be avoiding him, and Frank found himself regretting that. He enjoyed her company and admired her. She was better on the trail than most women he had known. She handled her sled and team better than Conway did his, in fact, and she was a lot more confident than Lucy or Ginnie, who had been drafted to steer the other two sleds.

Fiona warmed up to Frank again now that Meg wasn’t spending so much time with him. Fiona had been jealous of Meg, Frank realized, even though she hadn’t had any real reason to feel that way. Frank knew he wasn’t ever going to settle down with either of them. But Fiona found some excuse to talk to him nearly every time they stopped to rest the dogs.

As Salty had said, once they made several more rather steep descents, the terrain got much easier. There were still hills to either climb or avoid, depending on how big they were, but the dogs could handle them and seemed to have a new lease on life, running effortlessly for hours at a time with the sleds gliding over the snow behind them. It would still take days to reach Whitehorse simply because of the distances involved, but now Frank felt that they had a good chance to make it…if only the weather cooperated.