Everything else happened though – I lost a glove heaving a big rock out of the way and Fraser snapped at my shoulder when I lurched against him. I felt the teeth go into my skin through the layers of clothing and I yelled. The shout echoed in the chasm, sounding high-pitched and panicky.

  'God,' I yelled, 'what am I doing here?'

  'Do-ing he-yah?' the mountain wailed back at me.

  I was ready to stop, lie down and die, when the mist ahead suddenly lifted. I could see the path and it was twice as wide as it had been. I plodded on and saw a clump of grass. The mules whinnied and trotted forward. The ground sloped gently down and the path broadened. I whooped and Pedro cantered if that's the right word for a mule. I had no feeling in my right hand, my feet or in my nose and ears but I could smell and taste forest and grass. After a hundred yards I pulled Pedro up, slid off and let the animals graze while I made a fire. The coffee and tobacco were about the best I ever tasted.

  Looking back I could see that the gorge had cut through a narrow range of what you might call hills if you were flying over them but what had seemed like mountains to me. There was snow on the higher reaches and not much timber. A few miles ahead there was another similar range which looked blue in the distance. I was in a sort of oasis of flat, mild country between two stretches of heartbreak. I considered turning west, towards where I took the coast to be but for all I knew the flat land could give way to more mountains in that direction.

  'No choice for it, Dick,' I said out loud. 'You have to trust Matt Tolliver and Coldknife. At least they haven't lied to you so far about how horrible everything would be.'

  The mules looked at me as I spoke. They were red-eyed with the cold but they'd eaten well and weren't too heavily laden. I'd lost a lot of weight, I realised, and no wonder. I put my hands on my middle where I'm apt to carry a bit of flesh when I'm eating and drinking well and felt just muscle and bone.

  'A hundred and sixty pounds at the most,' I said. 'A bloody middleweight.'

  The mules moved nervously. I inspected my shoulder where Fraser had snapped at me and found torn cloth and clotted blood.

  'You bastard,' I said. 'Just like your namesake.'

  I cleaned up the camp, mounted and headed for the hills. Within half an hour I spotted the dip in the otherwise straight line of the escarpment ahead. But I was still travelling on the flat and it was almost an hour before I had low hills to the side of me the way Ollie's note directed. I suppose I kept putting the moment off. I dismounted, made a fire keeping it virtually smokeless and drank coffee and smoked. I was still shaken by the experience in the gorge and a little light-headed.

  'You'd have to be a fool to trust those bandits,' I said.

  Pedro pricked up his ears and whinnied.

  'But what else can you do? You're lost, you haven't any food and your shoulder's infected.'

  I suddenly realised that this was true. My shoulder was throbbing painfully and I fancied I was running a fever. One of my rules has always been to get medical treatment the instant something ails me. It's kept me alive these many years; not because I believe the doctors actually do any good, but because it sets the mind at rest and shifts the worry on to others. I always feel better when other people are worrying about me, means I worry less myself. I built up the fire, threw some green branches on it and sent big clouds of thick smoke up into the sky. I waited an hour and then fired my rifle three times into the air.

  That was a mistake. The mules screeched and ran. I turned and saw them bolting across the plain back towards the gorge but I was too weak to chase them. I didn't like to do it but I had no choice; I dropped to one knee, sighted and brought Fraser down with one shot. I sighted on Pedro but this time I couldn't do it. He was a tough, game animal and I wasn't going to shoot him for the sake of a blanket, a bridle and a bit of rope. I watched while he skittered into a line of trees, came out again and then disappeared behind a rise.

  Fraser was thrashing on the ground a hundred yards away. I hurried to him and put a bullet in his head. He was heavy and I had to strain every muscle to get one of the bags out from under him. I made it eventually with my shoulder aching fiercely and a trembling feeling in my legs. I carried the hundred pounds of gold back to my camp fire which was still sending up thick smoke.

  Flopping down on the grass I felt the first flakes of snow.

  'Oh, no,' I groaned.

  'You sure are a sorry sight.'

  I swung around and pointed the Winchester at the chest of the man who had stepped out of the timber behind me. It was an easy chest to aim at as it must have been as wide as a side of beef and its owner stood closer to seven feet than six. I couldn't have failed to hit him somewhere.

  'Welcome back to the USA, son,' he said.

  'what?'

  'You don't need the rifle, boy. I'm Mike Flood. Old Matt Tolliver sent me.'

  16

  Mike Flood kicked out the fire with his huge buckskin boots and picked up the gold sacks, one in each hand, as if they were bags of candy.

  'Hey,' I yelped, 'they're mine.'

  'No, they ain't. They belong to Matt and to Coldknife.'

  'We're partners.'

  'So'm I, in a way. Bit I ain't about to go around claiming this gold as mine.' Well, I meant . . .'

  'Let's go and get warm. I'll bet you could do with a drink.'

  There were no better words to get me going. I tramped along after Flood through the light timber towards the escarpment. Flood was one of those men who always seem to have you at a disadvantage. Here was I, with a rifle and shotgun and a pistol in my belt while he had a fifty pound bag in each hand, and still I felt he could do with me what he liked. Maybe it's a weakness in me.

  As we walked, Flood explained to me how Ollie and Charley had set things up. Flood was on stand by in Everett, a small town just inside the US border. Charley sent a wire from Dawson when I started out and Flood trekked inland from Everett to set up a waiting post near where I'd cross the border. He had a cabin about an hour's march from the place where I was scheduled to send up the smoke. So here we were.

  'There were a lot of things to go wrong,' I said. 'How long were you supposed to wait for me?'

  'Weather gets real bad here in February. If'n you weren't here by late this month, wouldn't be much point in waiting.'

  'How long have you looking for the smoke.'

  'Coupla weeks, sort of. Only this last few days for real. You made pretty good time.'

  'That must have been a round the clock job.'

  He turned and looked at me. 'Well, I didn't think you'd be dumb enough to send up smoke at night. Figured you'd use the daylight hours which, as you may have noticed, ain't all that long just now. If'n you'd been dumb enough to try it at night you'd have been too dumb to get through. Charley opined you weren't that dumb.'

  We marched on for a while with me digesting the information and trying to keep up. The track was narrow and rough and inclining upward. I hoped we weren't heading for the escarpment, dip or no dip.

  'We're not going to cross those hills, are we?' I panted.

  'Hell, no. Ain't you got no eye for country? Those hills're a coupla hours away. You think I coulda made from there to where you were in an hour?'

  'I suppose not.'

  'Not unless I could fly.' This made him laugh; he almost stumbled because he was laughing so hard.

  'What's funny?'

  'You'll see.'

  'One other thing bothers me, er . . . Mike.'

  'What's that?'

  'I mean, in terms of things that could've gone wrong with Charley and Ollie's plans. What if I'd got through but without the gold?'

  'No problem,' Flood said. 'Not much cash for me but my instructions in that unhappy event were just to shoot you. I'd say that shot of yours that brought down the mule kinda saved your life. You're a lucky feller.'

  I wasn't feeling very lucky. It got colder as we climbed and I felt sure that snow was not far off. I was drained physically and emotionally and not in any shape to cope with hardship. I told Flood a little about my journey, particularly about Eli's treachery.

  'Yes, well, old Eli Hardpebble, he's getting on in years. He'd be looking for a little something to put by him same as me 'n' others. 'Course, at your age, it don't seem so pressing.'

  This wasn't comforting. I've got nothing against old-timers getting together a nest egg but not at the expense of young men that have to make their way. After nearly an hour's walking Flood stopped and wiped his sweating face.

  'Are we there? I don't see a cabin.'

  'Not yet, close.' He put the gold down and looked at me. I couldn't see any weapons about him but you can never be sure. I put my hand on the pistol butt, not sure that I could pull it out and fire it quick enough to stop him if he wanted to come at me. He didn't seem to notice.

  'Darn me, Hank. That's your name, ain't it?'

  'It'll do.'

  'Not as young as I was. I figured we'd have an animal to bring us back or at least pack the gold. Didn't reckon on you losing two beasts. That'll make a story for Matt 'n' Bob.'

  'Will they be coming here?'

  He laughed that great, gusty laugh again and bent down to pick up the bags. 'No, not here. We'll be seeing them in Chicago.'

  And that's what happened. We went back to Flood's cabin, rested, fed and got drunk. Floyd rubbed bear grease into my bruised and bitten shoulder and bound it up tight. We set off the next day for Seattle. We spent a night in Seattle, long enough to buy some clothes, get drunk again and sober up slowly with hot towels on my face as I got properly barbered. Then we boarded a train going east. I don't remember much about the journey apart from the comfort. Flood booked us first class and we travelled in a heated compartment, ate and drank well and slept warm at night. My shoulder mended fast. It was my first taste of the good life since leaving California in the fall of the previous year, and I revelled in it, tipping the Pullman attendants and buying flowers at the stops for every woman that took my eye.

  Everyone seemed very prosperous but that was probably because we were travelling high on the hog ourselves. I've noticed that when you're in funds you don't seem to see the poor people but the reverse isn't true – when you're poor all you can see is the rich. Flood was pretty good company. He'd been a bandit back in the Soapy Smith days with Tolliver and Coldknife and he made no bones about it.

  'Ollie told me that they didn't kill anyone in the holdup,' I said. I was lighting a cigar and turning it in the flame.

  'That's right. They never killed anyone deliberate-like that I ever heard of.'

  I showed him the posters which I'd kept through all my trials and tribulations. He looked at them and nodded. 'They had a lot of accidents,' he said.

  Flood kept a close watch on the gold and wouldn't let me carry a gun. He made me leave the Winchester 78 behind and stow the long Colt and the shotgun, which had a detachable stock, in the baggage. He carried a Smith & Wesson revolver which he handled confidently. Otherwise I felt fairly relaxed with him; he'd had a dozen opportunities to kill me and had never made a move. The only thing I had against him was that he won too much of my money at poker.

  After London, Chicago was the biggest city I'd seen up to that time and it was by far the busiest. Everybody seemed to be going places on the run; the traffic rushed down the streets and the trolley cars shrieked when they stopped as if they couldn't wait to get going again. Just walking along a street, particularly on the West Side where Flood and I installed ourselves in a hotel, you could see specimens of every race in the world. Flood pointed this out to me as he looked from the window down to the street.

  'I've seen yids, niggers, chinks, dagoes, injuns and I don't know what-all and I've only been looking a minute. Where you from, Hank? You a Canuk?'

  'No, Australian.'

  'How come you ain't black then?'

  'We Australians turn white when we leave Australia. Haven't you ever heard of the White Australia policy?'19

  He scratched his head. 'Seems to me I have. Well, fancy that now. I wonder anybody stays there. Who'd stay a nigger if'n he could change to a white man? Say, can you throw a boomerang?'

  'Sure, if there was anywhere to throw it. This city's so tight-packed you can hardly get into full stride. How big is it?'

  'Search me. But it's big enough to sell a hundred pounds of gold in and not cause no fuss.'

  'And when does that happen? I'm anxious to be rich.' I knew Flood had spent some time in the telegraph office but he hadn't taken me into his confidence.

  'Ain't we all. Happens the day after tomorrow, when the man flies in.'

  'Flies?'

  'Yup. Matt believes in moving with the times. The buyer comes in from Buffalo on Wednesday by plane. He pays up and flies out.'

  'What about Ollie and Charley?'

  'Darn confusing, you calling them that, but they fly in from Spokane about noon the same day. After they get the money they go south.'

  'What about you?'

  'I'm getting me a Buick and two or four women and some whisky and I'm heading where the fancy takes me. What'll you do, Hank?'

  I realised then that I hadn't the remotest idea. The whole thing hadn't been real to me from Dawson City to this moment. But now it was. Airplanes, buyers, Buicks and women – these were the real things of life, not snow-shoes and Indians and sway-backed mules. I joined Flood at the window and looked down on the street. A woman came into view walking a small dog on a leash. The dog was wearing a plaid coat and the woman was tall and slim inside a below-the-knee fur coat with a nipped in waist and wide shoulders. Her hat was fur too, a tall, turban-like affair; she had fine chiselled features and an arrogant, strutting walk. I thought of the things I had to do – re-establish an identity, discover how the land lay in California, maybe even check on my marital status and family prospects in Australia. The woman stopped and cocked a hand on her hip while the dog shat in the gutter.

  'I think I'll stay right here for a while,' I said.

  'Ain't a bad town,' Flood said. 'A mite dangerous, though.'

  Coming from someone who'd thought nothing of risking his neck in those northern woods with an armed man carrying a fortune in gold and winter coming on, this opinion seemed worth attention but all Flood could tell me was that there were bootleggers around.

  'Hell,' I said. 'We had them in Los Angeles, did a little business with them myself.'

  'That so?' Flood seemed unimpressed and I took offence and didn't ask for more information. In the movies, men locked up together for a stretch of time, waiting for something, like a hanging or the arrival of a woman, draw close and tell each other their life histories. In my experience this is baloney; you tend to close up and withdraw, certainly you get tired of playing cards and all the other ways of passing the time. Result was that Flood and I were pretty on edge with each other by the time we were due to meet the buyer from Buffalo.

  'Take the bags, Hank.' Flood had transferred the gold into two leather bags like small suitcases with straps and a strong lock. He tossed one across to me as if it was a football.

  'Oof. What about you?'

  'I've got the gun.'

  Flood had rented a car and we drove about twenty miles out of town to an airfield that looked as if it had been a potato patch until very recently. It was a cold grey day with the sun struggling to get through the clouds. There had been snow the night before and there was a thin scattering of it around the paddock. We parked beside an army surplus shed; Flood put the bags containing the gold inside the shed. We lit cigarettes and waited.

  I didn't know it then but the aircraft the buyer arrived in was a De Haviland DH-4A, a solid-looking thing it was, with firm upright wing struts, a striped tail and substantial wheels. I speak as one who has learned to hate airplanes of all shapes and sizes, but especially fragile ones. The buyer, wrapped up in a camelhair coat, was a small man with a big moustache. He didn't give his name, just nodded to Flood and went into the shed. His pilot made some adjustments on the plane, checked his watch and looked up into the pale sky as the high drone of an approaching plane was heard. The pilot took a Thompson gun from his cabin and waited.

  It was a Vickers Vimy, a converted bomber, with a wide wing span and two motors. Seeing Ollie and Charley climb down from this big plane was a strange experience. At that time the planes generally looked more fragile than the men if you follow me, but the two oldsters looked less solid than their aircraft. I had seen this sort of plane before during the war although I didn't know its name then. Charley pushed back his pilot's goggles and waved. Ollie was less enthusiastic; he busied himself with an attaché case and seemed to be trying to get himself warm. Again it was something I didn't then know, but it was cold flying in one of those open planes at a few thousand feet, even for an old Yukon hand. They nodded at the pilot and all three came across the landing field towards Flood and me. The pilot had his Thompson and Ollie and Charley both wore leather coats that bulged suspiciously. Flood had his revolver and the buyer probably had something; I was unarmed and very nervous. I tried not to show it and when Charley punched me on the shoulder I stood firm and punched him back.

  'How'd you like the trip, Dick?' he bellowed, probably because he was deafened by the engine noise.

  'It was hell,' I said. 'Oh, bits of the canoeing were all right.'

  He said something to me in the Han language, something obscene to do with bear skins and I responded automatically. Charley laughed and turned to Ollie. 'He did all right, didn't he?'

  Ollie nodded. 'Let's see how we do. Mike, you and Browning and the fly boy can wait here.'

  'Browning?' Flood said.

  'The Aussie, that's his name. Leastways, he says it is.'

  'Aussie?' The pilot almost dropped his Thompson in surprise. 'You Australian? So'm I. Bluey Tait, pleased to meetcha. Browning, was it?'

 

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