At the Rainbow's End by Jo Ann Ferguson Read Free Book Online Page B

merely nodded and took Samantha’s bag. Motioning for her to follow, he led her to a dappled horse tied to a tree and added her small case to her larger two bags on its back. With the reins in his hand, he started down the street.
    Samantha hesitated for a second, looking back at her newfound friends. Mrs. Kellogg stood in the shadow of the kind Constable French. Wanting to rush back to them, she hurried to catch up with Joel. She had promised. She could hear her father telling her over and over before he died of pneumonia in her twelfth winter that a Perry never broke a promise.
    Although two weeks had made her comfortable with other facets of the rough life of the city, she could not disregard the lustful leers of the men. She stepped closer to Joel. When she bumped into him, he glanced at her oddly. He did not speak. She moved away, unsure what to make of his strange expression.
    At the Klondike, he did not take the bridge which led to Lousetown. Instead he turned along a less traveled road which ran south and east along the shore.
    When they had put the busy sections of the city behind them, Joel stopped and pulled a piece of netting from a pocket of his denims. He held it out to her and said, “This may keep away some of the skeeters. Mrs. Mulroney, who owns the hotel in Grand Forks, says this helps her.”
    She stared at the piece of gauze, nearly as fine as cheesecloth. With a chuckle, he took it from her and wound it around her head. It covered her face, allowing her to see fairly well. Anything which would halt the marauding swarms of mosquitoes was welcome.
    For a long minute, he did not move away from her, but made no attempt to touch her. He stared into her face, nearly obscured by the veiling, he started to say something, then halted himself. Then he walked away calling over his shoulder, “Come on. I want to put a few miles behind us before we have to stop for the night.”
    Confused, Samantha wondered if she had done something wrong. The man of her fantasies would not be this taciturn. His delightful humor had made her laugh aloud as she read his letters again and again.
    She decided again that he must be shy. She herself was certainly far more timid than usual. A shiver of fear went through her. Maybe Joel was disappointed in her . The idea of asking him daunted her. She walked on in a silence as ominous as the forest around them.
    That quiet did not last long. They came upon the first claim shortly after the buildings of Dawson faded in the distance. Her eyes took in every detail of the hideously filthy clearing. A primitive cabin leaned at an angle which seemed impossible. Supplies littered the ground. Men worked at the edge of the river. They did not look up as the travelers passed. Intent on surveying the water passing through their sluices, sorting through the mud and gravel for the sparkle which could signal wealth, the sourdoughs cared only for their obsessions.
    This scene was repeated over and over with eerie similarity as they walked upstream. Every five hundred feet another claim had been staked, with a ramshackle hut, myriad piles of supplies and of garbage, and the prerequisite trough to rechannel the river water. The men seemed the same, though they wore everything from sensible denims to three-piece wool suits more suited to bankers than prospectors.
    As the afternoon passed, Samantha’s legs grew leaden. They had to pick their way around scattered equipment, following a nearly invisible path among the few trees remaining after the onslaught of prospectors.
    The river remained their guide as they walked along the Klondike until they reached the intersection of Bonanza Creek. Nothing changed when they followed the creek. The claims came with the same regularity.
    Silent, the man led the horse. She thought of trying to break the uncomfortable quiet, but as time passed it became too difficult. Concentrating instead on walking, she pushed her discomfort to the back of her mind