Page 3 of The Gold Rush Bride

She stopped him. “Excuse me, sir? Do you know what that animal is?” She pointed to the animal she’d seen.

“That’s a moose, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and walked on.

“A moose.” She giggled. “Now, I’ve seen everything.”

In the lakes, she saw fish jump that were by far the largest she’d ever seen. The lakes were home to waterfowl, but predominantly what she saw were geese.

* * *

Late March1898

Arrivingin Dawson City was an eye-opener. The ramshackle buildings were all wooden, not like the well-built homes and businesses in St. Louis. She saw no streetlights, and macadam wasn’t used to pave any of the streets, nor were there concrete sidewalks. All she saw was mud, inches deep in the street, and a few boardwalks in front of some businesses. It appeared to her that they had quickly erected the buildings overnight, using whatever resources were available.

She left Lucky and the sled near the Mountie station, figuring that would be the safest place to leave it. Then she made her way up the street to the Westminster Hotel. Her shoes and the hem of her dress were a mess, but she had few solutions to rectify the situation.

At the front desk, stood a young man with dark hair and a thin build. He wore a shirt that had once probably been white and a dark wool jacket.

“Excuse me.”

He looked her up and down. “You’re a woman!”

She chuckled. “I am, and I’d like a room for at least one night.” She lay her reticule on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am. If you’ll just sign the register.” He rotated the book toward her and then turned toward the cubby holes behind him and took a key from one.” Here you are, room 207.” He looked at the registration book and then pointed toward the left of the desk. “Just up those stairs, Miss Thompson.”

“Do you know where I might find Mr. Barnaby Drake?”

He grinned. “Everyone knows Barnaby. He’ll be down at the El Dorado Saloon, if he’s in town.”

“Where can I find this saloon?”

“Go out the door and turn right. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” She picked up her carpetbag and headed up to her room.

* * *

Late March1898

Barnaby Drake stoodat the saloon’s long wood bar. It wasn’t the type of mahogany bar found in San Francisco. This one was just a bunch of plywood nailed together and scarcely came to his waist. Of course, they made few places for his height at six feet, four inches. He threw back his head and downed the shot of whiskey. One shot was all he could afford. The prices in Dawson City were outrageous. He would have gotten a room for one night so he could have a hot bath and sleep on a soft bed for the first time in months. The cold baths and sleeping on a cot with no mattress were getting old. But he needed all his money to pay off the Thompson girl. And then get back to the claim along the Klondike River before someone jumped it, and he had to fight them off. He hated claim jumpers. Luckily, they took one look at him and usually changed their minds. He’d had plenty of men who wandered into his camp with the thought of taking it for their own and changed their minds when they saw him.

Now he’d had to leave it to come to this hellhole of a town and meet this woman, just so he could give her the money for the claim. Why he couldn’t just wire it, he didn’t know.

He turned his head as a ruckus broke out at the entrance to the saloon. He turned to see a woman with bright-red hair enter. What the heck was she doing in here? As if in answer to his question, she spoke.

“I’m looking for Barnaby Drake and was told I could find him here.”

Her voice was as pretty as her hair. She’d piled it in curls high on her head, but some rogue tendrils hung around her face.

He turned and pushed his way through the throng of men until he was right in front of the redhead. “I’m Barnaby Drake.”

A look of relief flashed through her gaze, replaced by nonchalance. “I’m Sadie Thompson.” She held out her right hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He looked at her hand in amazement. Then he took her by the shoulders. “You shouldn’t be in here.” He turned her toward the street and guided her out of the saloon, ignoring the jeers and catcalls.

Once outside, he grabbed her arm and steered her away toward the hotel, which was also a brothel. But that couldn’t be helped. A lot of businesses in Dawson City were more than one thing, except the general store. They had enough customers without adding another business to their building.

Spring was almost upon them, and the streets ran thick with mud from the snowmelt. He tried to avoid the deepest parts of the street by staying in the ruts made by the horses and mules the miners rode.