Murphy, Gold Rush Dog

  Murphy

  Gold Rush Dog

  Written by Alison Hart

  Illustrated by Michael G. Montgomery

  To adventurous ladies past and present

  —A. H.

  Contents

  1. Carlick—June 5, 1900

  2. Nome—June 6, 1900

  3. A Friend—June 23, 1900

  4. Beaches of Gold—June 28, 1900

  5. Another Narrow Escape—June 28, 1900

  6. Prospecting—August 3, 1900

  7. Miss Sally’s Dog—August 3, 1900

  8. Mukluks—August 5, 1900

  9. A Sudden Change—August 5, 1900

  10. Up the River—August 7, 1900

  11. Danger—August 16, 1900

  12. Lost—August 20, 1900

  13. A Long Journey—August 21, 1900

  14. Desperation!—August 21, 1900

  15. Rescue—August 21, 1900

  The History Behind Murphy

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Also in the series

  Also by Alison Hart

  Copyright

  Guide

  Cover

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Start Reading

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  Carlick

  June 5, 1900

  Marche!” A whip stung my neck, but my legs were too weak to run any faster.

  Old Blue led our team. Behind him, Cody and I trotted side-by-side, though Cody was starting to lag. Tooni, the Alaskan driver, jogged alongside us, panting as hard as we were. His snowshoes slapped against the crusted top layer of the snowy trail.

  We were all bone-weary, but the man in the sledge again shouted for us to go faster. Faster. Faster. By now I hated that word and Carlick, the man who hollered it.

  “Faster, you lazy beasts!” Carlick sat in the sledge, covered with skins, only his eyes visible beneath his fur cap.

  Tooni’s lash struck Cody, who yelped and fell. Slowing, Blue and I dragged him, my raw feet scrabbling at the snow. The harness bit into my aching shoulders where the leather had rubbed off my fur. Then Cody regained his footing and we lurched forward again.

  The ice cracked beneath my paws and I smelled water. A hole ahead. Blue veered right. I tugged left, hoping the sledge would plunge into the freezing Yukon, taking Carlick with it.

  “Gee!” the driver ordered. “Gee, you cursed dogs!” He had also spotted the hole.

  Blue followed the command and forced us to the right, away from the river and onto a packed trail already crowded with travelers. Another team of dogs floundered in a snowdrift, its driver flogging them. We passed a man perched on a strange two-wheeled thing. Other men pulled their sledges like animals. A snow-covered horse, its head hanging wearily, high-stepped around them. The rider on its back was as hunched as the horse.

  “Faster!” Carlick hollered. “I must get to Nome to stake a gold claim before all these stampeders!”

  Nome. Gold. Carlick had repeated these words each time we camped after leaving the place called Dawson City. As I ran along the frozen trail, my paws left bloody tracks. I hoped the words meant finding a home—and ending this terrible journey.

  “Tie Murphy tightly,” Carlick told Tooni when we finally stopped.

  Tooni reached for my harness. I growled and my hackles rose. I wanted to lunge at him, but the driver raised his whip and I cowered.

  “He’s learning who’s master,” Carlick said approvingly. “And he’s still hearty after this hard trip.” He glanced at Blue and Cody. “The other two are done for. Tomorrow, cut them loose. They can fend for themselves. I’ll need Murphy to haul all my riches now that we’re at Nome.”

  Tooni hammered a stake into the snowy earth and tied one end of a rope to it. He checked the other end, which was knotted to the leather collar around my neck.

  Carlick returned to his cabin. When he opened the door, I could smell meat cooking inside. Cody and Blue whined hungrily. The driver threw us chunks of raw tomcod, then crawled into his tent. I gulped my fish down, bone and all.

  When I was young I had known a gentle touch, a heaping bowl, and a loving home. Then I’d been sold to Carlick who needed a new dog for his sled team. He’d driven us hard. We’d traveled for days and days with no kind words, no warm straw bed, and not enough food to fill our stomachs. So far, this place called Nome was no better than the camps where we’d stayed on the way. And it was not a home.

  The snow was belly deep. Blue was already curled up, licking the sores on his paws. He had taught me well on the trip, but now he was thin, his coat was ragged, and he’d limped the last miles. Cody was also exhausted and lame. Tucking their heads under their tails, they fell asleep.

  The wind howled around us. I circled, trying to make a nest. My thick fur kept me warm, but I couldn’t rest.

  Dark closed in and lights blinked in the distance. Somewhere in this new place, there might be a home for me. I would never find my old littermates. They had long been scattered. But if I was to find a true home, I needed to get away from Carlick.

  I gnawed on the rope. My teeth were strong and sharp, but the night was short. The sun would rise early. I had to be gone before the driver came out of his tent. I had to be gone before Carlick opened the cabin door.

  The rope began to fray. Frantically, I chewed harder. With one last chomp, I broke it in two. I leaped to my feet, energy coursing through me. Free!

  I sniffed Blue, then Cody. Snow covered them both like blankets. My sled mates didn’t move in their warm cocoons. When they awoke, I would be gone.

  Without a backward glance, I set off for the streets of Nome.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nome

  June 6, 1900

  The sun peeked over the horizon as I trotted down the snow-packed street. A few flakes swirled from the graying sky, but the storm had ended. Wood buildings flanked each side of the narrow way, leaning in the wind. Shutters banged. Ahead of me, music and friendly sounds came from one of the lighted buildings.

  A group of men stood on the stoop. I approached them with a wag of my tail.

  “Get outta here, skinny cur!” One of the men threw a snowball at me.

  “There should be a law that says any stray lurking on Front Street can be shot,” another said, flicking his cigarette at my feet.

  “Law?” a third asked with a chuckle. “What’s that?”

  I slunk into the shadows, where a pack of dogs tussled over food. My insides rumbled emptily. One of them growled at me and I flattened my ears and looked at the ground. When they saw I was not a threat, they kept eating. But I knew from their bristled hair that I wasn’t welcome.

  I smelled salty water. Water meant fish. I trotted from the street to a stretch of frozen sand by the sea. As the sun rose higher, it glistened off piles of snow. I gazed toward the horizon, listening to the crash and boom of the ice breaking apart.

  Row after row of tents extended to the edge of the water. Sleepy-eyed men were slowly emerging from some of them. My ears pricked. Were they friendly? Or would they treat me the way Carlick had?

  Tired now, I walked among them, hoping for a whistle or an encouraging “Here, boy. Have a bite of breakfast.” But few glanced my way, and those who did had hard, uninviting eyes.

  My stomach rumbled. Lowering my nose to the sand, I trotted along the edge of the water, hunting for washed-up fish. I smelled decay and rot, and found a pile of bones and slimy scales. Then the rich scent of boiling walrus reached me.

  Under the wood pilings of a dock, an Inupiaq family camped. They wore fur hoods against the morning cold. One had a baby strapped to her front. She stirred an iron pot over a
driftwood fire. All three watched me, only their dark eyes moving.

  Then the largest one held out a sliver of meat. Food! I stepped toward him, but glanced up at his face. There was no smile, and I spotted a leather strap in his other hand.

  I leaped away. He raced after me. I galloped along the shoreline and then darted between stacks of wood crates that reached to the sky. I hid in the dark crevice and waited.

  When I peered out, the man was still there. Again, he held out the meat for me but the leather strap lay at his feet.

  I retreated into my hiding place. There was no other way out of the tunnel under the boxes. I was trapped.

  Exhausted, I lay my head on my front legs. Night would fall. I would wait.

  My belly ached. Many days had passed since I had arrived in Nome with little food. Dark nights prowling for a meal and sunlit days hiding in the tunnel had left me weak.

  I needed to eat.

  I trotted through the sea of tents to the shoreline. Two men worked on the beach. Their attention was on the sand that they shoveled and sifted. If they had seen me, they would have chased me away. A dog as a pet would mean less food for them. Or they might try and catch me since the quick sale of a dog to a driver might bring in needed money. To a hungry native, a dog might also mean a meal in a stew pot.

  A dying fish flopped in the sand. Licking my lips, I pounced on it.

  A boot found my ribs before my claws found the fish. “Get, before I kick you clean to Seattle!” I skittered away.

  More men rose from their tents to start their day. I hid behind a barrel and watched for a dropped morsel or untended pot.

  Two men stirred the coals of a smoky fire.

  “Gotta get to work,” one said to the other. “I heard a ship’s arriving soon. More men coming with high hopes of finding gold.”

  The second man grunted. “That means more men with big dreams coming to steal our claim.”

  I heard a sizzle and sniffed the air. Bacon. Once before I had risked a hot pan and burning coals for bacon—and I had almost gotten shot.

  I dared not risk it again.

  I sneaked away, darting between tents, wooden pilings, and crates, still looking for something to eat. My eyes widened. Someone had left an open can sitting on a rock. Sprinting forward, I grabbed it in my powerful jaws and raced to my hiding place.

  Beans. I lapped them from the can, careful of the sharp edge, and from the ground where some of them had spilled. Not as good as bacon, but at least they filled my belly. Now I could fall asleep for a bit.

  Daytime was dangerous. I would come out again when night fell. In Nome, that was a long time from now. The sun seemed to sit in the sky forever.

  Closing my eyes, I dreamed of a home filled with kind words—and maybe even bacon.

  Night. There was no moon, no stars, but Front Street was lighted by torches and lanterns. Music and laughter rang from buildings brimming with people. Men strode down the wooden walkways and staggered into the muddy streets. I stuck to the lighted byways, searching for food left in trash cans or bones tossed from a doorway.

  A man lay sprawled on his back in an alley. Though he seemed to be no threat, I gave him a wide berth.

  My nose picked up the scent of bread. A half-eaten loaf, soggy and dirty, poked from a snowdrift by the front steps of a building. Men lingered on the top of the steps, smoking. Did I dare?

  My aching belly gave me no choice.

  Rushing from the shadows, I snatched the bread and ran under the wooden steps. It was gone in two bites. Voices rose above me.

  “Hey, Carlick, was that the beast of a dog you’ve been looking for?”

  Carlick. Even after all this time, I knew that name.

  “Might be. If you can catch him, I’ll pay a reward.”

  “How much?”

  “Ten dollars.”

  “Sounds like easy money to me.”

  I heard the clomp of boots and then a face peered at me. My heart beat faster.

  “Hungry, boy?” The man sounded friendly. He held out a sausage link.

  I drooled. I was so hungry.

  “I’ve been trying to catch that blasted dog for three weeks,” Carlick said. “Name’s Murphy. There’s a brand on his shoulder. If you gents can snag him, I’ll throw in a round of whiskey.”

  A flurry of boots thundered above and around me. “Hurry and get behind him on the other side of the steps!” A hand grabbed my tail.

  Panicking, I barreled forward and leaped from under the steps, knocking one of them clean off his feet.

  “Hey!”

  I didn’t dare look over my shoulder, but I could tell by the pounding of feet that more than one person was after me.

  “Get that dog! Fifteen-dollar reward!”

  I ducked under a parked wagon and burst out the other side. More men leaped off the wooden walkway to my left and ran after me. I headed left, into a throng of people.

  “Don’t let him get away!”

  I was surrounded. The only way out was to knock someone over. I was about to jump when I heard the crack of a whip.

  “Let me at him!” Carlick said.

  I sank to my belly.

  Pushing through the men, Carlick approached me. “Finally I’ve got you. Now I’m going to teach you not to run away from me ever again.” He raised the whip.

  Whoo whoo! A ship’s whistle blasted far in the distance.

  “It’s the Tacoma!” someone shouted. “Thank the Lord she’s finally here. Fresh supplies!”

  In a wave, the men scurried toward the beach like rats. Carlick hollered after them to stop, but none turned around. Suddenly he was alone.

  I lifted my lip in a snarl. Once I might have been able to take him. I used to be as big and strong as a man. But now I was thin and weak—and frightened of that whip. I had known the sting of it too many times. Tucking my tail, I fled into the dark.

  “I’ll get you yet, you miserable cur!” Carlick shouted. “And then you’ll wish you were dead.”

  I had escaped again. I knew next time I might not be so lucky.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A Friend

  June 23, 1900

  A crowd lined the beach, but the men were so intent on the ship anchored out in the sea that no one noticed me. I hid under a freight wagon and watched barges heading out to the Tacoma. Chunks of ice floated in the waves and clunked against the pilings. Worn out, I lay on the cold sand and propped my head on my paws.

  Carlick was already there, standing on the other side of the wagon. I heard his voice before I saw him.

  “Sure, the Tacoma is bringing fresh food,” he told several men clustered around him. “After the hard week, we need supplies. But it’s going to bring more gold hunters, wanting to file claims.”

  “You and McKenzie have claimed land already,” one of the men said.

  “True—but we want more. We’re looking at claiming farther up the Snake River and putting it in the name of Alaska Gold Mining Company too.” Carlick handed one of the men some papers. “This has been approved by Judge Noyes. Get it done as soon as the courthouse opens. McKenzie and I don’t want that river land in some stampeder’s name. Let the newcomers mine the beach.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man hurried off with the papers.

  The barges began to return to shore. This time they overflowed with people. My ears tipped forward. Would one of the arrivals be friendly? Would someone offer me a home? The thought made me brave. As the first boats grew closer, I ventured from under the wagon.

  The barges stopped offshore, and men in waist-high boots sloshed through the waves carrying people, boxes, and bags to the beach. Chattering and yelling filled the air.

  I slunk closer, trying to see the faces of the newcomers. I saw exhaustion, misery, and disbelief. Their words sounded gruff.

  “This is Nome?”

  “Lord, it’s the end of the earth.”

  “Don’t drop that valise, man; it’s my life savings.”

  “We need to take
the first ship that’s bound for Seattle.”

  “Not on the Tacoma. Never again.”

  Others nattered on and on about gold, just like Carlick.

  “Gold on the beaches.”

  “Gold in the sand.”

  “Enough to make us rich!”

  “We’ll go back to the States with bulging pockets.”

  Barge after barge dropped off people and cargo and the crowd grew larger, but my hopes began to fade. No one seemed to have a kind word for a dog. Then I heard it: excited chattering like a noisy gull arriving for spring.

  “Mama, we’re here! This must be the pot at the end of the rainbow, just like in my books!”

  I peered toward the water. A woman and a girl were riding on the shoulders of two burly men, who carried them through the surf to the beach.

  “But where is the golden sand?” the girl asked. “And the ten-foot-high snowdrifts? Where are the moose and grizzly bears? And the ptarmigan and the tundra? Oh, I want to explore it all!”

  “Be still, Sally. Or you will fall into the sea.”

  I raised my eyes to their faces. The girl’s was flushed with joy, the woman’s pale with a hint of hope. Longing filled me. Might these two be my new family?

  The men set them on the beach, and others delivered a trunk, a crate, and several large bags. Only then did the woman’s expression grow uncertain.

  “I got my sea legs on the Tacoma,” the girl said as she wobbled to and fro. “Now I need to get my Nome legs.”

  “Stay close, Sally.” The woman glanced uneasily around her. “We must find someone to help carry our belongings.”

  “We don’t need help.” Sally grabbed the end of the trunk and began to drag it up across the sand, away from the water and closer toward me. “We will prove to Grandmama and all the naysayers of San Francisco that we can survive in Nome.”

  Mama gave a huge sigh. “That may be harder than I thought.”

  “Grandpapa taught us to pitch a tent,” Sally said. “And how to build and start a fire. It’s good he’s made many trips to Alaska and could show us how to bone a fish and skin a hare.” She dropped her load in the sand.