Yukon Queen The Read online

  Yukon Queen, The

  House of Winslow Book [17]

  Gilbert Morris

  Baker Publishing Group (2005)

  * * *

  His Was a Blinding Ambition for Riches, and He Was Serena's Only Hope of Escape.Late in 1896, Cassidy Winslow leaves his family's ranch in Wyoming to pursue his own fortunes but is hardly prepared for life in New York. He hates his job and tires of city life, but falls in love with a rich young woman who treats him like an interesting toy. She finally breaks his heart, and Cass heads for the West Coast with the determination that he'll do anything to get rich.When news comes to Seattle of the gold strike in the Klondike, all that holds Cass back is his debt of care to a man named Fletcher Stevens. The dying man's offer of money to fund Cassidy's trip to the gold fields of the Yukon is conditioned by a promise that Cass will take the man's daughter with him to share what gold they can find. Cass agrees, and when Stevens dies, he goes to tell the daughter the news.Serena Stevens had been placed in a convent by her father after her mother's death, and though she hates it there, she has little choice. When Cass comes and tells her of her father's offer, she can't be talked out of going, and so the adventure begins.But the Klondike Is a Cold, hard World Where Death Is Only a Bullet Away!

  About the Author

  Gilbert Morris was a pastor before becoming an English professor and earning a Ph.D. at the University of Arkansas. Gilbert has been a consistent bestselling author for many years. He and his wife live in Gulf Shores, Alabama.

  © 1995 by Gilbert Morris

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-7042-9

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  Cover illustration by Dan Thornberg

  Cover design by Josh Madison

  To Ronnie Root

  Hey, Partner, this one is for you!

  Every now and then I go to the closet where I keep all the good memories and pull out one that I like. I’ve just about worn out those that feature you, because those were good times for me.

  I’d like to be able to go back and crowd into that little radio station and do a Sam and Jesse script—then go to the Awful House and eat greasy steaks with you again.

  We can’t go back to that, but as the old song says it—

  Thanks for the memories!

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  Gold Fever

  1. A Gathering of Winslows

  2. Out of the Past

  3. New York

  4. An Alley in Seattle

  5. Gold Fever

  6. The Promise

  7. “I’ll Go With You!”

  PART TWO

  Skagway

  8. The Willamette

  9. Cass Makes an Enemy

  10. Angel in a Red Coat

  11. The Sign of Jonas

  12. Trek Over Chilkoot Pass

  13. “Gold’s Not Worth Dying For!”

  PART THREE

  Dawson

  14. Down the Yukon

  15. Gold Camp

  16. A Job for Serena

  17. A Touch of Jealousy

  18. Strike on the Indian Head Creek

  PART FOUR

  Klondike Justice

  19. Joe Preaches a Sermon

  20. Death at Dusk

  21. A Race for Life

  22. Gunfight at Dawson

  23. A Time to Embrace

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  A Gathering of Winslows

  “Richmond—twenty minutes to Richmond!”

  A tall man in western dress had been speaking quietly to a woman beside him, but at the shout of the conductor, he broke off and turned to stare out the window. Farther back in the car a man’s voice said, “Malvern Hill out there yonder. . . .”

  A chill touched Dan Winslow at the base of his skull. The engine uttered a hoarse bellow, and black smoke swept by the window and obscured his view, depositing a layer of fine cinders on his right shoulder. The narrow-gauge engine picked up speed, and at the sharp staccato clickety-clack of the wheels the tall man’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  There was nothing unusual in the landscape to cause such a reaction. A plateau lifted from the level of the track, rising about one hundred fifty feet to a crest crowned with second-growth pine and oak. Between the pasture and the top of the hill a herd of fat red cows dotted the expanse of brown winter grass. They were fenced in by rail fences, and midway up the hill sat a sturdy two-story house of white clapboard framed by a red barn on one side and a clump of cone-shaped haystacks on the other. A ribbon of white smoke rose lazily from the chimney, forming a curling streak against the iron gray December sky of 1896.

  The scene was a typical picture of a Virginia farm at Christmas—and yet something about it had stiffened Winslow’s back. Hope noticed instantly the tension in the corded muscles of his neck and his clenched fists.

  “What is it, Dan? Is something wrong?”

  Dan kept his eyes fixed on the hill—and as he did, a strange thing came to him. A memory that he had deliberately kept buried suddenly surfaced in his mind. It all came back with intense clarity. He could see Malvern Hill as it had been the last time he had seen it—at five in the afternoon of July 1, 1862.

  Through half-closed eyes, Dan saw again the long lines of Confederate soldiers marching forward up the slope. Not being a man of much fancy or given to great imagination, he was shocked at how vividly the scene came back to him. He remembered looking down the line, seeing his men begin to fall, struck down by the guns ranked along the top of the hill. He could hear long-suppressed echoes of soldiers’ dying screams, and the smell of blood and dust seemed to fill his nostrils.

  “Lieutenant Howe—he’s shot in two, Dan!”

  “We can’t help him, Corporal—we’ve got to take this hill!”

  “Ain’t goin’ to do it, Dan—they’s too many cannon waitin’ fer us—!”

  And then Dan remembered how a bullet had struck his best friend, Steve Bolton, in the mouth, taking off the back of his head. Dan closed his eyes quickly, his breathing gone ragged—but suddenly a hand closed on his arm, and Hope’s voice broke through the memories.

  “Dan—what is it, dear?”

  With an effort Dan shook his head to clear it of the bitter memories. When he looked around he saw that not only his wife, Hope, but his three children—Cass, Peter, and Priscilla—were watching him with obvious concern. He shook his shoulders together in a firm gesture and managed a faint smile. “Just a bit of a shock from an old memory—I’m all right now.”

  Cass, his older son, was an astute young man of eighteen. Glancing out at the landscape, he murmured, “Malvern Hill—that was the last battle of The Seven Days. Were you there, Dad?”

  “Yes. I was there,” said his father solemnly. Dan forced himself to look out once more, then when he turned to face them, his tanned features were strained—an unusual thing, for he seldom manifested suc
h a quality. “The last time I saw that hill, it was covered with five thousand men, some of them dead and others dying.” His long lips clamped together for a moment, then he added quietly, “A lot of them were alive and were moving. It—it looked like the field itself was crawling.”

  Peter, the seventeen-year-old, who had his mother’s light brown hair and slight build, leaned forward and said, “Did we win the battle, Dad?”

  “Nobody won at Malvern Hill, Pete. General Lee thought it was the last chance to cut the Union Army off—but the Yankees had the high ground. We found out they had more than a hundred cannon—and long lines of infantry with good muskets. The barrage of gunfire was so heavy I saw men leaning into it as a man leans into a strong wind.”

  Priscilla shook her honey-colored hair and gave a wide-eyed stare at her father. “I’m glad you didn’t get killed, Daddy.”

  Cass laughed suddenly and pinched her on the arm. “You goose! If he’d gotten killed, none of us would be here!” She aimed a slap at him, which he fended off; then he looked at his father with an odd expression. “Something to think of, isn’t it? If just one of those bullets had hit you—none of the three of us would ever have been born.”

  “Why, of course we’d have been born,” Peter argued instantly. He was a logical young man with a keen delight in metaphysics—which his brother Cass despised. Patting his mother on the knee, Peter nodded confidently, saying, “We’d have the same mother but a different father.”

  Dan sat quietly as Cass and Peter argued, and finally Hope leaned close, pressing against him. At the age of fifty-one and after having four children, she still had the slim figure of a young girl and her blue-green eyes sparkled as she whispered, “I’m glad I got you—instead of that other fellow Peter’s talking about.” She always had the ability to lighten his moods, and until the train pulled into the station, she kept him occupied with questions about the family reunion they’d come to Richmond to attend.

  “I got a letter from Belle,” Dan said as the passengers began gathering their belongings to get off the train. “She and Davis and the boys will meet us.”

  “That ought to give us some status,” Hope smiled. “I’ll bet the president of the college doesn’t come out to meet every visitor.” Davis Winslow had been a minister serving churches in Richmond and Washington ever since the end of the Civil War—but he was also the founder and first president of Bethany Bible College located in Richmond.

  Dan stood up, a tall man, still lean and strong at the age of fifty-two. He had a full head of thick reddish brown hair, slightly curly and only lightly sprinkled with gray. Years in the saddle under the hot sun on his ranch had kept him fit. Plucking up one of the bags, he said thoughtfully, “Belle did all right—married to a college president.” He grinned crookedly at Hope. “All you got was a broken-down cowpuncher.”

  Hope reached up and smoothed Dan’s hair back from his forehead. “I got the pick of the litter.” She nodded firmly. “Now, let’s go meet the Winslow clan!”

  ****

  Aaron Winslow leaped out of the buggy before the wheels stopped turning and spoke roughly to the two saddled horses tied to the rear. “You two—settle down!” It was a typical act, for he was an impetuous young man. At the age of twenty-three, there was still a trace of immaturity on his well-shaped face. He had a certain grace in his movements, however, which one does not expect in a man of six feet one. Reaching back, he helped the dark-haired woman down, urging, “Come on, Mother—the train’s pulling in right now!”

  Belle Winslow gathered her full skirt and waited until Davis got out. When he came to stand beside her, she said, “We’ve got time, Aaron. You and Lewis go ahead—I want to speak to your father.”

  “You two have more secrets!” Lewis Winslow was no more than five feet ten and possessed none of Aaron’s muscular grace. His intelligent brown eyes crinkled suddenly. He had a sharp humor that popped out from time to time. “I’ll bet the college board would like to know how you two carry on! I saw you kissing Mom in the peach orchard yesterday, Dad!”

  Davis Winslow had grown heavier than when he had courted Belle Winslow, the famous Dixie Widow. His present duties kept him from getting enough exercise, though Belle kept at him.

  “You watch your phraseology, young man,” Davis warned sternly. “Now, do as your mother tells you.”

  Lewis turned to follow Aaron but paused long enough to ask, “Was Uncle Dan really a gunfighter, Dad?”

  “Well, more or less—but that was years ago when he had to fight for his ranch.”

  “Gosh! A real gunfighter in our family!”

  As Lewis whirled and raced after Aaron, Davis smiled at Belle. “I told you to stop kissing me in public. I’ve warned you about this unbridled passion that possesses you when I’m around.”

  Belle Winslow sniffed. “As I recall, you’re the one who did the kissing.” She was a beautiful woman, looking much younger than her fifty-three years. Her hair was black, her eyes violet tinted, and her skin was still the envy of much younger women. She looked after Lewis and smiled. “He has a mother who was a famous spy for the Confederacy—but he’s more impressed with his uncle’s gunfighting!”

  “Well—it looks like your fame is going to take a backseat for a while,” Davis shrugged. He put his arm around her as they moved along. “I don’t care what people say. I’d rather hug you than be president of any college!”

  Belle was pleased and murmured, “You do have your moments, Davis Winslow!” The two moved toward the platform where the train was huffing in, exhaling great plumes of steam. Quickly she said, “Did Elton Harvey talk to you?”

  A frown creased Davis’s brow. “About Aaron and his daughter? Yes, he did. I’ll have to speak to Aaron.”

  “I wish you could take a stick to him!”

  “At twenty-three, I think it’s a little late for that.” Davis helped Belle down the steps that led to the platform, then added, “Aaron has got to grow up—and he’s got to leave respectable girls alone. Bad enough to run after some of the cheap women as he does.”

  “Wait until after the reunion,” Belle said quickly. “Aaron just sulls up when either of us tries to talk to him. Maybe Mark or Dan can talk some sense into him.”

  “I can’t understand him, Belle,” Davis complained sadly. “He’s been a rebel since he was twelve years old. Nothing like Lewis, is he?”

  “None of us are like anyone else. Look at Patience and me. We are as different as night and day! Oh, look—there’s Dan!”

  The two moved forward and Belle threw herself into her brother’s arms with a squeal. “Why, you good-looking thing, you! Look at him, Davis—he’s not a day older than the last time we saw him!”

  “Belle—you’re still the same—beautiful as ever!” These two were very close, and for a moment they stood regarding each other fondly. Then Dan said, “We’ll talk—but these are our sons, Cass here—and this is Peter—and our daughter, Priscilla.”

  Belle and Davis greeted the three, admiring them properly, then Davis said, “And this is Aaron, our oldest son—and Lewis, our younger.”

  Lewis at once moved forward and said, “Did you ever meet Wyatt Earp or Bill Hickok, Uncle Dan?”

  Dan grinned, his teeth very white against his tanned skin. “Met Hickok once. A more vain old bore I never hope to see! Most of those ‘legends’ were pretty sorry, Lewis.”

  Aaron greeted his cousins, taking time to bend over Priscilla’s hand and murmur, “Why, I didn’t know I had such a beautiful young relative! Lewis, we’ll have to take special care and keep the young romeos fought off of our cousin.” He made a fine picture in his gray suit, shiny black boots, and sweeping black hat. He helped his mother and Priscilla into the buggy, supervised the loading of the luggage, then said, “Cass, you and I will have to ride to Belle Maison. You’re probably a better rider than I am—but I’ll try to keep up.”

  The two young men mounted the extra horses that Davis had brought along. As the buggy left the station, Cas
s’s horse tried to buck its rider off. Cass sat easily in the saddle, got the horse’s head up with a firm jerk on the bridle, and said, “Here—now!” The sorrel quickly recognized the uselessness of such behavior and placidly followed the buggy.

  “You’re a good rider, Cass,” Aaron noted.

  Cass shrugged, saying, “About all I’m good at, I guess.” He caught the look of surprise on his cousin’s face and tried to smile. “Well, I’ve done nothing but ride a horse since the day I was born. Hard not to when you grow up on a cattle ranch. But you’ve been to college and done a lot, my dad tells me.”

  Aaron shook his head and said nothing. The young man’s remark had brought a look of frustration to his features. When they cleared town and were on the muddy road leading north, he said, “Why, I had to go to college, I guess. At least, my parents expected me to go. I hated to disappoint them—but looking back, I think it would have disappointed them less if I’d never gone.”

  Cass was surprised and said so. “But—you’ve had good jobs, and you’ve traveled a lot. You don’t know what it’s like growing up on a ranch, Aaron!”

  “From what I’ve heard, it sounds exciting, Cass,” Aaron said. “I’ve envied you, growing up in the wild West.”

  Cass shook his head, protesting moodily, “It’s awful! You’re stuck out in the country a million miles from a town. Every day the same thing!”

  Aaron twisted in the saddle, examined the young man, and smiled sardonically. “Sounds like my job in the bank—every day the same.” He shook his head, adding, “They’re all the same. Guess man’s born to be bored. And it’s worse for a preacher’s son.”

  “Why—how is that?”

  “People expect you to be holy—which I’m not!”

  Cass suddenly laughed. “Well, darn! It sounds like you and me are both mavericks, Aaron. I’ve been a pain in the neck to my folks since I was sixteen.”

  “I started earlier, Cass—and I’ve had time to do worse.” He caught Cass’s look of astonishment and shrugged. “I’m the prodigal son, Cass. I’ve left my father’s house—and I’ve done some things that make eating with hogs look almost respectable.” He leaned forward and stroked the horse’s neck, then straightened up, a bitter glint in his eyes. “I’d like to do something—but be blamed if I know what. Anything but work from eight till six for the next forty years!”