Cheechako (standard:adventure, 6463 words)
Author: drksideofthemoon	Added: Jul 26 2007	Views/Reads: 3156/2035	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A man searches for riches in the gold fields of the Klondike.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

dozen of them. Straight as an arrow they were. Stern, but fair, money 
could not sway them from their duty sworn. 

I saw one yegg draw down on one them one day. The constable was going to
confiscate the sixteen barrels of cheap, watered-down-hooch the man had 
hauled up from the coast. I never had seen a man so cool, and so calm 
while staring death in the eye. He pointed to his uniform and said to 
the whiskey trader, "Don't you see? I am a Queen's man. You may put me 
down, of that there is no doubt as you have the draw on me, but the men 
like me will be on your trail. They will come in twos and threes. There 
will be no trail too harsh for them to travel, and no place too remote 
for you to hide. So, if you do not want to spend the rest of your days 
looking back over your shoulder, listening for their avenging cries, I 
suggest you holster you piece and let me get on with my work." 

Well, you could have heard a pin drop that day up there on top. The man
looked like a beaten cur. He turned around and took his load of devil's 
brew back down to the saloons of Skagway. 

They treated me fair and checked over my goods. With a smile and a nod
they let me through. 

Lake Bennett was froze up solid by the time I had arrived. I parded up
with a grizzled old miner who had been on the trail for gold for most 
of his life. "Stick with me, chum," he said. "An' I'll show ya the 
ropes." And thus started my association with Swede Knudsen. 

We spent our days cutting logs and hauling to our stash on the shore of
that lake. By nights we would sit by the fire and talk like men do when 
alone and so far from home. Some man had hauled up a piano on the back 
of a horse. It sat cockeyed on the shore, and he would stretch out his 
talon-like fingers and begin to play. Tess would get half-liquored up 
and begin to sing. I would lay on my bedroll, and look at the stars, 
and drift away in the words of her songs. 

Our raft was as sturdy a craft as there was on the shores of that frozen
lake. We had found a clear spot on the bank and had our camp set up 
there. It seemed that near every tree had been cut down to build rafts 
and to fuel the fires at night. As far as the eye could see, there were 
all manners of barges and rafts ready to make the five hundred mile 
trip to Dawson. 

I thought the spring thaw would never come. The days turned to weeks,
and the weeks turned slowly into months. There were all manner of 
people gathered in that spot. Some were hard working and honest. Others 
were shiftless and cunning, they were willing and ready to take 
advantage of some unsuspecting miner. Confidence men and card sharks 
roamed the shores looking for easy pickings. The men in red sent more 
than one of these ne'er-do-wells packing back across the border with a 
stern warning to never return. 

At nights the tales were told, and some by men who professed to have
known Tagish Charlie, Skookum Jim and George Carmacks. They told of 
stories of men moving rocks in the creeks of the Klondike and finding 
gold as thick as cheese on a sandwich. Their eyes would glaze over as 
they told the tales, and I have to admit, that I was as caught up in 
their tales as the next man. Some pretended to have secret maps or 
knowledge of places that lay untouched. And maybe, just maybe, for the 
right amount of coin, they could be persuaded to share in their 
secrets. 

We had heard the sounds of the ice creaking and groaning for several
days. Swede's face lit up and he smiled at me. "It won't be long now, 
lad, the ice, she's ready to go." 

On the morning of May 29th, a roar arose from the banks of the lake.
People were running, yelling and pointing. The ice had left! The lake 
was clear! We hastily packed the remaining goods on our raft and set 
out. It has been said that seven-thousand rafts and barges set out on 
that morning. I will not argue that estimate as the lake seemed near 
covered with home-built craft of every size and manner. 

The weather was warmer now and as we made our way through Windy Arm and
Tagish Lake the signs of spring were apparent. The journey up river was 
fraught with peril. More than one poorly built craft broke up going 
through the rapids to the south of Lake Labarge. 

I soon learned to curse the warmer weather, for with it came the
mosquito, that wicked little vampiric creature with its incessant 
buzzing. My arms and face were covered with the bites. I had bites upon 
my bites. We tried all manner of remedies to stop the itching; none 
were entirely successful I wondered if I would make it to the gold 
fields with any blood left in my veins. 

The sun barely set at that time of the year in those northern climes. By
the time we arrived in Dawson, the snow and ice were but a memory. 
Dawson City was a booming city, and some say the largest city north of 
San Francisco. Tents had sprung up like mushrooms after the rain. The 
streets were mucky ribbons of mud. A few wooden sidewalks had been 
built by owners of the more prestigious and permanent establishments. 

Swede and I spent little time in Dawson, the lure of that yellow metal
held us in her grip. We set out to the creeks to stake our claims and 
make our fortune. A steady stream of fortune seekers poured forth from 
Dawson, each eager to mine the treasure from the ground and streams. 
Gold, it was the fuel that drove the engine of excess called Dawson in 
the summer of eighteen-hundred and ninety-eight. 

Men fresh from the creeks would toss a nugget the size of man's thumb to
a dancehall girl for nothing more than a quick cuddle and a kiss. Bad 
whiskey was five dollars for a watered down shot and a can of oysters 
would cost a man close to a month's wages from what he made back in the 
south. 

Swede had studied the maps of the area before we set out to seek our
fortune. He had spotted a creek on the map on the wall of the claims 
office that everyone else had bypassed. He tapped the stub end of his 
pipe on the thin, squiggly line on the map and winked at me. "That's 
where we're heading off to." 

We purchased a map and we set out to make our fortune. Somehow Swede had
managed to get into a card game in one of the many gambling dens in 
Dawson and had ended up winning a bit of gold and four burros. We 
figured that it would take us two or three trips to haul all of our 
gear and provisions with the mules. That was a far sight better than 
the dozen or more trips we thought it would take with just the two of 
us. 

Once we arrived, it was easy to see why this creek had been bypassed.
The first half mile of the trail that led to the creek was a steep 
climb of over thirty degrees. It took maximum effort on the part of man 
and beast to traverse the steep incline. By the end of the week we had 
hauled all of our belongings to where we had staked our claims. 

Swede's hunch had paid off. There was gold in the creek. My hands began
to shake the first time I saw that glittering dust in the bottom of my 
gold pan. It was gold, real gold, and it was mine. At that moment all 
of the sacrifices I had made were forgotten. I had struck gold! I was 
going to be rich! Rich beyond my wildest dreams! 

The days were still long and I spent from the early arctic dawn until
the late night sunset gleaning the dust and nuggets from the creek. I 
didn't need sleep. What man needs sleep where there are riches to be 
plucked from the ground? 

When I did sleep, I would hide my poke of gold. Each night I would place
it in a new place. I was almost afraid to sleep at night for fear that 
I might forget where I had placed my loot. There were nights that I 
would get up and move it for fear that someone may have seen where I 
hid my rawhide sacks of gold. 

Swede had moved about mile upstream and was planning on building a small
sluice and shaker to pull even more gold from the waters of that 
hitherto unknown creek. I hate to admit this, but, I was even 
suspicious of Swede. I was sure that he wanted what I had mined from 
the gravel of the creek. I began to sleep with my pistol in my hand 
under my blankets. 

The days turned into weeks. As my horde grew, I found my paranoia slowly
ebbing away. I found myself trusting Swede once again. Summer was going 
to be over soon, especially this far north. 

"You need to take some time and build yourself a cabin. Winter, she be
comin', and it will be here sooner than you think." Swede pointed to 
where the creek had once run, and had hollowed out part of the bank. 
"I'd dig back in there a ways, and then build a log wall in the front. 
That would do for the winter." 

"What about you?" I asked, and with a bit of suspicion in the back of my
mind. 

"I already got my place finished," he answered. "I'm about ready for
winter. When the leaves start dropping, we need to take a week off and 
head into town for supplies for the winter. We won't want to be trying 
to get into town after the snow comes." 

I had to admit that his advice was sage. He knew what he was talking
about when it came to living in the woods. So far there was no evidence 
that he had ever tried to steer me wrong, and I could find no reason to 
doubt him now. 

I divided my days up. I would spend the morning with pick and shovel
digging into the bank. The afternoons and evenings I would spend in the 
creek, shoveling load after load of gravel and muck into my pan. I 
would kneel there carefully trying to separate the gold from the dirt. 
After each pan was finished I carefully placed each nugget and grain of 
dust into my pouch. 

At night, by the yellowy light of my kerosene lantern, I would line up
my pouches of wealth and mentally calculate how much money I had. It 
was more than I had seen in my entire life. But, it wasn't enough, 
especially knowing that there was more of it just outside of my door, 
waiting to be panned from the creek. When I had ten thousand, I wanted 
fifteen. At twenty thousand, I wanted twenty-five. Now I was near 
thirty thousand, and it wasn't enough. There were occasional brief 
moments of lucidity where I recognized my madness for gold, but they 
never lasted long enough to make any sort of change. 

Swede helped me cut the logs for the front of my cabin. Once it was
done, I was quite pleased with my new home. I had noticed the some of 
the leaves on the trees beginning to change color, and the days were 
noticeably shorter than when we had first arrived. 

One frosty morning, Swede appeared at sun-up with the burros in tow.
"It's time we went to Dawson to pick up our winter supplies." 

I was nervous at leaving our claim unguarded. "Do you think it's wise
that both of us go? Don't you think one of us should stick around?" 

He shook his grizzled head. "Nah. We ain't seen hide nor hair of another
soul since we been here." 

He filled his pipe with tobacco and lit it and puffed on it for a bit.
"Don't go taking all of you gold to town with you. We don't want anyone 
to know how much we found up here. Just take a pouch or two, enough for 
supplies and maybe a night out on the town. Hide the rest here." He 
paused for moment and I think he saw the distrust in my eyes. "I buried 
mine under my stove." 

I felt ashamed that I had mistrusted him. With his help, I found a spot
in my cabin where I placed most of my gold. Once satisfied that it 
hidden from all but the most ambitious of thieves, we headed into 
Dawson. 

Dawson was a beehive of activity. Odd how a man forgets what
civilization is like when he is out in the wilds for an extended period 
of time. Our first stop was to purchase our supplies. I had to hand it 
to Swede, he knew what we needed, and was a shrewd bargainer. We paid 
the store owner and received a receipt for what we had purchased. 

We dropped our burros off at the livery stable. The proprietor was a
fellow countryman of Swede's, so they got on like long lost relatives. 
Swede made arrangements for the liveryman's son to accompany us back to 
the creeks so he could bring the burros back to town for the winter. 

Swede looked at me and announced. "I need a bath. It's been a good six
months, and I think it's about time." 

They charged by the hour at the bath house, and it was worth every penny
we paid to sit in the big copper tubs and soak up the hot water. I had 
forgotten what it was like to feel clean. I felt like a new man after I 
had my hair cut and beard trimmed. We strutted down the wooden 
boardwalks of the boomtown feeling like a million dollars in our new 
clothes. 

We ate a large steak dinner with all of the trimmings. I had lived on
biscuits, beans and tinned beef for so long I had almost forgotten what 
real food tasted like. From there we hit the saloons and drank whiskey 
like it was water. From one saloon to the next, it was the same 
wherever we went. 

Smoke filled whiskey dens filled with fellow miners, just in from the
creeks. There were women willing to give them thirty minutes of love 
for some coin or dust. Like the sirens song of yore, the sound of the 
piano beckoned to all that passed. 

Games of chance, a few were on the level, but most were fixed in one way
or another. It was free drinks for the gamblers, well, that is until 
their pokes dried up, and then it was the bum's rush out onto the 
street with them. Nothing stopped in Dawson, the town ran non-stop, 
fueled by the vice called gold. 

We went on a three day drunk that only stopped when our gold finally ran
out. I woke up feeling haggard and worn. My stomach felt like it was on 
fire, and my head pounded with an ache that I had never known the likes 
of before. 

Bleary eyed, we stumbled to the livery stable and collected our burros
and picked up the supplies we had purchased. The fresh air helped clear 
my head as headed back out to the creek. 

"You see why I told ya to leave most of your gold at the cabin," Swede
commented after we had been on the trail for a couple of hours. "If we 
would have taken it all." He pointed back towards Dawson. "We would 
still be there, and we wouldn't have left until we had drunk it all up, 
or worse." 

I nodded my head in agreement. That thought had constantly run through
my head since I had sobered up. I had spent more money in three days in 
Dawson than I had probably made in most of my life. I had a hard time 
believing that I had squandered that much hard earned gold in that 
short a period of time. After that day, I never distrusted Swede again. 


When we got near to my cabin, we could see that my door had been pushed
in. I panicked and began to run. 'My gold, my gold.' It was the only 
thought that raced through my head. Someone had come while we were gone 
and stolen my precious, golden stash. A blood rage burned through my 
body, I would track down whoever had stolen my loot and I would make 
them pay. Everything seemed tinged with red when I ran through the 
doorway. What little hope I had was dashed when I entered the cabin. 
All of my meager possessions were strewn about. My knees felt week, my 
stomach churned. All that work, all that gold—gone. 

I heard Swede laughing outside. That only angered me more. How could
this so-called friend of mine be laughing at a time like this? I turned 
on my heels and went out to confront him. 

He was pointing to the ground when I came outside and saying something
in Swedish to the Liveryman's son. 

"What the blazes is so damned funny?" I demanded. 

"Bear," said Swede as he looked up at me. "Your burglar was a bear. Look
at the tracks." 

I raced back into my cabin and found my hiding spot. A wave of relief
poured over me when I felt the familiar gold laden pouches that I had 
hidden away. All that ended up missing from the cabin was a pot of 
beans. I found the pot later in the day, a hundred yards from the 
cabin, empty and licked clean. 

Each day seemed to be noticeably shorter than the next. Within a week of
our return we had the first hard freeze of the season, and to my 
reckoning, it was only mid September. There was no drawn out autumn as 
I was accustomed to. A wind came up and for a day it seemed like there 
was blizzard of orange and yellow leaves cascading down from the trees. 


Swede and I took precious time off from our panning for gold and began
to cut firewood for the winter. It took us a week to fell enough dead 
wood, haul it by hand, and cut it up to last the both of us for the 
winter. 

There were no signs of the gold petering out. I was pulling a couple of
ounces of gold per day from the gravel in and around the creek. I had 
moved several times upstream as had Swede. At night we would talk of 
our plans. It was decided that we would work the creek until the gold 
was played out. We hoped that it would carry us through the winter and 
all of the next summer. Long hours were spent by the fire at night 
discussing what we were going to do with our fortune when we left this 
north-land. 

"When we are done, we'll divvy the gold up fifty-fifty," offered Swede.
"By the time we are done, we'll have enough gold to last a man two 
lifetimes." 

For a moment my greed wanted to scream no, that I didn't want to share
what I had pulled from the stream. But, a moment of reason prevailed, 
Swede hadn't try to cheat me before, so why would he try to cheat me 
now. I knew he was moving more gravel than me with his sluice and 
shaker box, so it only reasoned that he was pulling as much or more 
gold from the creek than I was. 

I awoke one morning and was surprised to find the ground was covered
with a skiff of snow. It stayed. The ground was growing harder with 
each passing day. The thin crust of frozen earth was growing thicker 
with each passing day, making it more difficult to mine the banks of 
the creek. Compound this with the ever shortening days and the amount 
of gold I was pulling from the ground was dwindling. I still hadn't 
made up for the gold that I had spent in Dawson. 

Swede had warned me that we would probably have to shut down panning
during the coldest part of the winter. He was hoping that we would have 
enough water flowing in the creek to keep the sluice in operation. 

"I wish we had a few tons of coal," He remarked as we stood by his
sluice and pointed at the frozen ground. "We could get a fire going and 
let the coal burn to thaw out the ground. This chipping away at the 
froze up ground is going to be tough going at best." 

I took his advice and gave up on panning. Each morning I would eat a
bowl of oatmeal mush and drink a cup of coffee or tea, stoke up my 
stove to keep my cabin warm, and trudge the mile up to Swede's to work 
with him. 

The cold relented a bit, and the temperature was up near freezing. Heavy
clouds hung overhead and it began to snow by midmorning. As the hours 
passed the snow grew heavier and heavier. Finally Swede looked at me. 
"I got a queer feeling about this weather. I think it's going to blow. 
I can feel the breeze beginning to freshen. Let's shut it down for the 
day. You need to head back down to your place while you can still see 
the trail. If it's snowing heavy come morning, just stay in your cabin 
and set it out." 

I nodded. I had noticed the snow was beginning to pile up in places. On
the trip home I found the snow almost knee deep in a couple of spots. 
It snowed all night, and all of the next day, and the day after that. I 
just sat in my cabin drinking coffee, feeding the fire, and staring out 
the window. On the second day of the snow the wind came up strong out 
of the west. I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me when I 
opened the door to my cabin. 

A foolhardy mistake almost ended it for me. I made the mistake of
walking out into the snow. I turned around and couldn't see my cabin, 
just a veil of white in every direction. I was just able to see my 
tracks in the snow, but the wind was quickly filling them in. Once I 
reached the safety of my cabin, I didn't leave again. 

The temperature began to drop as the wind shifted. It was coming from
the north now, I think it had quite snowing, but it was hard to tell as 
the wind was blowing the snow. Harder and harder it blew. I had to put 
an old shirt under the door to keep the snow from drifting in through 
the door. 

The temperature continued to drop, but there was no letting up in the
wind. I could hear it howling all through the day and all through the 
night. At times my mind would hear things on the wind. I could swear I 
could hear people calling my name. The first few times I would open the 
door and look outside. The blowing snow felt like sharp pieces of glass 
cutting at my face. 'It was only the wind'. I told myself this over and 
over again until I finally believed it. 

The storm had lasted for over a week before it subsided. I got up in the
morning to find the sun out and the skies clear with no wind blowing. A 
joy flowed through my body. I quickly ate my breakfast and then opened 
my door. 

The air hit my face like a bucket of icy water. My God, but it was cold.
I had never felt cold like this before. The very air itself seemed 
frozen. There was not a sound to be heard outside, not a breath of air 
moved. The smallest of branches stood still like silent sentinels. 

I strapped my snowshoes on and set out for Swede's. I could feel my
breath freezing instantly in my beard. The air was so cold that it 
burned my lungs. I wrapped a scarf around my face so that only my eyes 
showed through. With my snowshoes strapped to my feet I set out for 
Swede's cabin. 

I scarcely recognized the way. So much snow had fallen. The creek was
frozen and drifted over. I kept my eyes locked on the few familiar 
landmarks that hadn't changed. The normal fifteen minute trek to Swedes 
took me over an hour, even with the exertion that it took to move 
through the snow, I still felt cold. 

Finally Swede's cabin came into view. It was going to be good to see
him, to hear another person's voice. As I got closer, I began to feel a 
little worried. Why was there no smoke rising from his cabin? I could 
see no tracks leading to or from his cabin. 

I yelled out his name, "Swede!" I tried to run on my snowshoes but
tripped and fell headlong into the snow. I got up and made my way to 
his cabin. I tried his door, but the latch was frozen. I pounded on the 
door and yelled again, "Swede!" 

I took off my snow shoes and I pounded the latch with my mittens, still
it would not give. Looking around I spotted his axe. Two blows from the 
axe and the latch finally gave. I walked into Swede's cabin and looked 
around. 

He was in bed, sleeping. I let out a sigh of relief. "Swede, wake up.
The storm has let up." 

It was damned cold in that cabin. Swede didn't move. I reached over and
my heart sank. He was frozen solid. I sat down on the bed and looked at 
him. There was look of calm on his face. He must have died in his sleep 
during the storm. 

What was I going to do? It would take days of feeding a huge fire to
thaw enough ground to bury him. I knew I couldn't do that. I hauled the 
supplies out of his cabin and made a cache in a hard snowdrift. I knew 
where his gold was hidden, and I felt a bit of guilt as I retrieved it. 
I was surprised at how much he had. Swede had pulled three ounces of 
gold from the creek for every one that I had. I looked at the frozen 
face of my partner and felt guilty. He had offered to split what we had 
taken out of the creek, and he must have known that he had mined much 
more than I had. 

But, I took the gold. There was no point on leaving it there. I put the
bags of gold into a large pack and took it outside. I filled as much as 
his cabin with firewood as I could. I used two gallon cans of kerosene 
and splashed it over everything in the cabin. 

I looked at the body of Swede and I knelt by the bed. "I don't know any
religious words, Swede, and for that I am sorry. You always did good by 
me, and I wish I could do more for you now. I know you come from 
Sweden, and I remember stories about the Vikings and their burning of 
their long ships when someone died. I reckon this cabin will have to 
serve as your ship." I reached out and put my hand on Swede's head. 
"God bless you, Swede." 

I lit a match and touched it to the kerosene. I stood and watched as the
flames quickly spread. How long I stood there and watched I have no 
idea. As the flames roared high into the air, I moved further and 
further back. It was getting near time for the sun to set when I turned 
my back on the inferno and began to make my way home. 

The red glow of the flames was visible in the sky from my cabin. With a
heavy heart I stoked up my stove and started to prepare something to 
eat. I had never felt alone like I did at this moment. I was alone. To 
the best of my knowledge the nearest person was in Dawson. 

Did I want to spend the rest of the winter out here alone? The thought
made me shiver. The week by myself during the storm was enough. I had 
the prospect of seeing Swede once the storm was over to carry me 
through. Now, I had nothing. Just alone. 

I counted up what gold I had, and then added it to what Swede had. There
was more than enough there to keep a man for life. I knew what I had to 
do. I had to get to Dawson. I could sell my gold at the bank. I could 
find my way south and out of this country. I could go back home. Home. 
I didn't really have a home, not like most men. Home could be anywhere 
I wanted it to be. It just had to be somewhere where there were people. 


It would just take a day to hike back into Dawson. I began to pack that
night. I didn't need to take much. I just needed a bit of food to get 
me to town. And the gold. I couldn't forget the gold. It surprised me 
how much gold there really was. It almost filled up my pack. 

I left my cabin at first light. I didn't turn around; I just plowed
along on my snowshoes. The pack weighed heavy on my back. It was a 
weight that I enjoyed the feel of. It was the fruits of our labors. It 
was my future. A future of not having to work, or to struggle. It meant 
respect. 

It was slower going than I had expected. The snow and the extra weight
slowed me down. By mid afternoon I had to take a break. My legs burned, 
my back burned. I was sweating from exertion and I was breathing hard. 
I was worried. I hadn't seen the cut that signaled the turn that would 
put in line with Dawson. I began to worry that maybe I had missed it. 
The snow could have filled it in. 

Just when I was about to turn back, I rounded a corner in the trail and
spotted the cut. My heart leapt for joy. I was going to make it. I set 
out across the frozen pond, it would cut down on time. The sun was 
getting low in the sky. I had misjudged how much time it was going to 
take me to make my way back on snowshoes through the fresh snow, and 
with a lot of extra weight on my back. 

I was two-thirds way across the pond when I heard a sickening crack and
I felt myself falling. I was immersed in the frigid water up to my 
waist. I clung to the ice and tried to pull myself back onto the ice. I 
couldn't and my strength was going fast. I knew it was the pack that 
was holding me in the water. Finally I closed my eyes and let it slip 
from my back and into the icy water. 

I could smell sulfur. I cursed myself, I should have remembered. Swede
had mentioned it each time we had passed. "Smells like there's a hot 
spring in there." The warm water from the spring had kept the ice thin. 


I crawled back onto the ice and staggered to the shore where I
collapsed. I was so cold that my body was wracked with the most violent 
shaking. I tried to stand again but, my legs were completely sapped of 
any strength. My mittens were frozen already, and I could feel my pants 
freezing to my legs. 

As I lay there, I slowly stopped shivering. I could feel warmth in my
body again. My eyes were getting heavy. The sun had slipped behind the 
horizon. All I needed to do now was to rest for a bit, and make my way 
to Dawson. I'd be rich in Dawson. I'd sell my gold in Dawson. I just 
needed a bit of sleep first, sleep, glorious sleep. I felt so tired. My 
eyes were closing. 

I was surrounded by a silvery glow. I saw her face. Her face filled me
with a joy that I had never felt before. She smiled at me and touched 
my face. 

Her voice was unlike anything I had heard before. "I'm here to take you
home." Her words warmed me more than the hottest fire. 

"What about my gold?" My voice seemed to crack. 

"You won't need your gold," she replied in a voice like a mother would
use with a small child. She reached out and touched my hand with hers. 

At that moment I felt a release from the grip that had held me for
almost a year. I didn't need gold, I was going home. The darkness 
around me was replaced with a glorious light. 

I then heard Swede's familiar voice. "It's good to see you again, lad." 


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