Gold Dust by Emily Krokosz Page B

it would have
     been pork chops.”
    Some town, Katy mused as she wandered on. Every second tent seemed to be a saloon, gambling emporium, or dance hall, and those
     businesses that didn’t hawk liquor or offer card games sold supplies, mining equipment, maps to and of the goldfields. She
     passed several flimsy structures in which tables of shell games and other sirens of chance relieved the gold kings of their
     money before they even made it. Outfitters’ signs announced having everything from long underwear to shovels. One enterprising
     fellow sold boats to be carried over the pass and used for transport down the upper Yukon River. A tentmaker hawked tents
     that could be folded into a neat package to be carried upon the back during the day, then expanded into a “palace of comfort”
     at night.
    Nowhere did Katy find a hotel or a rooming house—there were no houses at all, with the exception of one or two unimpressive
     log structures. One rather large tent did advertise beds for two dollars a night—an outrageous price that many were willing
     to pay, apparently, for the sign in front announced that the place was full. People were camped on the beach and in the woods,
     in tents, under makeshift branch and brush shelters, or with no shelter at all. The prospect of sleeping under the stars didn’t
     disturb Katy. She knew better than most of the inhabitants of Skaguay how to live outdoors. But before she set up camp for
     herself, she wanted to find work.
    The task was harder than one would think in a town so lively. The safest place to seek employment seemed to be one of the
     groceries that displayed canned goods, fresh meat, sorry-looking vegetables, fresh and dry milk, dried fruits, and huge bins
     of flour, sugar, salt, and beans. Katy ducked throughthe canvas entrance of one such business and wandered up and down the rows of shelves. The grocery had a wide variety of goods,
     all selling at prices twice what they would fetch in the States. But then, where else could the eager goldseekers buy if they
     hadn’t purchased a complete outfit in Seattle and paid to have it hauled north on the steamer? Doubtless all the groceries
     in Skaguay charged similar prices.
    Katy decided that the proprietor could afford to hire on a bit of help with all the money he must be making on his goods.
     She picked up a box of matches, a half pound of salt, and two bars of bath soap and took them to the counter that ran along
     the front of the tent.
    The proprietor, a balding, slight man in his mid-fifties, regarded her with polite curiosity. “Will that be all, miss?”
    “For now. You need any help in the store? I’m looking for a job.”
    His expression changed immediately from friendly to shuttered. “Don’t need any help. I’ve already got two fellas helping me—one
     of them living in the back room to watch the place at night. And every day I get at least ten more in looking for work or,
     worse, a grubstake.”
    “Oh. Know anyone who’s looking for help?”
    He shook his head. “For every job in this place, there’s five or ten men looking for a way to earn enough to get to Dawson.”
    With that many men clamoring for work, why would anyone hire a woman? The storekeeper didn’t say it, but the implication was
     in his words. Katy nodded coolly, put her purchases in her valise, and walked out. Hunter waited for her just outside the
     door.
    “No luck there,” she told the wolf. “Don’t worry though. We can always live off the woods until I think of something.”
    She inquired at three other groceries with the same result. Two clothing stores turned her down, and the proprietor of the
     hardware store wasn’t even polite. Toward midafternoon she grew desperate enough to peek into a dance hall, which wasdoing a rousing business even at midday. That sort of place hired women. No doubt about it. A platform of unfinished planks
     took up one end of the large tent. The sign out front advertised hourly shows,