useless anyway. The outhouse, she had discovered, was bad enough in pleasant weather. In the rain it was nearly unbearable. The roof above the little wooden building leaked even worse than the one over the house. She was soaked and freezing by the time she finished and got back inside the cabin.
Maude drove to her own house down the hill and came back with rain gear, the loan of which Charity accepted with gratitude and a mental note to buy herself some the next time she was in Dawson. It was hard to imagine putting on a heavy yellow slicker every time she had to relieve herself, but hey, stuff happened.
You wanted an adventure, she reminded herself. She thought of her favorite action hero, Max Mason, who traveled the world fighting evil, survived under the very worst conditions, and never complained. Compared to what Max went through, living up here was a stroll in the park.
Besides, next week, once the repairs were made, things were bound to get better.
Unfortunately, on Saturday, Buck Johnson showed up and she began to wonder if they ever really would.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Johnson,” she said with a welcoming smile. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”
“I never worked for a woman,” he grumbled. “Maude didn’t tell me the new owner was a female.”
Charity straightened a little and was glad she hadn’t offered to shake his hand. She came from Manhattan, after all, a city where Johnson’s Planet-of-the-Apes attitude was mostly a thing of the past. “I can’t see why that should matter, Mr. Johnson. I’m here to work this claim. You have experience in that regard. I’d like to employ you. That is all that matters.”
Johnson grumbled something she couldn’t hear. He was a big man, mid-forties, thick through the chest and shoulders, with black hair slightly graying at the temples. His forehead was wide, his nose a little too broad, and she wondered if it had been broken.
“Well, Mr. Johnson, do you want the job or not?”
“I got a kid in city college down in Whitehorse. I need the money.”
“Is that a yes?”
He nodded as if he couldn’t quite force out the word. “You might as well call me Buck.”
“Fine … Buck.” She didn’t give him her first name as she had intended. With Buck Johnson’s attitude toward women, she needed him to accept that she was the boss. She hoped that in time they would come to a better understanding. “The first thing I’d like you to do is take a look at the equipment out in the shed. There isn’t all that much, but some of it may be useful.”
He nodded. “I’d better get to it, then.” Slamming his battered old felt hat back on his head, he turned to leave—glad, it seemed, to escape outside.
As he closed the front door, Charity watched Maude saunter out of the kitchen.
“I figured you’d best deal with Buck on your own. Better he knows who he’s workin’ for right from the giddy-up.”
“Why didn’t you tell him I was a woman?”
A droopy, gray-brown eyebrow went up. “You really gotta ask?”
Charity almost smiled. “No, I guess I don’t.”
“We might be able to find someone else, but it’ll take time and with the claim bein’ so far from town, you’d have to come up with some kind of living quarters. Buck’s awful handy, living’ just up the road. I figure he’ll come round in time.”
“I hope so.”
“He knows what he’s doin’. He’s been at it more’n twenty years.”
She sighed. “I guess that’s the most important thing.”
Buck returned a little while later. The rain had turned into a fine, cold mist that clung to his flannel shirt and beaded on his ratty brown-felt hat.
“Old Mose never really worked the Lily Rose,” he said, accepting the seat she offered at the now-green kitchen table. She had drawn a leaf pattern in red paint on the top and done the same to the backs of the chairs. She smiled to think her first handyman endeavor had turned out pretty well, considering.
“He owned a couple of other claims,” Buck continued, “one farther up Dead Horse Creek and another over on Bonanza Creek. He spent most of his time working those.”
“Paid off pretty well for him, too,” Maude put in.
“From what I read,” Charity said, “since the Lily Rose hasn’t been worked, we’ll have a better chance of finding gold.”
“Oh, we’ll find some, all right,” Buck agreed. “Can’t hardly stick a pan in the water in these parts without turning up some color. Question is, how much will we find?”
A good question. She hoped it was at least enough to return the money she had invested. “I guess we can’t know that until we get started. What exactly are we going to need?”
“Like you said, there wasn’t much out in the shed—leastwise, nothing much useful. Times have changed. Equipment’s got a lot better in the last few years. Even gold pans aren’t the same as they was when I first started. The good ones are made of plastic now and the best of those is green. Shows the color better. We’ll need a few of them to start.”
“What else?”
“That old skip loader out there still works, after a fashion. Needs a little tuning, but I can handle that. We’ll need a dredge—that’s the most important thing—one with plenty of power but still portable enough to move up and down the creek. I can build us a sluice box. We’ll need wire mesh, stuff for a riffle board, and a two-or three-horse engine for vibration.”
“All right, what else?”
“We’ll need picks and shovels. A good metal detector would sure come in handy.”
She flicked a glance at Maude. “Will we be able to get all that in Dawson?” She hoped they didn’t have to go all the way to Whitehorse or order it from somewhere even farther away.
“There’s a place on the outskirts of town,” Maude said. “D. K. Prospecting Supplies. They’ll have everything we need.”
“Mining is still big business up here,” Buck put in. “And there’s still plenty of gold. All you have to do is find it.”
She felt an inward thrill and a smile bloomed over her lips. “Then that’s what we’re going to do.”
Buck took a look at her salon-trimmed hair and the dab of makeup she couldn’t resist, and apparently wasn’t convinced.
“Monday,” she said to Maude, ignoring him, “once the workmen arrive to repair the roof and the plumbers come to fix the bathroom, Buck and I will head off to D. K. Prospecting to buy the equipment we need.”
Buck made no comment, but his jaw looked tight. Charity figured he didn’t like the idea of people in town finding out he was working for a woman.
Too bad, Bucko, she thought. Hadn’t the guy ever heard of women’s lib? Well, it was time he stopped living in the past and accepted the idea that she was the one who’d be signing his paycheck.
Monday arrived. They waited all day but the workmen never showed up. Not until late Tuesday morning. Maude said they worked on Klondike time. She said Charity might as well get used to it.
“Just the way things is done up here. Nobody hurries much. Too many other things to do.”
“You mean like go camping or fishing,” Charity grumbled, beginning to get the idea.
“Or canoein’ maybe, or packin’ back into the woods. Sun comes out, they’re bound to find somethin’ better to do than work.”
Fortunately, Tuesday was overcast and drizzly. Charity breathed a sigh of relief when the Jed’s