Aurora Borealis

The lady that's known as... Lou

Lou stood quietly looking at the faces of the folk in the Aurora; some happy, some sad, some downright full of despair. These were the faces of men and women who came here with grandiose dreams of striking it rich. Some had done well while others... Well, they hadn't fared quite as well. Yet. There was always tomorrow.

Thunder boomed in the distance, the sound of rain coming down in torrents and the fire crackling in the huge fireplace taking the chill out of the crisp early spring evening... Pouring down. Leaking through a crack in the roof that pa kept promising to fix. Drip... drip... drip... Her thoughts turned back to the day when she first made the decision to take a chance on getting some of the tons of gold and silver that had been discovered in the north.

Last trip into town, there was talk of gold. Gold just laying on the ground for anyone to pick up by the handfuls. Men and women both were going north to Canada to make their fortunes, not knowing if they would ever come back. Nor caring. Some in search of adventure, others just plain desperate for a chance at a better life.

Her ma had raised four girls with sore little help from pa. Not a one of them had prospect of a marriage that would take them from the brink of near-poverty that they so desperately clung to. Now pa lay on his deathbed. What would come of them now?

Lou turned to take a long hard look at her mother. Her face was lined from years of working outdoors in all weather, though she thought most were from worrying. She brushed her cheek gently, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Ma? We have to talk."

"Good Lord, Lou! Can't be anything but trouble when I see that look come on your face. What is it you're planning? As if it matters what I think. You'll do exactly as you please anyhow. Best just blurt it all out at once and get it over with."

"Ma. I'm leaving tomorrow for the north country. I'm gonna strike it rich. I have just as good a chance as anyone else. I can't stay here anymore waiting to see if the next crop will fail. Or worry where the next meal will come from if that happens. I can't bear to hear you crying in the night. You thought I didn't know? I do. And I am going. With or without your blessing. I am going."

"Yes, Lou. I can see that you are." Standing stiffly from where she sat by the fire knitting, ma walked over to the cupboard and pulled down her silver coffee pot. The one she got from her own ma and kept her money in for a rainy day. Emptying it out on the kitchen table, she looked up at her eldest daughter and smiled. "Well, girl. It's as rainy a day as it's ever going to be. You best be taking this to get you through until you make your fortune."

Wrapping her arms tightly around her ma, Lou brushed a stray tear from her cheek. "I'll send this back a thousand fold, ma. You'll see. Now I have to go pack my things. The sun will be coming up sooner than I want it to as is."

By the time Lou got out here she was down to her last fifty cents. Fifty cents wasn't gonna make her or break her. She threw it into the river and headed into town. Never looking back. Never regretting.

A clap of thunder brought her back to the Aurora Borealis and the sound of Tapp's piano and Dan's booming voice singing one of his favorite songs. That Dan! Shaking her head and smiling broadly, Lou walked over to him and Frenchie to pour them another round.

Tonsillitis Jones


Tonsillitis Jones carefully led the hackneyed mule through the torrential rains. Blazing blue flashes illuminated the trail then blinded in their absence. The echoing roar of the thunder pounding on the ears. The mule danced at the lead, but Tonsillitis held firm. This load was going through.

The load was ponderous, but by God it would be the last. The fire of the bush madness burned deeply, and the mule felt the keen sting of the leather often. Mud holes and deep running waters, each traversed cautiously, and in the distance, hopefully before nightfall was the town, a hot meal, and a dry bed.

Tonsillitis had trouble remembering being dry, or warm, for that matter. When the weather even looked like it was getting warm, those dang black flies and Satan's mosquitoes tore the flesh from your bones, and the incessant whine of the deer flies was enough to drive anyone insane. The only salvation from hell's own spawn was the bitter cold, a cold that dug deep into the bones and held fast. The water was cold, the air was cold, the gold was cold, and in time the people were cold too. A strange soulless cold wedged into the heart, a cold so firmly entrenched that no fire would ever burn hot enough to thaw.

Ahead, the saloon and shelter. Behind, the dead body of Lars Lindquist. Tonsillitis was amazed by that. The body half in Patterson's creek, and half on the shore. Three clear holes in the back, and the gun just lying there on the ground. Who ever shot Lars sure did not want to get away with it.

Tonsillitis was certain who it was too. There was only one man with a gun like that in the whole territory, and that man was...

No doubt the law would be quick as always, and there would be a hanging before next winter. Tonsillitis would hang around just long enough to see that.

Seamus Macleary paused a moment in his seemingly endless fascination with polishing the deep mahogany of the bar, and leaned his weight against the gleaming and reflective surface as he listened to the ending strains of Danny boy belting out his tune. The stocky and bald-headed Barkeep grinned at the singer from beneath his magnificent mustache, both from enjoyment of the song, and the thought of how mad the singer got when he called him Danny boy. The music over, Seamus went back to his task, again shifting his weight onto the bar every once in a while to position his peg into a more stable position.

He had been in the Aurora for close to three months now, and did not regret his decision to head this far North. He hadn’t come up here for the gold though, he had no need to go traipsing around out in the wild trying to find what might not even be there. No, he was here to pour whiskey and tell bullshit stories about his days in the Army, to answer stupid questions about his peg, and to crack a few skulls if the locals got too rowdy. He was a Barkeep, not a Prospector, and he got paid to work. He didn’t have to hope for a vein, dream for the lucky strike. That meant he had cash for the good things that this growing town had to offer, including the pretty girls.

He cast his eyes down the bar and watched the sweet faced Lou poured out a new round for Danny boy and Frenchie, making sure the celebrations got off to a good start. Shaking his bald head, the barrel-chested Barkeep swiveled around, hitching his stub along for support as he took up the central position behind the long bar. Flipping the towel over his shoulder, he placed the palms of his hands on the back edge of the shining wooden surface, and said ”Alright lads, belly up now and I’ll thank ye ta wipe yer grimy mitts off afore ye drop ‘em on me bar. Pick yer poison, and let’s make ourselves a night of it!”

-----

Crazy George

George had been mining his claim for around two years, he only knew this from the calendar in the assay office, he knew when he’d started and had seen the date on his last visit. When he’d first started he’d been held up by outlaws as he headed for town, they’d opened his saddle bags on his mule and scattered his hard earned gold on the floor before laughing and leaving him to collect his gold again. This had happened two or three times as he could remember, after that they would check his bags laugh and leave him to carry on. Now a days they’d see him and shout hello waving to him and then ride away, occasionally they’d even stop and talk to him before leaving.

He’d checked his supplies the night before and knew it was time to return to town for more, he had no idea how long it was since he was last in town but he knew that he only had supplies for himself and his mule for two or three days. His saddle bags were full of his gold, he hoped that the assay office would give him something like what it was worth this time. He only ever seemed to get enough money to spend a few days in town and purchase enough supplies to last him five or six weeks.

The Aurora would be home for a couple of days when he arrived, although he knew everybody in town called him Crazy George he always seemed to be welcome at the Aurora. Lou was always nice to him making sure he had a cosy room and his mule was well looked after. The girls in the bar would even spend time with him chatting during the evening when things went a little quiet, his escapes from solitude were always enjoyable there.

Seamus the barman always had time to talk with his stories about his days in the military in between serving his many customers, he was quite looking forward to having a few drinks in the bar. He never had any drink around his claim he’d heard too many stories of prospectors getting drunk and falling down a cliff so he stayed sober while mining.

He set off in the pouring rain knowing it would be two days before he reached town, but he’d spent so much time in all weathers that the rain didn’t bother him one bit. He stopped at his usual place the first night, removing the bags of gold from his mule and keeping them safe near himself, but nothing disturbed him during the night. The following day turned out brighter but he could tell by the clouds that it would rain again before nightfall, It was just starting again as he reached Carmack.

The assay office was still open so George visited there first and again didn’t get what he thought his gold was worth, but he had enough for what he needed for now. He stabled his mule in the Aurora stables, giving the stable lad a couple of cents to look after him properly as he normally did. With that George headed for the bar to say hello to Seamus and Lou, and arrange his lodgings for a couple of days.

Beth smiled weakly at the tall man as he helped her down from the wagon, but gave a grimace of pain as her feet met the groud, sending shocking pains throught her legs, which had been immobile for the last several hours. She steadied herself and reached for her bag of belongings, rummaging through to find the last of her money. Her hand closed around it and she had to force herself to hand it over to the man who had driven her to Carmack on his way north. She watched with forelorn eyes as he tucked her money her money into his pocket and again ascended into the wagon, dismissing her with a quick good-bye.

Her eyes followed the wagon as it rolled away, feeling too nervous to try to take in her new surroundings, but she knew she had no choice. Drawing a breath, she let her eyes roam the landscape, trying not to feel intimidated. She took in the theater, the opera house, several resturants, and, finally, they came to rest on the Aurora Borealis-the place she would be spending all of her time in. With both parents deceased, the barely eighteen year old Beth would have to make her own living, and she'd heard that the Aurora was the best place to do it. The thought of selling her body mede her stomach go cold, but she had no other options.

She was scared out of her mind, yes, but she was also desperate. She needed money and a place to stay, and the Aurora gaurenteed her both.

She drew a fortifying breath, wanting to at least appear composed, picked up her single bag of belongings, and made her way to the door of the soloon.

"Was it only a week since my Lieutenant told me that I was being posted to the Yukon?"
I thought to myself as I rode slowly into town. if you could call it a town, to me Carmack is a Godforsaken place, out in the wilderness, and riddled with filth and vermin, but, orders are orders. And I, Sgt Alex McDonald, always followed orders, to the letter.

I had asked around a little, and heard that if I wanted any info on what was happening in Carmack, then the Aorora Borealis was the center of attention, and the place of news, so I duly made my way there.

Tying my horse to the hitching rail, and checking my gun, I entered the establishment, soon locating the bar.

Seeing the burly barman looking at me, I strode acrooss to introduce myself.

"Good day Sir, Sgt Alex McDonald, Canadian Mounted Police at your service. Might I enquire as to the whereabouts of the owner of this establishment. Please let him know, that "Mac" is here, and wishes to speak with him, regarding the law around here. Thank you."

Tad stood by the road, his Kentucky long rifle slung across his arms, and looked down the muddy, rutted street into the town. ‘Carmack’, he had heard someone call it. It wasn’t what he had expected, not like the town back home, five miles from the farm. The farm that he had run away from, where his family still was. His Pa had bought the land ten years ago and all that Tad knew was to work the land and hunt. How to plow the fields, plant corn, harvest it, and shoot deer. It was the shooting that had sustained Tad’s life as he had made his way to the Yukon. It was the drive for adventure that had caused him to leave the farm. He had read, with his Ma’s help, about the Yukon, and the gold rush. It was his Ma that had taught him to read and write, even though he wasn’t a good at either he reckoned he knew enough to get by.

It had been on the weekly, ‘going to church Sunday’ that he had found the paper, lying on a bench in the town square. He had been sitting there trying to read it when Becky Hampton had sat down beside him. He liked Becky, she just made him all flustered and confused and befuddled his mind so he didn’t know what he was thinking. He had asked his Ma about Becky, why she did that to him. Ma replied that sometimes girls just did that to young boys. But not to worry, someday he would marry and he would do what comes naturally. He had no idea what that meant, but he trusted his Ma.

He heard music coming from a building down the street. He tried to read the sign on the building:

“Aur … Aurora Bor … Aurora Bore …,” he said to himself, aloud, trying to pronounce the words.

“Aurora Borealis,” a stranger said, passing by. “Means Northern Lights, a good place to stay away from,” he added, heading down the street.

Maybe I can get a job there, Tad thought to himself. If I’m going to be a prospector, I reckon I’ll need some money to get started.

He walked down to the Aurora Borealis, stopped at the swinging doors, and looked in. After a moment of indecision he entered and went to the bar, looking for someone who might be in charge.

Anna DeSilva

Anna blew an incorrigible wisp of hair from her face and sighed, the heat from the stoves had brought a rosy flush to her cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat to her brow as she worked. It hardly seemed nine months since she had arrived in Carmack. Where had the time gone?

Like everyone else, Anna thought she was going to 'strike it rich' in Yukon Territory. High ambitions for a simple Italian girl from Syracuse, New York. She had come over with her eldest brother and his family. They had eight children and the tiny house was crowded, to say the least. Anna had begun to feel like an intruder in what was meant to be her home.

When she had read about the gold strike, Anna knew this was an opportunity of a lifetime. Packing what few belongings she had, she took the coward's way out and left a note, sneaking away in the middle of the night.

The journey had been long and hard, but she had arrived in Carmack after months of travel not much worse for the wear. She took a room at Monroe House, got cleaned up and went in search of work. Senora Hanna had suggested the Aurora Borealis, and that was her first stop. And last.

They were looking for girls. Puttana. Could she? Dare she? The pay was good. Perhaps until she found something 'better'? There just didn't seem much else for her to do and Anna agonized over the decision for days. Perhaps just until she earned enough to do something else... Anna chuckled at her ingenuità.

It had been a disaster from the start. She had fled in tears from her first appointment. The man had been kind, but she had been so nervous that she was sick all over him. Not the best way to entertain a customer.

Miss Lou had been more than understanding and took Anna under her wing, offering a job as chambermaid. She had quickly proven her worth when the cook had fallen ill and now she ran the kitchen as well as overseeing the housekeeping and the staff Miss Lou employed 'behind the scenes'. Life was good for Anna DeSilva, even if a little lonely.

-----

Seamus Macleary

The swarm of hedonistic deadbeats had cleared off some, and Seamus was back to his polishin' soon enough. He had seen Crazy George over the heads of the whiskey vultures, and had waved the grizzled old scatterbrain off toward the bathtubs, keepin' with the tradition of 'bath first, then we talk' whenever the smelly old geezer came to town. He knew, as well, that he'd be wantin' a room too, so the alert Barkeep caught the attention of one of the scurryin' maids and sent her to make certain the place was ready. It wasn't that he didn't trust the old coot, far from it. But if he had money in his purse there was sure to be whiskey in his gut soon enough, and that always led to things gettin' broke in his room for some reason. Best to just move the breakables now, and be done with it.

His sharp eyes also found the lines of a new face among the rough-house crowd that usually filled the place on nights like this. A new girl, he thought to himself, and judgin' from the way she were holdin that bag and shiftin from foot ta foot, I'll guess she's just got off the stage what was due about now. She seemed a bit out of sorts about what to do, and where to go, her eyes shifting nervously from face to floor as she skittered away from the laughing men, and avoided the giggling girls. Ah... so thats the way of it, eh? he mused She come here all desperate, and knows exactly what sort of place this is... Well, she's fair ta look at, I'll say that fer nothin, but it ain't the looks what make the whore, but the willin' nature.

He waited until she had settled at an empty spot at the far end of the bar, knowing that she wouldn't really have anywhere else she felt she could go, and slid the big widemouthed jar of pickles easily down the slick wood, his practiced hand spinning it around perfectly so that the hand draws sign that read "Two for a Penny", was turned around to reveal the words "Unless Seamus Says Different" written on the back. He wasn't offering much for free, they were just pickles after all, but if she was as hungry as he suspected she might be, a pickle was a damned sight better than nothing.

He had only just returned to his endless cleaning when he more felt that saw the representative of Her Majesties Mounted Police enter the place. A hush seemed to wash over the room like a sobering realization of mortality, and more than a few of the various rascals that had been spending good money seconds before up and bolted out the door as soon as they felt they had a chance of doing so without being seen. Already this straitlaced idiot was getting on the Barkeeps bad side, and then he introduced himself... "Mac..." he repeated softly his thick arms crossing his barrel-like chest as he squared off at the younger man. "Well, now ain't that a coincidence. I'm a Scot as well! Macleary, from the eastern clans. Your kin of the highland Macdonalds..." he asked, deliberately mispronouncing it as he leaned his bald head slightly to the left "Or are ye from the lowland stock? I won't do ye the dishoner of askin if ye're Irish," he said with widened eyes, spitting slightly as if to rid himself of a nasty taste "For theres not an irishman yet been born thats man enough to call himself 'Mac', eh boy?"

He shifted his arms to his hips then, and raised his voice slightly, saying "As fer laws, well, we're a peacful lot here, and only take whats our due from any man. Isn't that right boys? But if yer looking for our kindly owner, and mind yer manners now, she is right yonder." He nodded his gleaming head in the direction of the beautiful hotel owner, even as a few of the patrons smiled at the mild jokes he had enjoyed at the mounties expense. They knew all too well that the burly Barkeep had no real love for either the Irish or the British, and there were rumors flying that he was actually hiding from the law after killing someone in the States. Those were questions that the usually talkative man never answered.

Cupping a hand to his mouth, knowing that to be near Danny boy was to chance deafness anyway, should he find something amusing, the bartender called over to the Hostess, and then pointed at the wide-brimmed hat the officer was wearing, arching his heavy brows in mock concern and hiding his grin behind that waxed mushache of his.

Turning from that bit of distraction, and still grinning, he had no more than leaned forward and asked the next tall newcomer, this one with what looked to be an honest to God Kentucky Longbore Rifle standing up beside him, what he might like to drink, when Dixon came barging in, whoopin and hollerin yet again. He had already been drinkin, that much was clear, and though he was a friendly enough man to meet in the street, he was one of the meanest damned drunks that Seamus had ever met. Sure as the world, even before Top could even start to get moving enough to calm things down, Dixon had already found a target. A big bear of a prospector, with a massive pack leaned against the table he was sitting at. The idiotic drunk threw down his challenge alright, just like everyone knew he would, but even Top was surprised by how quick the Bear responded. Like a bolt from the blue, the man was behind his attacker, with a solid grip on the wrist of the arm everyone had expected to brain him one, and there was a frozen moment as the stump-legged veteran caught sight of that blade driving for Dixons throat... only to see it end up lying flat and harmless against the flushed skin.

Skimming his own hand under the edge of the bar, Seamus came up with Ella's heavy weight in his hand, and dropped the sheath of the wide bladed Bowie knife on the shining bar as he let loose with his bull-like roar. "THATS ENOUGH! You two want ta kill each other you do it outside. This here is MY bar, and I'M the only one what gets to cause trouble here. UNDERSTAND?"

With a single kick, the Bear sent Dixon flyiing, throwing him into a table full of patrons, and spilling their liquor everywhere. Moving toward the bar, the victor offered to pay for their drinks, and ordered a beer for himself, splashing coins across the bar to cover it, and turning to look at the girls. "That was a fair bit a crappin' there lad, like a which I've nor seen afore. And exactly how sharp is that knife a yers anyway, eh? As ye can see..." he said, sliding Ella back into her sheath, "I'm a bit of a bladesman meself. Mind if I take a look at 'er?"

He waited calmly, expectent and friendly, until the prospector fished the blade out from his belt and held it out for him to take. Then, reaching forward carefully, he took it in gentle fingers and slid it clear of the other mans hand, and slid it beneath the thick wooden planking of the bar...

"You draw a weapon in my bar, it becomes mine. You want it back I suggest you be a nice man and act civil while you stay here. And yes, ye will be payin fer the round of drinks ye spilled, and the next as well, thats the policy, and there's no changin it. And if any of these nice gentle folk come up with a bill for the cleanin duties due from your little brain hemmorage, then guess who gets ta help 'em out. Other that that, welcome to the Aurora, hope you enjoy yerself!"

Lucian Keys

Lucian entered the bar at about the same time as Dixon was leaving it, and looking notably sullen....must have gotten into another scuffle...and lost. He stepped aside and let Dixon pass. Lucian himself was not a brawler and disliked physical violence, not that he was unaccustom to violence and danger. One could scarcely live in Carmack and not be privvy to some form of danger. He was a shopkeeper, accountant, land owner and merchant. In other words, he was involved in a much greater danger than mere drunken brawling... he was a businessman, and business could be much more dangerous than the fever gold could cause in a man or the inevitable desperation that lack of could could bring.

He had lived in Carmack for about eight months now and was already 'well known' the the area. Lucian was not a pugalist or war hero, like old Top behind the bar or even Dixon, not an infamous bandit or gun fighter, not even a 'stunning example of raw manhood' which made women melt with a glance and smile or cause brawny thugs to quiver and shake in their boots. But Lucian was well connected....very well connected, and he had alot of friends.

It made Lucian someone that locals did not want to cross.

Fortunatly, while Lucian was a shrewd, and even hard, businessman, he was not a cruel one. He did not lord over others or abuse his position. Such was not a good business practice.
He shook the rain off his dark, bowler hat and withdrew a kerchief from a deep pocket of his equally black and woolen overcoat. His gaze was fixed as he wiped away the moisture from his round specticals before returning them over his eyes, stuffing the cloth back from whence it came. Then Lucian slipped through the crowd, nodding to a familiar face here or giving way to a surly individual there, until he finally came up to the long bar.

"Evening Top." he said after getting the big man's attention. ""Straight scotch when you get a moment and whatever Miss DeSilva has on the stove and ready."

Beth shifted in her seat near the end of the bar, trying to push away the tension that had overcome her during the brawl. From the reactions of the customers, whose attention had almost immediatly shifted back to whatever they had been doing before, she judged that such an occurance was neither rare nor remarkable. The tone of the bar had so quickly returned to the dull roar characteristic of such establishments that Beth was left feeling as if she was the only one disconcerted.

It was made immediatly clear that life in the Aurora would not be what Beth was accustomed to.

A loud rumble from her stomach drew her thoughts back to the present and her most immediate concern--hunger. Food had been scarce for the past few weeks, and it was beginning to show on her thin frame. She looked around for the barkeep, but her eyes fell instead on the jar of pickles. She read the message: "Two for a Penny", Unless Seamus Says Different." She was sorely tempted to just grab whatever she could get, but instead wanted "Seamus'" approval. Her eyes scanned the bar for him, and quickly fell on his sturdy form. A moment later he looked at her and-as if reading the question in her eyes-gave a quick, sharp nod. Beth sighed in releived gratitude and for the first time since reaching Carmack felt a wide, genuine smile grace her features. The man watched her for a moment longer, then turned his attention back to the customers in front of him, waiting for service.

Her smile still in place, Beth reached for the pickle jar, almost groaning in satisfaction with the first bite.

She decided to satisfy her hunger first, then find someone to talk to about securing a job.

-----

Eve Deschain

She had been traveling for God knew how many years. From the little town in Kentucky to the city of Tombstone now here. She had searched out these places looking for her husband Roland. He had left her in search of a new place to start a life with. The last telegram she had gotten was from Tombstone telling of gold wonderous fate! Now, sitting in the wagon she read the faded yellow paper. No matter how may times she read it, it still brought chills to her body. Carmack. Why she was chasing him down was beyond her. Leaving her teaching job behind in Arizona, she made her way north. With nothing to start over on, her finances gone, she would have to find work at whatever means necessary. If it be miniing gold, she would endure, if it be working in a laundry, she would work. If it meant being a saloon girl and house entertainment, well, there will be water if God so wills.

Crazy George

George grinned as he saw Seamus nod towards the bathhouse, he waved his acknowledgement and headed out to get the last few weeks dirt and grime off himself. He knew that Seamus would also have sent a maid to get his room ready, he stripped off after filling the tub with water to the temperature that he liked. Sitting in the tub scrubbing the dirt off himself George broke into song, it was a shame he couldn’t sing but it annoyed nobody back here, he felt good and at peace with the world. He wondered what was new since he was last in town, had anybody found a real gold claim or was everybody just bringing in the stuff he was.

He finished his bath and had just finished dressing in clean clothes when a shapely young maid came into the bathhouse. “Your room is ready for you, I can show you the way if you like,” she told him with a smile. She was new he could tell that from her attitude she’d not heard anybody call him Crazy George as yet. That was probably because he’d not stopped in the bar but had headed straight for the bathhouse following Seamus’s directions.

“Lead on,” George replied. “How long have you been here?” he asked as the girl led him up the stairs to his room. The room was his usual one he thought that Seamus must have reasoned he’d have less trouble finding it when he’d had a few drinks if it was one he was used too.

“Thank you, I’ll buy you drink later if you’re in the bar,” he said as the girl turned and left. He put his dirty washing to one side knowing he’d have to remember to wash it some time before he left. After sorting his other things out he headed down to the bar arriving just after there had obviously been a bit of trouble. He waited until the guy talking to Seamus left him then moved over and took his place at the bar.

“Hi Seamus, usual please,” George said being very polite he could sense that Seamus wasn’t fully happy with the guy that had just left him.

Beth felt the pleasure roll through her as the food made its way to her stomach, marvaling at how something as small as a pickle could provide so much releif. Her standard of living had obviously changed. Life with her parents had been easy... comfortable. Every creature comfort had been provided for her, she never wanted for anything. When they died, she was sent to live with her uncle. He...

Life with him had not been as easy.

Beth shuddered at the memories and resolutly pushed them away. She was here now, and he was back in New York. There was no reason to think of him again.

Another loud rumble from her stomach startled her out of her thoughts. She sighed, admitting to herself that one pickle was not enough; she needed more to eat. And for that, she needed money. Casting another wary eye around the bar, she tried to accept that this would be her new life. She watched as a burly man approached what was obviously a "working girl." They talked for a few moments, the girl grinned, and they stood and walked off.

Beth felt sick. She shrunk back into her chair and tried to become invisible.

After a few minuites of silent ruminations, she felt strong enough to lift her eyes again. Expecting to see the same bustling activity as before, she was suprised to find a large, somewhat wild looking man walking towards her. He was smiling, and didn't look frightening, but Beth couldn't help feeling slightly nervous. What did he want? Why was he looking at her like that?

Still slightly tense, she watched him with wide eyes as he came to stand in front of her, and managed a small, tentative smile.

Patrick

Patrick walked into the Aurora Borealis. He looked around and knew it was the right place, full of miners trying to blow off steam and morons trying to prove they were the rootin'est shootin'est baddest man in town.

He sidestepped a scuffle, his eyes seeking out the card game in the corner, it was always in the corner. It looked good, lots of nice piles of chips, some pound notes, some Yankee dollars, a few small leather bags that had to contain nuggets.

He dropped his bag at the bar and waited casually, holding a pound note in his hand. The barkeep, or someone else who wanted money would be over in a minute or too, one didn't need to show off when one had money.

While he waited, he caught the eye of one of the local young ladies. Where there were men digging gold, there were women willing to relieve them of it in the ways women had been for thousands of years, and well, Patrick was a man and the journey up from Whitehorse had been rather lengthy.

Eunice Cantrell

The trip to the Yukon had been harder than Eunice had expected. She and her husband Ezra could only take their wagon so far north until the terrain became too rugged for it. They left the wagon and loaded what belongings they could on the two horses. Both of them were not prepared for the walk that lay ahead of them. Ezra was not a hunter so they ate most of their food supplies long before they neared their destination. He gave up his portions so Eunice would have more. It was when they neared Carmack that he took sick and became very weak. Three days away he couldn’t go any farther, but he told Eunice to continue on, to go to Carmack and build the church. She stayed by his side for the next 3 days until he died. She had no shovel to bury him with so she piled rocks over his body.

It was on the Sabbath, the Lords day, and by his grace, that she finally stumbled into Carmack. All she had left was the $500 they started with, some extra clothing, and the 2 scrawny horses, but she was determined to make a go of it in Carmack. To her surprise Carmack was bigger than she had expected. It was a bustling little city just like any town down in the U. S. She found the livery and sold the horses bringing her funds to $600, all she needed now was a place to stay and a way to make some money.

Tad Meriwether

Tad had never been inside a saloon before. They had one back home but his Pa had never allowed him inside. He had peeked in the windows on occasion, but had never seen anything like this place had. Loud piano playin and foot stompin, full of men drinking whiskey, he guessed, and smokin. And the ladies, Lordy, he had never seen anything like that before either. All painted up and smellin like flowers or something. And them dresses they wore, why he could see clean up past their knees, and half their bosoms was bout to fall out.

He backed up tight against the bar as one of the ladies walked past him, running her hand across his broad chest.

“Hi handsome,” she said, smiling up at him. “Looking for a good time?”

“Ah…ah hi ma’am,” he stammered, blushing full red. Wiping his hat off, remembering to be courteous, and crushing it in his hand. “Ah no ma’am, I’m just lookin fer a job.”

“To bad,” she replied. “A strong healthy, young man like yourself could probably go all night.”

“Yes ma’am, me and Pa sometimes picked corn all night durin harvest season.” He said proudly.

“I’ll bet you did,” she smirked, as she patted his chest, then turned and walked away.

Just then, the music changed, and everybody stopped to listen. It was no longer the rowdy, cheery kind of music that tended to jar the nerves. This was music that made you want to stop and listen. It reminded Tad of the hymns that Mrs. Bigalow played back at the church, only better. Tad stood there and listens, until he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He spied a young woman dragging a heavy bag of flour across the floor. She wasn’t dressed like the other women, so he guessed her to be working here. He rushed over to help her.

“’Pardon me ma’am,” he said, grabbing the heavy bag. “But a lady aughtin have to tote such a heavy weight.”

He leaned his Kentucky rifle against the wall, easily tossed the 100lb bag over his shoulder, grabbed his rifle, and headed for the kitchen door.

“My names Tad ma’am, Tad Meriwether” he stated. “Do you work here? I was hopin to get a job here too, but I don’t know who the boss man is. Do you know who the boss man is, ma’am? My Pa says I’m strong as an ox … and just as dumb.” He laughed at his joke. “Ma says I aint dumb, I just aint had no book learnin, ‘cept what she taught me. I can read and write some, but can’t do no ciphers. Were you wantin this flour ma'am?”

Jenny Craig

Jenny Craig:

Jenny’s full name is Jennifer Constance Craig, born in England of well-to-do parents who now live in New York City, and raised in a very traditional manner as would befit such a daughter. Sheltered to a large extent from life’s normal problems by wealth and privilege, Jenny is somewhat naïve, and prudish in her normal day to day mannerisms and character but has become increasingly aware of a dark side that both disturbs her and at the same time, causes intense arousal on occasion.

Jenny is not unattractive with a slim, boyish figure, an envied 22 inch waist, small breasts which Jenny is unhappy with, beautiful clear blue eyes, that wonderful English complexion that many English girls are born with, long, silky, very fair hair that is reflected in other areas too, and long legs that offset her modest height of 5 ft. 6 inches.

As an individual, she is exceptionally intelligent, and has a gifted method with her students that produces an effect of encouraging them to exceed wherever possible, and where all her students respect and admire her.

Her friendly, slightly shy demeanor, extraordinary politeness, and typical English ways attract the affections of the solid citizens and residents of Carmack while, unfortunately causing the less scrupulous residents of Carmack to fantasize, and lust after her.

Jenny is the schoolmistress of Carmack schoolhouse located near the old Church to one side of the residential area of town.


It was quite cold today, not unusual for this part of the country as Jenny left her apartment room paid for by the townspeople of Carmack, and began her customary walk up the hill to the schoolhouse whose many windows now reflected the bright but cold sunlight appearing between distant mountains in this rugged part of the Yukon.

Her mind was aglow with memories of that lovely dinner last night with the Crawford family (their two children, Alice and Robin were among the brighter students that Kenny taught), and the stranger from Boston who had also joined the small dinner party.

Jenny could not put out of her mind the cool, controlled but polite mannerisms of the stranger, his compelling dark eyes that seemed to hide so many secrets, and that strange aquiver that she had felt throughout the evening.

"Whatever am I thinking Jennifer Craig?" she thought to herself but knowing that the stranger had somehow touched an inner part of her that she did not fully understand, and which even worried her at times, and yet had this affect on her. "How silly I am" she thought as she reached the small driveway leading to the schoolhouse.

Top

Seamus was working hard tonight, and the pain in his leg was proof enough of that. He had gotten the night started right, as was his want, then spent some time jeering and joking with the regulars. He had seen new faces this evening, plenty of 'em, and had made both new friends and cool acquaintences among them.

He'd nodded and been right cordial with that coiled viper Mr. Lucian when he came in, knowing full well that of all the folk in this wee burg, if he'd had to pick someone not ta cross, he knew right where ta look, and thats no lie. The man may be thin as a drawn nail, but ye had ta remember that nails are made of iron...

The loudmouth with all the free money had taken an interest in the pickle girl, and seeing such,Top had sent a full plate of food sliding down he bar to stand in front of her, saying "That'll be fifty cents if ye want it." He knew full well that the girl was broke, and he also knew that the loumouth would pay for it. One thing Seamus wan't was stupid.

He wasn't unobservant either. The big one with the long Rifle had become a new toy fer one of the girls, and looked to be either enjoyin himself immensely, or he was scared clear ta rigormortis. From his position behind the bar he couldn't be certain, but somethin on the boy was stiff, there was little doubt of that.

He turned back to the room just in time to see Ol' George pull his freshly scrubbed form up to the bar, and grinned over at the old rocksniffer. "The usual is it? Well, i'm not sure I have any milk in the cold box right now George... How 'bout a Whiskey instead?" He grinned wider at the joke, and poured two fingers of hard liquor into a tumbler for his friend. "So you have any luck this time, or did ye just go out and play in the dirt again? Oh, excuse me a minute George."

He thumped his way down to the next new face, the one he had seen stop just inside the doors and give the room that predatory stare, and plucked the note out of his hand. "This'll get ye two drinks, or a drink and a good meal. What'll ye have stranger?"

Anna DeSilva

Anna could hold her own when it came to hauling things, but it was a relief nonetheless when the tall drink of water grabbed the sack of flour and hefted it over his shoulder like it was a mere feather bed. Most men in Carmack worked claims and both she and Lou had been hard put to find one interested in doing odd jobs around the Aurora. Maybe this was their lucky day.

"Mille grazie. Avanti." She cocked her head in the direction of the kitchen, her mind going a mile a minute. "Can you build things, Tad? And fix them when they break?"

"Ma'am. The things I build don't need no fixin'." He replied matter-of-factly and Anna grinned in response, following the young man through the door. Yes, this definitely was their lucky day.

"The boss man's name is Lou, Tad. Miss Lou. And I think you just got yourself a job."

"Stew's hot and the biscuits just came out of the oven, Signor Keys," she called over her shoulder as she passed through.