Free Gold Fever by Vicki Delany

tight lines, and her eyes flashed with what I thought might be a warning.
    â€œWe’ve come the wrong way,” I said to Helen, dragging her down Sixth Avenue.
    â€œYou said it was up ahead. And ain’t that Miss Irene over there?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “That wasn’t Irene. Looked a good deal like her though. Oh, look, that must be the street.” I plunged down the nearest alley. A man relieving himself against a wall tried to stuff himself back into his pants.
    â€œI’ll have the Mounties on you, if I witness that again,” I shouted, still dragging a bewildered Mrs. Saunderson. “Imagine, frightening proper ladies.”
    The man almost took flight, his shirtfront trapped in his trouser buttons.
    â€œMrs. Mac, what in heaven’s name are you doing?” Helen wheezed.
    â€œThere we are,” I almost shouted. “Seventh Avenue. Look for Mrs. Bradshaw’s shop. Remember, I want only the best soap. Bugger the cost.”
    Mrs. Saunderson gasped, as well she might. I had chosen my words carefully in order to distract her from my rather odd behaviour.
    I suspected I now knew the identity of Irene’s secret lover.
    For, as the woman in the homespun dress reached for Irene and looked into my eyes, my best girl, the most popular dance hall girl in Dawson, had leaned forward in anticipation of a kiss on the lips.

Chapter Seven
    It had not been a good lesson. Angus had been so thrilled at how he’d helped Constable Sterling in the fight in Paradise Alley, he’d let his mind wander and his guard down. Sergeant Lancaster moved in with a single-minded determination that put the dazed boy flat on the sawdust floor in seconds. Angus struggled to his feet, shaking his head and wondering what had happened, encouraged by the few Mounties who stood around the makeshift ring which had been thrown up behind the kennels.
    â€œIf your mind’s not on it, boy,” Lancaster said, playing to the audience, “you’re gonna lose. Every time.”
    After the lesson, they ducked their heads into barrels of rainwater and were towelling off when Angus explained to the sergeant why he’d been late.
    Lancaster rubbed at his face with a scrap of towel. “Indian, eh?” the boxer said. “They’re always causing trouble. Watch out boy, Sterling’s got a reputation as an Indian-lover.”
    When he left the Fort, Angus headed for the river to meet up with Ron and Dave. He could hardly wait to tell them the whole story. He was almost bursting with pride at the way he’d brought down that man who was about to make a cowardly attack on Constable Sterling. Maybe he’d embellish the story a touch. Have the man put up more of a fight. Angus made his way along Front Street towards the boys’ gathering place on the other side of town, turning the whole incident over in his head. You didn’t see many Indians in Dawson. And here he’d met two in two days. First Mary and now the old drunk. Sterling had called drinking a disease. Angus didn’t see how that could be—lots of white men drank. And most of them went back to work or their families when they’d slept it off, although there were some who couldn’t hold down a job because of it. Angus’s mother ran a bar, and she told him what she thought of some of her clients. But people said Indians took to drinking so bad, the bars weren’t even allowed to sell liquor to them.
    â€œMy dear boy! Isn’t this a most fortuitous encounter!” Angus looked up to see Miss Witherspoon and Miss Forester bearing down on him. At least, Miss Witherspoon was bearing down; Miss Forester glided behind as if she were caught in a strong draft.
    â€œMa’am.” Angus doffed his cap politely. “I hope you’re feeling better, Miss Forester.”
    â€œShe is, she is,” Miss Witherspoon said. “A short nap, and she’s as right as rain. Aren’t you,