Free Down the Yukon by Will Hobbs

began. “Look what I’ve done. It’s not like me.”
    I wasn’t even sure I could speak.
    â€œI knew you’d be here, Jason. Right here waiting for me, like you said you would. Who’s this? It lookslike you’ve found a friend.”
    For a moment I was confused, then I followed her eyes to the bent tail rapping the ground. “That’s Burnt Paw,” I replied.
    â€œI can see he’s favoring that front right paw. You little ragamuffin,” Jamie cooed as she swept him up in her arms. Burnt Paw rolled his eyes. His quick tongue caught her chin.
    â€œI love your half-and-half face. And those ears, where’d you get them? Off a flying fox from Borneo? This paw, did you burn it? Is that how you got your name?”
    I reached for her suitcase. “In the Dawson fire,” I said. “Late April.”
    Jamie set Burnt Paw down. “I heard about the fire….”
    â€œHow? How did the news ever reach a telegraph?”
    â€œBy dogsled to Skagway, by boat to Seattle. What a sight coming around the bend to see Dawson already rebuilt!”
    With these words Jamie took three bounding leaps to the top of the embankment, no matter that she was wearing a dress. “Come up, Jason. Look, here’s a bench over the Yukon. The Golden City is even more splendid than I remembered!”
    I sat down beside her, took her hand. “Jamie, I can’t believe I’m not dreaming.”
    Her voice was etched with sadness as she replied, “‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’ I came across that in one of Shakespeare’s plays, and I’ve discovered it’s true.”
    â€œI’m so sorry you lost Homer. Arizona Charlie told me this spring.”
    Her father’s name spoken out loud brought freshtears to her luminous hazel eyes. “It was so sudden, Jason. I had no chance to ask his blessing or what I should do without him. We never had a chance to say good-bye.”
    â€œI’m glad I knew him, Jamie. I never told you this, but I used to imagine birds nesting in his beard.”
    â€œI love that. What kind of birds?”
    â€œBluebirds. No, Canada geese.”
    â€œYes, it was that enormous.” I’d made her laugh.
    â€œHe was a great poet,” I added, “but an even better man.”
    â€œThank you.” Jamie sniffled, finding her handkerchief at last in another dress pocket. “Father always said he was a simple cobbler of verses, not a real poet. He’d say, ‘Leave immortality to the Bard of Avon, Bobby Burns, Lord Tennyson, and such. I’ll always be able to skin a moose and paddle a canoe better than I can write a line of poetry.’ People loved him, Jason. He was kind.”
    She took her hand from mine and petted Burnt Paw behind his head.
    â€œYou look older,” I began again. “Grown-up. And more beautiful than ever.”
    â€œI just turned sixteen.”
    â€œOn the last day of April.”
    â€œMore recently, on the last day of May.”
    I was jolted. “How many days are there in May?”
    â€œThirty-one, last time I checked.”
    â€œI would have tied, if only I’d remembered your birthday!”
    â€œWhatever do you mean, Jason?”
    â€œThere was a lottery on the beginning of breakup.”
    â€œI remember last year’s.”
    â€œWell, I had a system of sorts. If only I’d rememberedyour birthday, I would have split the prize with a seamstress. I’d have nearly nine thousand dollars!”
    Understandably, Jamie was still confused. “That’s a shame, Jason…. I suppose my birthday will be unforgettable now, eh?”
    â€œThat’s for sure, but enough of that! Breakup is spilt milk, water under the bridge, and there are no bridges over the Yukon.”
    â€œI could listen to you mix metaphors all day.”
    â€œHow long was your