One Man's Calling : One Man's Calling, ch 77 by Wayne Fowler |
In the last part, Ben sells his team and wagon to a missionary to the Indians. Ben and Beth board a steamer bound for Alaska, Ben as a stoker. He notices a problem with a boiler and raises the alarm. ^^^^^^^^^^^ “Mr. Persons, “your wife and I have had some very interesting conversations.” The captain of the Allysis gave Ben a scrutinous eye. The captain couldn’t imagine a man of God who was not a pastor or a missionary. Beth couldn’t cause him to understand the concept of a calling. “So it was a miracle that you knew the boiler might blow? God gave you a vision?” “No Sir, Captain. I just saw the gauge.” “But you’re a stoker. Surely God told you where to look and what it meant?” This being the third time that the captain leaned Ben in that direction, he went with it. Knowing it to do no harm. “I suppose so. The Sultana you understand.” “Ah, yes. I studied that one, The Allysis being the same design. Could have blown. Probably should have except for your miracle.” Ben couldn’t dispute that. “The Sultana, though, that was negligence. Ours, the water valve was stuck shut. The handle, someone managed to crank to open, but it was not open. You saved us from blowing up.” Ben nodded. “The Allysis is owned by the Hudson Bay Company.” The captain cleared his throat and leaned in as if conspiratorially. “I am being considered for captainship by the White Star Line for one of their new double-hulled, triple-expansion engine ships, with screw propellers.” The captain’s chest swelled as he drew in full lungs of air. As far as Beth and Ben were concerned, he might as well have said that he was to be made the king of the ocean. “Alaska, though, the District of Alaska now, is becoming a haven for the wanted and on-the-run. A mission field if ever there was one. Beth and Ben glanced at one another without smiling. “Aye, a mission field,” the captain repeated. “So aside from steak every meal, what can we do for you, Mr. Persons?” “I’m content with our deal, Captain.” Beth’ expression saddened somewhat. “I agreed to work for our passage to Alaska.” “Alaska…” the captain remarked as if about to begin a dissertation. “Mr. Persons, your debt is paid in full. Relax. Disembark where you will. The Allysis is yours.” Beth was enthralled. Ben came to be finally clean, rested, and alone with Beth that night. +++ “Skagway, Sir,” a deckhand securing the ship guide lines said. One look and the two knew that it would be home for their foreseeable future. Skagway, a town of meager beginnings, looked to be more a campground than a city. Billy Moore, a former steamboat captain, and his son disembarked along with Ben and Beth. They’d met on the Allysis, but they were not well acquainted. Moore, once they were on shore, introduced himself and his son as if for the first time. “Came up here on the Callipso several times. There’s future here.” Moore gazed at the mountains. “I’ve been up and down the west coast from South America, Mexico, California, British Columbia … wherever there are mountain ranges like those,” he said pointing to the mountain range to the east, “they are hiding gold.” Ben nodded. “I homesteaded 160 acres at the mouth of the river.” Moore pointed north. “Built this dock, a sawmill. Aim to find a pass to the Klondike region. Gold up there. I know it. Skagway be where all that wealth passes through. “And lost souls,” Ben thought. +++ “Get your windows first,” Moore said when Ben asked about lumber to build a house. “Windows… you never know what size they’ll be. You can order two-by-two, and it can be two foot one, or two foot two, or even two foot by three foot. And you can’t afford the time it takes to re-order. Not with cold weather on your tail. And order your stove, too. Same thing with the flu pipe. You’ll wanna build to it, not try to patch too big a hole. “And another thing. You can’t dig a proper footing. The ground freezes too deep. Just set your house on rocks and let the ground heave deal with it as a unit. It’ll last long enough for you to hire a proper house built, anyway. Ben and Beth stayed extremely busy working on materials for the house, splitting slabs for roofing, and cutting and splitting firewood. By using dry pine needles for ceiling insulation, they would be able to keep their new home as warm as possible. Getting food stuffs for the winter was not as easy. Ben ordered hundreds of pounds of rice, beans, and potatoes, figuring to sell what he could to replenish their funds, and to give away when God told him to. He and Beth managed to witness to every soul in town before hard winter set in. No one questioned Ben’s status as a free and legal citizen. One day Jefferson Randolph (Soapy) Smith paddled a canoe up the Skagway River. Presently, he approached Ben who was busy with the house. “Hey! Yer buildin’ on my land. For $100 I won’t make you tear it down.” Ben ignored him. “Look at me when I speak to you, boy!” Ben continued to ignore him. Soapy Smith picked up a rock and threw it into a window, breaking a pane. That getting Ben’s attention, he walked up to Soapy. “I’ll let you have this spot, this little lot where the house sits for ten dollars,” Soapy said. Ben gazed into Soapy’s eyes. “I’ll forgive that one,” Ben said, nodding toward the broken window. “Now you can go.” Ben’s gaze momentarily froze Soapy, who fast-walked away as might a child. “Saw the whole thing,” Billy said. “Didn’t hear what all he said, but I saw him bust your window. That was Soapy Smith. He’s been selling parts of my homestead like it was his. The people didn’t know. What could they do? And what can I do? Most cases that’s all the money they got. And you mights noticed, there ain’t no law up here.” Ben shook his head. “Anyway, what I come up here for was to see about our deal. You know, working in my mill for the lumber.” Ben steeled himself for a shakedown attempt. “I’m going to build a livery stable. You said you worked in one, right?” Ben said that he did. “Well, six half days a week for a year is 312 half days. If you’ll work, shoeing horses, and the like, for 300 half days, we’ll be square. Deal?” Ben stuck out his hand, “Deal.” He wasn’t sure whether God would keep him there long enough to pay the debt; but figured that if God moved them on, he could give Billy the house. “Who is that guy, again?” Ben asked. “Soapy Smith, he owns saloons and bordellos up and down the inside passage. Can you believe he collects docking fees from boats docking at my dock? He tries to strong-arm people for the simplest of things. He makes hotels charge a tourism tax, and give it to him.” “And Soapy?” Ben asked, referring to the name. “A scam he concocted. He sold soap. Inside a small percentage of the bars would be a gold nugget, or some sort of prize. Funny thing was, only his gang members ever got the prize.” Both men shook their heads. Learning that Soapy had run his scam in Creede, Colorado, surprised Ben. “Why not wire the U.S. Marshal’s office in Ft. Smith, Arkansas, or wherever the office now?” Billy laughed, despite not wanting to laugh at Ben. “First, it’s Soapy’s wire office.” Ben didn’t know that. “Second, you ever walk out that wire?” After Ben shook his head, Billy told him that it stopped dead just outside town. The wire went nowhere. Everyone paying for wires to be sent to their family was cheated. “Fraid you haven’t heard the last of him,” Billy warned.
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Wayne Fowler
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