It was the perfect place for the slavers to stop. If one of their slaves did run, he’d have to climb from the creek first, then make it across open ground before he hit the trees. Plenty of time for a bullet to blast out his lungs.
They strung the men along the stream—keeping some distance between them to prevent talking—gave them each a pan, and told them to start searching for gold. When one of the men asked what share of any gold they would receive, he received a rifle butt across the throat in response.
They’ll kill us before they’d let us go, Jack thought then. The realization was chilling, but hardly surprising. Somewhere in the woods there awaited twelve areas destined to be turned into shallow graves. It would not be soon, he knew. The men wanted as much gold as they could find first. But perhaps when suspicions were aroused in fellow prospectors in the area, or when the jealousies between slavers grew too great, there would come a day when the forced march began again. And this time its end would be marked by a bullet to the back of the head.
He would not be here long enough for that to happen. And, he swore, neither would Merritt.
He scooped up another panful of grit and stones from the bottom of the stream, doing his best to shut out what had happened and enjoy the simple act of panning. He focused all his attention down so that he could not see their surroundings, nor the cruel men guarding them. Thinking of his mother and Eliza, he swilled water around the pan in a gentle circular motion, spilling a little more mud and water each time until the heavier elements were a slick across the bottom. This was what he had been traveling so long to do. All that effort, all those months trapped in the cabin in the middle of the greatest winter he had ever known, coming closer to death than he had ever been before, and now he was looking for the glint of gold amid the gritty brown sediment of this Yukon creek. He tried to feel enlivened by the act, excited. But he could not. However much he kept his head down, Jack could not shake the knowledge that he was a prisoner, and any wealth he discovered would line the pockets of thugs and killers.
“If only they knew who they were messing with,” he said to himself, but even he was not sure. He felt that he was beginning to understand himself better out here, as if he could perceive more of his bright outline set against a dazzling sunset. But there was still a great mystery to Jack London. That thrilled and terrified him in equal measures; he could not help believing that there were wonders in his future, that his life had led him here with some purpose, but he had to overcome this terrible present for them to offer themselves up for view.
“Jack,” someone whispered.
He frowned, looking around without raising his head. Across from him up on the rim of the creek stood a slaver, rifle resting in the crook of his arm as he smoked. He was looking into the distance. Upstream to Jack’s right, a black man Jack knew only as Jonas was kneeling in the water.
“Jack,” he heard again, and Jonas glanced up. “Our voices flow with the stream. They can’t hear. Do you see?”
Jack looked across at the slaver again. The man was closer to him than Jonas by at least ten steps, but he seemed to hear nothing.
“Stream’s flowing down, so you can hear me but I won’t hear you.”
Jack coughed as acknowledgment, and Jonas smiled in understanding.
“Big man, Reese, he wants to make a break. Tonight after they’ve fed us, when they think we’ll be tired and ready for sleep. He says if we’re all in, then most of us will make it.”
Jack frowned and tried to glare at Jonas, but he wasn’t certain the man understood. They both kept panning, kept swilling. Damn, if only I could whisper back. It’s crazy! They’ll slaughter us all. Reese was a huge bear of a man, and Jack had been surprised that William and his men had dared club him into slavery. But from the little that he’d seen of Reese’s interaction with the other slaves, Jack already knew that he was a bully. William must have recognized that in him, and understood that it meant Reese was no threat on his own. Bullies were inevitably cowards, who could only act with others around to support them or urge them on.
Jack glanced at the slaver and risked a shake of his head to Jonas.
Jonas frowned. “You want to stay here?”
Jack shook his head again.
“Then this is a chance. Longer we stay, weaker we get.”
Jack coughed, harsher than last time in an effort to communicate disagreement.
“Back to work!” the slaver said. He came closer by several steps and kicked at the stream, splashing cold water across Jack’s face. Jack wiped it quickly away and glared at Jonas, offering a single shake of the head again. But Jonas was already looking back down into his pan.
Farther up the stream, several men away, Jack could see Merritt. He was in his own world, working slowly and methodically. With Jim dead, Merritt’s whole journey was soured.
I should feel that as well, Jack thought. But sad though he was, the future was still an exciting place, and he had the unerring conviction that his journey had only just begun.
Jack could not help but revel in the beauty of this place. The creek was marred by the cruelty of man, but the hills and forests surrounding them exuded the pure, untainted wildness of nature. He breathed in the scents of stream and forest, and felt the welcome heat of sunlight warming his skin.
Beyond the constant rush of water he heard occasional birdcalls, but though he listened hard, the cry of the wolves eluded him. He tried to extend his senses to find anything watching them from the forests. Just because he had heard no wolf cry, that did not mean the wolf was not there. Always watching me, he thought, but right then he would have welcomed some sign that this was the case. He could feel the immensity of the wilderness, the pull of the wild on his adventurous soul. It called him, and he swore that he would answer.
Jack hated these men for their cruelty, their ignorance, and their inhumanity. But more than all that, he hated them because they were stealing from him the experience he most desired: freedom to explore the wilderness and the chance to be a part of it.
The work was hard, and Jack took frequent drinks from the stream. The water was still icy cold from snow-melt, and the more he drank, the hungrier he grew. They’ve got to feed us something, he thought. Or eventually we’ll be too weak to do them any good.
Just when hunger had begun to claw at his insides in earnest, their captors called out a pause for lunch. As the men put aside their pans, Jack glanced up at the steep hillside to the south of the creek. It was heavily wooded, and the trees smoothed the rough contours of the land. Something there, he thought. When he closed his eyes, he felt nothing, but part of the hillside was blurred to his senses or immune to them. A blank on the wilderness. An area of mystery, and fear. He shivered.
“Sit down and don’t move!” Archie shouted to them all. “You need to piss, do it where you are.”
Jack sat thankfully, pulling his freezing feet from the water. He wondered for the first time what had happened to all their equipment. Gathering dust in the storage barns behind the Yukon Hotel, no doubt. In there were his warm boots, extra clothing, gloves, and hats, and now he wore some rough clothing that William’s men had given him. It might be spring, but it was still cold.