Collette looked her over. “Well, why am I not surprised? You’re such a nice, gracious young woman. By gosh, maybe we’ll find that church and go there—that is, if your brother would allow it.”
Elizabeth smiled, unable not to like the woman in spite of her occupation. “He would never turn anyone away for any reason. He’s a lot like our father, who accepted all people. He was…killed while ministering along the Barbary Coast. His name was William Breckenridge. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
Collette frowned. “Could have. I mean, I remember hearing about some preacher being killed.” She shook her head. “I’m real sorry to hear that, Miss Breckenridge. And I hope you have a safe trip to Dawson, but you should know how dangerous it is for you to be doing this alone. The girls and I would have gladly watched out for you, but we’ll be taking a different steamer the rest of the way now.” She glanced toward the upper deck. “Then again, I have a feeling somebody is already watching out for you.”
Elizabeth glanced in the direction where Collette looked, and there stood Clint Brady. She reddened and looked back at Collette. “I don’t even know that man. I mean…he helped chase down a man who’d stolen my handbag, but that’s the extent of it.”
“Well, the girls and I saw the whole thing. We talked to him briefly the day we all boarded the Damsel, and he told us about how you were traveling alone and that it worried him.”
“Why? He doesn’t even know me.”
Collette shrugged. “I expect he’s just the kind of man who hates thieves and the like—kind of a lawman at heart. He’s a bounty hunter, you know.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “What?”
“That’s right. He showed us a drawing of the man he’s after, wanted to know if we’d seen him around San Francisco before we left. He’s pretty darn sure the man is headed for Dawson, since that’s where he’s from. So, your Mr. Brady is going there to find him. There’s five thousand dollars on his head. Heck, it’s probably a quicker way of making five thousand bucks than panning for gold in that miserable back country.” She chuckled. “Anyway, he’s obviously a man who knows how to handle himself, so if he’s got an eye on you, that’s good.” Collette leaned closer. “And your Mr. Clint Brady is just about the most handsome specimen of man I’ve ever set eyes on.” She winked. “And I’ve set eyes on plenty!” She laughed then. “I wouldn’t be too quick to turn down his attention, sweetie!” She gave Elizabeth a quick hug. “You have a safe trip now.”
The woman turned and walked away, and a rather stunned Elizabeth watched after her. Again her thoughts whirled with indecision about people and God’s love and what the Lord expected of her. Was he throwing these people at her to teach her something? Thieves. Prostitutes. A bounty hunter! Didn’t bounty hunters search out men and kill them for money? What if the men they looked for were innocent? And even if they were guilty of whatever crimes they were accused of, what gave another man the right to pass judgment to the extent of shooting them down without a trial? How could one man treat another man no better than an animal, killing them as they would kill a beaver for its pelt?
No wonder Clint Brady had been unconcerned about whether the man who’d attacked her got out of the water! What would compel a man to have such little concern for human life? She watched the swarm of people on the docks. From what she could tell, she just might be the only woman on the Damsel for the rest of the journey.
She drew a deep breath for courage. So be it. In spite of what she now knew about Clint Brady, she couldn’t help hoping, deep inside, that he really would look out for her.
Lord, what would compel such a nice-looking man who apparently cares about other people to be able to kill another human being for money? Have You brought Clint Brady into my life for a reason? How on earth can I be of any help to such a man?
She watched Tricia, Francine and Collette hail a horse-drawn cab and climb inside. Had she been of any help to them? Any influence? “God be with them,” she muttered. She looked around, catching a glimpse of Clint Brady talking to some other men. He was showing them something, most likely the drawing of the man he was hunting. “And be with Mr. Brady,” she added.
Chapter Seven
Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
—St. John 14:6
Where heaven begins. That was how Peter had described this land, and Elizabeth was beginning to see what he meant as the Damsel chugged past some of the most magnificent scenery Elizabeth had ever seen. Because of the stale stench below deck, she’d spent most of the past three days above watching the landscape, often pulling her cape close around her against the cool, misty air. The weather had become totally unpredictable as the steamer moved through fjords bordered by mountainous islands that appeared to have no beaches. It looked as though the deeply forested slopes simply rose from the sea straight upward.
The mornings were chilly, often followed by a very warm midday as the sun appeared through the mist, and yet it could rain within minutes of sunshine, followed by bright sun again. Every day it rained in spurts, and she had to keep an umbrella with her at all times.
Most of the almost crushing crowd of men on board seemed to have no interest in the gorgeous landscape beyond talk of how much gold lay beneath the distant mountains. She saw a different kind of treasure there, visions of God’s beautiful heaven. She realized how right Peter had been in saying that he would be needed at the gold seekers’ final destination, for surely there would be hordes of people there who might be hungry for God’s Word: people like Collette, who needed to hear about God’s forgiveness, men who needed to know that gold was not their God, and men like Clint Brady, who needed their hearts healed by God’s love.
Why couldn’t she get him off her mind? Why couldn’t—
“Miss Breckenridge?”
Elizabeth turned at the words, spoken in a deep voice, Clint Brady’s voice. A quick rush of cool air sent a shiver through her, and she drew her cape closer again as she looked up into steel-blue eyes. “Yes?”
He stepped up beside her and leaned on the deck rail. “I have to tell you that I was hoping you’d change your mind and get off at Portland.”
Elizabeth frowned in surprise. “Why? You don’t even know me. Besides, it’s really none of your business where I’m going.” She stood next to him, leaning against the railing. Both watched the deep-green mountains as the Damsel made its way through currently calm waters.
Clint paused long enough to fiddle with something. Elizabeth waited, not even looking at him, but soon she smelled smoke as he let out a long, deep breath. She glanced at his hands hanging out over the railing, and noticed a cigarette between his fingers.
“Ma’am,” he finally spoke up, “I don’t think you have an inkling of what you’re in for. Even I can only guess, from what the rumors are. Either way, it’s not an experience for a proper young lady like yourself. A good deal of men who make this trip won’t manage to even get over the first pass to Dawson. The Canadian North-West Mounted Police are demanding that men tote a good thousand pounds of supplies, because last winter hundreds of men died either trying to get over the passes or from starvation on the way or once they reached Dawson. It’s a trip a lot of men can’t withstand, let alone a woman alone who doesn’t have near the necessary strength to tote a backload of supplies for hundreds of miles. And if that alone isn’t enough to make you
