Sundown on Top of the World: A Hunter Rayne Highway Mystery by R.E. Donald Page B

Her trapper father and her husband had often left her for days and weeks at a time as they checked their traps or took their skins to sell, so being alone was not unusual or uncomfortable for her. What was different that time on the bank of the Yukon was the knowledge that her future was hers alone to decide, her path hers alone to choose. No one was waiting for her to return, and no one would come looking for her if she didn't. She knew that she didn't want to go back to where she'd come from, but she had no idea where to go or how to get somewhere she would be safe.
    Once she had accepted and begun to relish the thought that she was now in control of her life, her first instinct was to move a good distance from where Patron had left her, in case he did come back for her. She took care not to leave a trail as she made her way along the bank, following the flow of the river downstream. After walking for two hours or more, she made herself a bed of tree boughs and sat there, her back against the rough bark of the sturdy spruce that had provided most of them. She felt as if she were hidden, yet she could still see the roiling brown surface of the river, swollen with spring runoff, from where she sat.
    Although she was hungry and tempted to eat the moose jerky, she remembered stories her Gwich'in mother had told her as they worked side by side, and decided to fast and ask for a sign to guide her path. She realized that the direction she chose could determine not only her happiness, but her very survival, and she did not want to let fear rush her into a decision she might regret. Perhaps her mother's spirit would know of her plight and send her a sign. She tried to clear her mind of idle thoughts and leave it free for some kind of message, but her stomach growled and she began to think about what she could eat. She pushed those thoughts away, but then found herself thinking about the point of a spruce twig that was pricking the skin of her thigh. Emptying her mind was not so easy. It was no wonder that she had never been able to receive messages from her mother before.
    When darkness finally fell, the night was clear and cold. She moved closer to the river so her head and heart were open to the night sky and the stars strewn across its surface, shining like the silver scales of a big salmon. Her hunger had passed. The cold almost numbed her cheeks. She pulled a worn wool blanket from her bundle and wrapped it around her, then made herself small, huddling against the root end of a tree that had been deposited by the ice jam after breakup. Again she tried to clear her mind. Instead she fell asleep.
    When Betty was sixteen, the Yukon River was still the only highway between Whitehorse and Dawson City, and when the sun woke her a few hours later, she saw a plume of smoke and heard the chug of a massive engine from upriver. Was this the sign she had been waiting for? Or should she gather her belongings and slip into the trees to hide? Her fear of the noisy, smoking machine dissipated as a great sense of peace came over her, and she knew that she was meant to wait here on the shore. Soon a massive white boat appeared from behind the bend.
    Betty walked to the bank of the river and raised a hand to shield her eyes against the sun as she watched the boat draw closer. She could make out someone on the deck gesturing toward her and heard men’s voices, raised to carry over the noise of the engines. The sound of the engine changed and the sternwheeler seemed to almost float in place as a small boat was launched from its side. The motorboat headed slightly upriver to come ashore just twenty feet from where she stood quietly waiting. The next day she was in Dawson City at the home of a couple who had befriended her on the boat and so began more years on a path that was not of her own choosing, more seasons of ice packed into her soul.
    Betty’s wonderings were interrupted by the sound of voices outside the cabin.
    “Am I in