The Wild by Christopher Golden Page A

looked up and pointedly fixed Hal, Merritt, and then Jack with his gaze. He’d composed himself quickly, dropping the grimace of pain and replacing it once again with that cool smile.
    It spooked Jack, but he did his best not to show it.
    â€œDawson City’s a small place,” William said. “But it’s already got a big cemetery.” With that, he turned and walked back along the alley. Archie followed, glancing around nervously at Dutch as the dog watched them go.
    â€œWell,” Merritt said, holding the gun as if he didn’t know what to do with it. At last he slipped it into his coat pocket. “Well,” he said again.
    â€œCouldn’t just let it happen,” Jack said quietly. He looked at Hal. “You all right?”
    Hal nodded, but Jack saw that he was far from all right. As well as being scared and shaking with the upset of what had happened, he was malnourished, weak from lack of food, and his clothes were hardly suited to the cold. However he’d come to be here, something had gone badly wrong along the way.
    â€œCome with us,” Jack said.
    â€œNo.” Hal knelt down next to Dutch, and the dog nuzzled at his neck. There was a devotion there, and even a love, and Jack felt a momentary pang of…something. Jealousy? Mourning? He was not sure. But his mind flashed back to that great white wilderness and the wolf that had guided him through.
    â€œYou sure, Hal?” Merritt asked. “Those were bad men. You cross paths with them again, they’ll likely do you harm.”
    â€œI can look after myself,” Hal said, his bravado offset by the quaver in his voice.
    â€œWell, we’ll be staying here if you change your mind,” Jack said, nodding at the side of the hotel.
    â€œNo one’s come to see what the commotion was about,” Merritt said. He was looking back nervously at the street, his hand still in the pocket where he’d slipped the gun.
    â€œNo one will,” Hal said. “There are mounted police, but they spend more time up north. It’s wilder up there. Dawson’s often left on its own.” His eyes darkened.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” Jack asked, and the boy looked at him with an expression Jack recognized: pride.
    â€œSurviving,” Hal said. Then he turned away, whistling for the dog. Dutch followed his master along the alley and back onto the main street. Hal paused and glanced back.“Much obliged,” he said, nodding to Jack. He offered a smile. “And good luck.”
    Then he was gone.
    â€œWell,” Merritt said again.
    â€œYeah,” Jack said. “Well.”
    Â 
    The Yukon Hotel had one large room available, and they took it. Behind the hotel there were storage barns, and for the rest of that afternoon Jack, Jim, and Merritt took turns guarding their equipment while the other two hauled it through the settlement to the hotel. By the time they’d finished, the sun was smearing the horizon, and the sounds of Dawson City had changed. The streets were still haunted by the slow, sallow ghosts of what had once been optimistic people, but now the bars were alive, and the sounds of music and revelry strove to deny the impression those people gave.
    They’d told Jim about their run-in with the two men, and like Merritt, he was all for lying low that evening. But Jack would have none of it.
    â€œIf they scare us off now,” he said, “they’ll have won. We run into them again, and they’ll already know who’s in charge. They’ll think twice before getting mixed up with us.”
    Jim was already lying on his cot, fully clothed and half asleep. Merritt looked ready to hit the sack as well.
    â€œCome on, Merritt,” Jack said. “Just a quick drink?” Hecould already taste the beer on his lips, smell the tang of whiskey as it poured amber and gold into a glass.
    Merritt sighed, but Jack knew the lure of a drink would overcome his