Walt Wilcox was not one of those males who when momentarily caught in you vision had his face become indelibly imprinted in your memory bank. He was not one of that rare breed, that handsome head-turning individual that women instantly adore. Yet on the other hand he couldn't be characterized as homely either. His blue eyes were not the beautiful pale robin egg blue that invited a second look but rather they had a tendency to be more on the dark blue side that drew him little attention. Nor was his brown wavy hair unusual enough to catch the eye of those passersby. His height of six feet was about standard in comparison to those other bold hearts that traveled to Alaska and suffered untold miseries in search of the elusive golden treasure. That tiny piece of precious metal that possess the ability to made rich men out of dreamers, murders out of unsuccessful miners, and inflict the body with a rare disease called gold fever.

His body was not that of a muscle bound body building athlete but there wasn?t an extra once of fat to be found on his entire manly frame. His daily workout in the pursuit of gold, dust or nugget, toned his physique and fashioned his torso in the manner of an ancient Greek warrior. When discussed by others he was what most people would refer to as a plain looking man.

There were two things, however, that set him apart from most of the other lonely seekers of dreams. His out-going personality and his never-ending love of nature. He was generous when the opportunity arose and had a smile that said "Hello friend", a handshake that let you know he was all man, and an inborn feeling for animals and nature that was almost awe inspiring. He lived in a land where his very existence depended on the meat that was so abundant within walking distance of his cabin, but only killed when it was absolutely necessary to nourish his body.

He waggled his wearied head, brushed the warm sweat from his brow with the inside of his right arm and wondered once more what possessed him to stay in Alaska. Why was he living such a solitary life?

Even though the air was crisp and a slight northerly breeze was lazily moving some whispy cirrus clouds in their heavenly play yard, panning for gold kept the slightly saline droplets rushing from his body.

He labored in the gelid stream close to his cabin when he wasn't off trying to unearth the bonanza he hoped other eyes had overlooked. An accumulation of precious metal that would add so many zeros to his bank account he?d require assistance in determining their numerical value. The meager specks of dust he was ousting from its frigid berth were hardly enough to provide him sustenance year after year. It was enough, however, to tempt him. Sufficient in quanity and quality to warrant his daily back breaking labor.

At times when depression and futility were his constant companions he'd think about quitting and returning home but somehow he'd uncannily unearth just enough of nature?s most precious resource to keep him interested. Deep in his psyche a wee voice from his childhood spoke to him saying, "Seek and ye shall find." It became imprinted; tattooed on his every thought. It had become an addictive monkey on his back nearly as unfavorable as the one riding on the backs of people who sniffed white powder through their facial orifice or injected it into a pendulant limb.

He repeatedly told himself, "Work hard now for the golden gift so you'll be able to live a life of opulence when your body ages and no longer performs as a laboring tool." Fortune smiled on him occasionally and rewarded him with small quantities of dust or a minute nugget but it wasn't rewardingly adequate. His desire was to possess nuggets of such immeasurable size and weight they would sink a garbage scow or enough dust to fill a million oil drums. He was positive where one nugget had nestled itself into the ground there would be others to keep it company. Most assuredly bigger in size and more abundant in quantity than anything he had held in his hands.

He dreamed of, lusted for, the mother lode. That long wide band of yellow that would broadcast itself in all directions beneath the ground and make his life so tranquil, so simple. He would retire and live the good life. He'd give up this half-witted way of existing but it was of his own choosing. No living soul had placed a gun to his head, pulled back the hammer and forced him to come to Alaska.

Before many more months became history he would pass another milestone and step into his fortieth year. In his first thirty nine years of existence he didn't have anything of much value in his inventory and very little to show for his squandered life. Some old photographs, very little money, and a head full of memories; some good; some bad; some horrible.

"OK, Stupid," he said out loud, something he had been doing more frequently the last two years, "get these thoughts out of your mind and get back to some serious panning before you become depressed and leave this place forever. You'll never get rich if you let yesterday's thoughts become more important than today's work."

His impromptu little pet talk to himself had inspired him to seriously pan the slow moving stream for the next three hours. He gathered in almost enough dust to pay for the axe handle he had broken yesterday while chopping wood. Weary, and more than a little disgusted with himself, he decided to call it a day. His earlier trek had placed him three miles upstream of his cabin and the leisurely thought filled walk home would help him cool off and help him regain his composure.

Safely enclosed in his cabin he rekindled his stove and fireplace, got hot fires burning, and broiled himself a large moose steak. The two potatoes he had just removed from the small garden plot in back of the cabin and an ear of corn he had previously picked became his entremets. He enjoyed working in his little garden and thoroughly appreciated the abundance of vegetables mother nature returned for the small amount of seed planted, but time spent gardening was time lost panning and he hadn?t heard of any garden growing gold. Soon, very soon, he would of necessity have to pick all his produce or lose it to inclement old man winter.

The eight day old biscuits were slightly on the hard side. However, when he dunked them in his hot coffee they tasted better than anything he had ever purchased from a grocery store. Some wild black berries he had previously picked acted as dessert and topped off his evening meal. He sat back warm and content and let his mind wander to those things tomorrow would bring. He envisioned load after load of heavy nuggets he'd pluck from the ground and transfer to his cabin. They would be so numerous he'd have to invent a special mode of transportation to get them back to civilization. Or better still, so heavy he'd have to hire a small army to help tote his weighty load. His major problem was all this gold was in his mind and never touchable.

After enjoying his pleasant thoughts he vacated his chair and washed and dried his dishes. He placed them back on the table so they'd be ready for breakfast in the morning and then retired to his bed. Tomorrow would be another day. Maybe the one when he?d receive the blessing/curse bequeathed to King Midas by Dionysus and everything he touched would turn to gold. He would eagerly arise bright and early to continue his quest for wealth by panning in the stream or digging in the earth.

He was not a fanatically religious person but he did believe there was a God. A celestial being who watched over all creatures human and inhuman. Before his nightly hibernation he didn't actually utter an oral prayer but did think of all his desires and in his own way ask for help in achieving his goals.

He didn't use profanity like many of the miners and was proud his vocabulary was efficient and effective enough to make himself understood without saying words that sometimes offended others.

The taste of tobacco never tempted his palate now since having tried it once and suffering the agony of most first timers. He would never imbibe in any kind of alcohol for his one day of inebriation had cost him dearly.

His biggest sin, as far as he was concerned, was his passionate love of poker. For some unknown reason fifty two pieces of cardboard----each two and a half inches wide and three and a half inches long----called to him like a siren beckoning to lovesick sailors. He was an intelligent, methodical, player and would never consider losing more than he could afford to do without. From penny ante to pot limit poker he was within his card-playing domain and never once during a playing session could anyone tell from his facial expression the contents of his hand. He enjoyed two emotions most poker players couldn?t control, unless they were professional gamblers, logic and patience.

Always he would ante and many times pass five or six hands in a row until he was dealt one he considered to be a winner. Then he would jump in with both feet and slowly build the pot until it had accumulated ample money to boost his gambling reserve. He could read his opponents emotions after two or three hands and seldom lost to them. He would never permit greed to over rule his good judgment and sense of fair play so he would always abandon his seat at the gaming table when his profits reached five hundred dollars. That way he enjoyed the sport, kept his conscience clear, and didn't really inflict a great loss on his gambling friends. Remembering his last poker game and the three hundred and thirty dollars he had finally pocketed, he closed his eyes and was soon chasing dreams.

He was jolted from a sound sleep by a crushing thud on his door and his semi-conscious mind wondered what it could possibly be. Had something really banged into the cabin or had he traveled into dreamland and only heard it rambling around in his head. Any animal with a girth powerful enough to administer such abuse to his cabin door would of necessity be notably strong, and if it tried to gain entrance once it would surely try again. When his pupils adjusted to the partial darkness of the room he looked at his bedside clock and the light from the fireplace aided him in reading two minutes after four. His ears strained to detect more unusual sounds but nothing was forthcoming.

Ordinarily he would have closed his eyes and returned to an unfinished dream, but if an object had hit his door with enough force to wake him from a sound sleep he needed to know what it was. Curiosity caused him to plant his feet in his slippers, lift his rifle from the gun rack, and cautiously try to open the door. He had purposefully built the cabin so the door had to be pushed outward to open. That way the whistling winter winds could never blow it open and unwelcome animals couldn?t push against it and gain entrance.

Slowly he removed the four foot long, quarter inch thick, iron rod that acted as his safety lock, lifted the door latch, and tried to force his way outside. The door remained as stationary as a gas-less vehicle so he placed his shoulder against it and gave a push. It moved slightly so he planted his feet and gave it a mighty heave wondering what could be exerting such force against him. The door flew open and outside a lad of some seventeen years was laying prone on the ground where he had been pushed by the movement of the door.

One quick glance at the unconscious figure told Walt the youngster was in deep trouble. Why was he there? How did he get there? What was his problem and a hundred other questions flashed through his brain with the speed of thought. He lowered himself over the lad in preparation of removing him from the cold ground and as he neared the youth?s body could feel heat emitting from it comparable to that of a small furnace. He was ablaze with fever so hot his perspiration was on the verge of turning into body steam. His temperature had to be in the higher limits of a thermometer and sweat poured from him like water from a squeezed sponge. His glazed eyes looked up for a brief moment and he uttered a single word, "Walt" and then the door of reality closed to him and he drifted into the outskirts of the hell. Walt's first attempt to raise his ailing visitor ended in failure. Shifting a hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight from the ground into his arms was not an easy task so mother nature in her great wisdom intervened. She opened the flood gate to his adrenaline reservoir and filled his muscles with fluid power. Without too much strain he separated the body from the ground and rested it in his arms and with his endocrine organs providing him Herculean strength he carried the unconscious flesh into the cabin.

During construction of his log shelter he had added an additional bedstead, fabricated a spring of half inch rope, and covered it with a four inch thick straw mattress. He apprehensively laid his newly acquired patient on the bed, covered him with two wool blankets, and fetched cold water from the leisurely moving stream to bathe the burning brow.

Living mostly as a solitudinarian for the years he had been pursing the golden phantom had caused him to develop a habit of which he was not cognizant. He talked to himself in loud tones, often, and he was doing it now.

"Where in the world could he have come from and how does he know my name? I've never seen him before and why would he be wandering around this time of the morning? I suppose I'd better be more concerned about his health and see if I can figure out why he's sick."

Walt removed the thermometer from the desk adjacent to his bed and carefully placed it under the boy's tongue. The silver looking fluid in the small glass tube stopped at a hundred and three point eight degrees. Walt usually received great pleasure from company but not someone who would require continuous nursing. It was over a hundred miles, as the crow flies, to the nearest doctor and he knew a trip of that magnitude would drain all life from the lad's body even if the sickness would allow him to travel.

As best he could he impersonated a doctor and gave the lad a physical examination. It was imperative to see if some physical problem was causing the trouble and seeing nothing unusual he rewrapped him in the blankets.

His mind wandered back to a time when he was a tot and how sick his mother became one year when she had pneumonia. In and out of consciousness she worsened as the days dragged by. Her temperature elevated the mercury to such a height the doctor feared she'd die. The only assistance they could give in soothing her burning body was to keep her well covered and her head cool, so that's what he'd do for his unwanted guest.

Hour after long frustrating hour he nursed the young man who was muttering unintelligible words. Every quarter hour he took the lads temperature and recorded the reading on a pad. It was slowly rising upward on a slope whose apex meant certain death. Something inside Walt?s head repeatedly whispered "do something drastic or you?ll lose him." He knew some event must occur, and soon, or the lad would depart this earth for some other dimension. His temperature slowly, gradually elevated the reading on the thermometer to a hundred and four degrees and still had not reached its summit. Walt's mind and mouth were once more working in unison.

"I've got to do something; but what? The only medicine I have are a few aspirins and that alone won't break his fever. The only thing I can do is cool down his entire body." He stripped the lad of his sweat wet clothes, opened the door to the cabin, and using the fireman's carry lifted him and transported the burning body outside to the frigid stream. The cold piercing fluid in the stream penetrated Walt's skin and chilled him to the bone but he continued walking until he reached the deepest water. He completely emerged the burning body in the icy stream and the flesh stiffened as the glacially cold fluid rushed over him. Walt's insight told him he may have made a big mistake and in all possibility may have killed his patient.

Quickly shouldering him Walt carried him back to the heat of cabin and tenderly restored him to his warm resting place. He reblanketed him and ground four aspirin into a fine powder. He dissolved them in warm water and forced his guest to swallow the medication. He added an additional blanket from his own bed and continued his temperature reading routine. It was a hundred and five cell killing degrees.....a hundred and six.....and ultimately ceased its upward climb settling at one hundred and six point four deadly degrees. It lingered there for nearly six hours and miraculously began a downward plunge toward normalcy. The lad's lungs sucked in the life giving air and he began to breathe easier, softer, with a more metronomic meter and by all outward appearances he had cheated death.

Walt wearily rose from his perch near the bed and emptied the pan of water he had previously used to cool the burning head. Hunger and a loud belly rumble reminded him he hadn't eaten in over forty hours. His concentration had been completely focused on the lad and his mind had voided itself of any of its owner?s needs. He heated leftovers and sitting at the table to eat his meal allowed his mind and mouth to continue their weird companionship.

"Boy," he said out loud again, "why did this have to happen to me? I won't turn my back on anyone that needs help but I didn't ask for this and it couldn't have happened at a worse time. Soon the snows will come and I won't be able to pan like I need to. I don't have enough dust to buy next years supplies and I sure can't leave him alone while I pan. I guess someone up there doesn't like me.

Still it isn't too bad. I have the vegetables in the garden and enough shells left to kill all the meat I'll need for this winter. I still have enough time to catch some fish and smoke them and I have almost enough wood cut to last through the cold spell. My flour is OK for now and I have enough coffee if I use it sparingly. I can manage if I ration everything I have but I?ll have to gather a whole lot more meat. We can both eat a lot of broth it?s good and it's healthy.

If he wants to stay around and try his hand at panning I guess that would be all right BUT I hope he doesn?t want to stay around and pan for gold. There is hardly enough here for me, that is until I hit the big one, but I don't have to worry about that now though, it will be several days before he can travel. I guess I've been alone too long. I've never had such stupid thoughts in my whole life. I had better fix the handle on my axe while I have time so I can cut some more wood before the bad weather sets in."

With all his thinking out loud done he carefully selected the piece of ash he would use to shape and mold his new handle. Other miners less adapt to the ways of the wild would have quickly, and without much thought, made a make-shift thing to last until he returned to civilization and could purchase a handle at the local hardware store. But not Walt. Some of his greatest pleasures were the items he had created. The table and chairs in the cabin, the beds, his bedside stand, and all the other wooden objects had been formulated in his creative mind. Moving from his brain cells, down his arms, and into his nimble fingers he watched each project take the shape he had envisioned.

With the proficiency of a master wood worker he conscientiously honed his knife to hair splitting sharpness; to a keenness akin to a razor blade. Satisfied his tool was whet to perfection he commenced whittling down his pre-selected piece of ash to the size and shape equal to its intended task.

Walt was meticulous with the few tools he owned and everything with an edge had to be unblemished and extremely sharp. If it remained inactive for any period of time it was protected with a light coat of oil to help prevent the rust fungus from finding a home.

Slowly, with the love an artist puts into his paintings, he removed tiny curls of wood and let them fall on the floor near his feet. In due time he had a heap of curlicues, of pig-tail shavings, that expanded with each careful sweep of the blade. Occasionally he turned his attention to the lad to ascertain his well being and immediately returned to his enjoyable task. It pleasured him to work with his hands and gave him more than a little enjoyment seeing and using one of his finished products. Time meant absolutely nothing to him and almost too soon he held the finished handle in his hand. He sensed a feeling of pride as he mated the axe head onto his new handle and was nearing completion when the lad stirred, so he leaned his work against the wall of his abode and moved to the bedside of his guest.

"Can I have a drink of water, please?" the lad asked weakly. "I'm as dry as last year's bird nest and hungry enough to eat the north end of a south bound skunk. I'll even eat a rattlesnake if you'll hold him still long enough for me to pull him out of his skin."

"Suffering catfish," the host said really relieved that he had done something right and his patient had survived. "Not only did I get guest with a temperature high enough to melt steel I got a lay down comedian with a wierd sense of humor as well. I'll get you some water for now and I'll heat you some broth but you don't get anything solid yet. You've been out of it for four days and your stomach couldn't handle anything stronger than broth. I'll feed you when I think you can hold it down."

He happily filled a cup with cool, but not cold, water and made the lad sip it slowly until his thirst was satisfied. He walked to the stove and heated the earlier prepared moose-meat broth. It took less than three minutes for the watery soup to reach the proper level of tepidity for consumption and he ladled a cup full into a bowl and carried it to the invalid. When he returned to the sickbed the patient was sleeping soundly and expelling loud sonorous sounds so Walt poured the broth into the pot and retired to his own bed.

He slid his fatigued body between warm sheets and as his head touched the feather filled pillow he drifted off into the darkness. His sleep was not as peaceful as one might expect from a body that had remained alert for so many long tiring hours. Far away noises, sounding like thunder rumblings, disturbed him. He turned and tossed in his bed like a feather being blown by a gentle breeze and try as he might he couldn't avoid the irritating noise.

In the mid zone between slumber and awareness half closed eyes turned toward his patient's bed. It was empty. Gradually his eyes opened and focused on the table where his awakened patient was sitting working a knife and fork with the deftness of a surgeon, and devouring a steak like he feared someone would steal it from him.

Walt lazily got out of bed and donned his pants. He sleepily stumbled his way to the sink and washed his face in cold water to remove the cobwebs.? Then he turned to the lad.

"What's your name and where did you come from, son?"

"I'm Tim Ellis," came the reply from a mouth filled with half chewed food. ?I came from the northeastern end of the Sheenjek River area. It's a little over a hundred miles north of here. You don't know me but my parents wrote to me about you plenty of times. In fact, just a short time ago, they told me if I ever had a problem to come to you for help. A couple years ago when they passed through here you helped them and they never forgot it."

"Your parents must be Henry and Ruth Ellis," Walt offered as memories of his two friends formed in his mind. "I never did much for them. They were passing through and I invited them to stay for a few days to rest up. I gave them a couple extra tools I had and a few groceries." The youngster shook his head in the affirmative.

"I wondered why your mother had come to such a wilderness," Walt continued, "but it didn't take long for me to answer my own question. I've never seen a couple more in love than they are....in fact I thought at first they were newly weds. Your mother is a beautiful, intelligent, lady and your father is as witty and knowledgeable as any man I?ve ever met. How are they?"

A young head lowered and sorrowful eyes stared at the floor. The silence of the moment was as loud as a gunshot and Walt's perceptivity warned him he'd soon head words of disaster. Tears swelled in young eyes, overflowed, and splashed on the floor as he choked out the words,

"I buried them both the day before I started out to find you."

"They're dead?" Walt questioned in disbelief. Anguish and sadness expressing themselves on his face and especially in his eyes. "What happened to them?"

"Some type of fever got them, but,...but..." he stammered, "let me go back a little bit. I didn't come to Alaska with them because they wanted me to finish high school so I lived with my grandmother until I graduated. Then I flew into Fairbanks, hired a bush pilot to fly me to Arctic Village, and dad met me there. We took our time and walked the sixty odd miles to our cabin and it was wonderful being with him. He really loved the outdoors.

When we got to the cabin mom was already running a slight temperature. She had a bad headache and a rose-colored rash on both her wrists, so dad and I made her go to bed and ....and....in the middle of the night she got real bad. Before morning dawned dad came down with the same symptoms and I had to make him go to bed too. I nursed them all night, all of the next two days, and the following night they both died within an hour of each other. Mom was the first to go and dad was so burned up with fever he didn't even know she was gone. After I buried them I started out to find you. I guess somewhere between our cabin and here I got the fever because I don't even remember getting here. Somewhere along the trail I lost my backpacks and rifle but I don't think they're too far from here. I seem to remember having them the first three or four days I was walking."

"I'm sorry to hear about your mom and dad, Tim, they were truly wonderful people. You said your mom had a rose-colored rash on her wrists and your dad had the same symptoms. Did you by any chance notice if the rash was on their ankles and if it changed from rose to dark red or brown?"

"I didn't notice mom's change as much as I did dad's. His color really changed and in just a short period of time. Do you know what it was that killed them."

"I think so. It sounds like they were bitten by a wood mite and got Rocky Mountain spotted fever, but I don't think you had it. I checked you when you first got here to see if I could figure out why you were so sick and you didn't have any rash. Funny as it may sound, Tim, I think you had something completely different. Did you have anything unusual happen to you that would make you so sick?"

"Not that I know of," answered a bewildered youth. "I did have a bite on my arm that itched and I scratched but I thought it was only a mosquito bite."

"Let me see where you were bitten."

Tim pointed to a spot on his arm and Walt could see what was the last of a fading spot.

"It must have been too dark in the room to see that spot when I checked you but you must have had some other indications. Was there anything that was different? Anything unusual?"

"I did have a little pain in my joints, but I figured it was just the weather, but now that you mention it I have been a lot sleepier since I arrived in Alaska than I was in the States. Is that important."

"I think it could be very important. I hope I'm wrong but I think you have Lyme disease and it has to be treated or you could suffer from it for years. You've go to see a doctor soon or you could end up with either arthritis or meningitis. The problem is I don't think you're well enough to travel and the snow should start falling before too long."

"How do you know so much about these diseases, Walt?"

"I have a lot of time on my hands during the winter months and I have small medical library I've read so many time I almost have it memorized." Walt chuckled thinking of the number of lonely hours that drove him to read the same books so often. "You've got to be checked and if necessary treated, soon, but I have to make a living and right now I don't have enough dust to buy the supplies I'll need for next winter. I don't even have enough supplies to last the two of us very long. I can always kill some game and that will be primarily what we?ll live on. I just don't have enough other food to last until spring when I go to Fort Yukon to replenish my supplies. I think we can get through the winter alright but I don?t think it?s a good idea for you to stay here without being checked by a doctor. You could end up with a problem that would last you all your life. It's about a hundred miles to where you can get a plane out of Alaska and back to the states."

"I don't think a little snow will bother me,? Tim said, ?I made it this far when I was sick so I guess can I travel another hundred miles when I'm in good shape. What I need to do is take some time to see if I can backtrack and find my backpacks and gun."

"You'll have to do it soon if you're able. It won't be too long before the snow starts and if your equipment gets covered with snow you'll never find it."

"Of course," the lad answered, "I'll be up and out as soon as possible but I would like to do a little panning before I leave. I want to get a little dust so I can show my grandmother how it looks when it comes from the stream."

"I don't have much but I guess I can spare enough for that and enough to get you home."

"Oh, I have plenty of money if I can find my packs."

"You've got lots of money? Are you sure or did you dream it while you were under the influence of your fever?"

"I've got it all right---I'm pretty sure.? Tim said as he wondered if it was possible he could have dreamed it. "I'll know for sure when I find my backpacks."

"My offer still stands if you need it." Then with furrowed brow Walt added, "I can't let you leave here alone. It will be days before you're able to travel by yourself and by then the snow will be nose high to a tall giraffe. I'll have to take you out as soon as possible. I can't afford to close for the winter but I can't allow you to travel alone either. I didn't intend to but I guess I'll spend the winter in Fort Yukon."

"That won't be necessary, I feel wonderful.? Tim said out loud and then thought to himself, "Dad and mom were right about him. He's a good man. I wonder why he?s staying here. He seems to be hiding from something. Maybe the police are looking for him. I guess deep down inside he wants to be left alone and I can't blame him for that. I'll see if I can find my stuff and I'll leave as soon as possible."

Youth was the one thing Tim had on his side and its healing power touched him heavily. In less time than thought possible he was on his feet again and ready to battle life.

He had packed some homemade jerky and a couple biscuits for his lunch and was several miles from the cabin before the old man got up. Walt dressed for a days work and ate a leisurely breakfast. His rested body was eager to get involved in manual labor and his spirits soared when his first pan revealed color. His second attempt triumphed over his first and he knew he was on the threshold to a big payoff. His subconscious mind began the wide awake dream again of what he'd do when his wealth was beyond comparison to the Fords or Vanderbilts. But, he had traveled this road so often he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. The third pan was disappointing for the residuum in the bottom of the pan was nearly without sparkle. Feverishly he loaded a small quantity of the river bottom into his pan, removed most of the water, swirled it around to make the heavier metal settle to the bottom and his endeavor produced absolutely nothing. He thoroughly worked a ten foot circle surrounding his first find but came up empty handed. He knew the big one had evaded him again but all was not lost. A few trips as profitable as this one would provide him the luxury of provisions for another year.

The sun was moving out of the sky so the moon could resume its normal habitat. This day's labor had taken him nearly a mile and a half south of his cabin and as darkness began to settle into the trees and along the streams edge he returned home.

He painstakingly weighed the dust he had accumulated that day and figured his income at three hundred dollars, give or take ten dollars; a nice day's work. He banked the dust with the rest he had collected and got his body into the supper cooking mode.

He was roasting a portion of a deer hindquarter, all the time worrying about the welfare of his young house guest but his worry was unwarranted. Tim came walking in carrying two heavy backpacks----one on his back and one over his arm----and wearing a smile on his face that stretched from ear to ear. After friendly salutations were exchanged he placed one backpack on the counted beneath the kitchen cabinets and the second one he removed from his back and put it on the floor close to his chair.

?I think you may be able to use some of this stuff.? he said as he walked to the counter area and removed cans of food from his pack. He had nearly finished storing them on the cabinet shelves when Walt announced it was time to eat. He joined his friend at the table and after a portion of food had disappeared into the orifice that made up a big part of his facial features, Tim reached his hand into his backpack and drew out a small mountain of nuggets which he dumped on the table in front of Walt. The expression that appeared on his face was exactly what Tim had expected. Walt sat like a mute, eyes fixed on the yellow heap, not fully believing what he was seeing. The teenager had piled several thousand dollars in front of him, more gold than the cabin had held at one time since it was first erected. When his senses returned he congratulated Tim on his wealth and at the same time felt a passing tinge of enviousness. But he was truly happy for his rich friend.

"Well," Walt said jokingly, "I suppose now that you've joined the wealthy elite I'll have to call you Mr. Ellis. I'm glad you found your gold and your gun but now we've got to get started on our way. I really am glad for you but we've got to leave as soon as possible. The snows aren't far away."

The juvenile realized his host was making sense. He had to have a complete physical in assurance the mite had not left behind an undesirable infliction. He was also reluctant to take Walt from his work. Thoughts flowed through his thinking machine and one finally championed above all the rest. He would leave quietly in the darkness of the night, while his exhausted host was still asleep, and wait for Walt in Fort Yukon. He had plenty of money and if he was invited back to spend the summer he would share the expenses. He'd leave a note explaining his decision.

They finished their meal and talked about the upcoming trek. They washed and dried the dishes and prepared their packs with those items that would sustain them during their passage. Tim went to his bed first and tried to dose off but it wasn't to be. His mind was working overtime implementing a diabolical scheme to prevent the homesteader from leaving his home. At three o'clock in the morning, as silent as fog, he floated around inside the dark cabin. Retrieving his necessities he walked off into the darkness carrying everything with him except a pile of gold nuggets and a note which he left on the table for his host.

Walt was usually a light sleeper and not being a prisoner to time permitted his body to regulate his comings and goings. His eyelids parted and allowed what light was inside the cabin to seep into his head. It would be sunrise by the time he and his ex-patient were off on their long excursion. With deliberate slowness he pulled himself from the warmness of his bed and walking to the fireplace stoked the amber logs. The stove was next in line as part of his daily routine. Strolling by the table his attention was drawn to the minute mountain of gold and a folded paper leaning against the table lamp. The absence of his young friend had not been noticed until now. Walt struck a Lucifer, lifted the glass chimney, and touched the head of the match to the wick extending upward from the lamp's center. He replaced the chimney and adjusted the new-made flame. Anxiety ran rampart through his nervous system as he unfolded the note and read, Dear Walt, I agree with you that I need to see a doctor. There's nothing wrong with me that I know of but I'm too young and too big a coward to take a chance. I'm going to spend the winter in Fort Yukon and I'll meet you in the spring when you come in for your supplies. I realize you don't have enough food for the two of us and it would be wrong of me to make you suffer needlessly. I'd like to spend some time with you next summer when I return to my cabin. If mom and dad found this much gold there must be more and maybe between the two of us we can find a mountain of it. Thanks for everything especially for being a friend to me and my parents. I'll see you in the spring. Tim

"Suffering catfish! What has he done now?" he asked himself out loud. "I don't think he can make it alone to Fort Yukon before the weather turns bad and if he doesn?t he'll freeze on the trail. He'll lose his way and no one will be able to find him. Oh! Why didn?t I insist he stay here with me for the winter. We could have rationed the can goods and other things and lived mostly on game and fish. There's plenty of that around.

I'm all packed and if I hurry I can catch him. He'll have to stop somewhere for the night and I can find him then. I really am a jackass for putting such thoughts in his young mind."

Slinging his pack over his back, with nuggets and dust inside, he headed off in the direction the youngster would have to take to arrive at his predetermined destination. Two hours and thirty minutes into his search Walt found what he was looking for and it sent tingling shivers up his spine, across the back of his neck, and ending at his hair tips. In the middle of the narrow mostly unused path lay a broken body. His position on the ground depicted the image of a youth trying to retrace his steps to their origin. He was laying belly down, arms outstretched, eyes closed and his left leg turned in a fiendish position.

It was beyond Walt's physical capability to carry an injured body the distance he had traveled during his morning hike. Using his keen eye he selected two spruce trees about twelve feet long, each having a diameter somewhere in the neighborhood of four inches, and cut them down with the hatchet that was always attached to his belt when he was away from the cabin. Removing his parka he turned it inside out leaving the sleeves as they were. He forced a tree down each sleeve until two thirds of the tree extended beyond his coat sleeve cuffs. He zippered the jacket together and laid his new-made cargo toter next to the unconscious lad. He rolled his once again patient onto the travois, head toward the hooded part of the parka and face looking skyward. He lifted the two short ends to his shoulders and began dragging the dead weight as Indians had done centuries before.

Within sight of the cabin Tim moaned and checking to be sure it wasn't a death noise Walt continued on his way until he reached the cabin door. He bent over to pick up the injured body and Tim awoke with a yell.

"Please be careful," he pleaded with his rescuer. His breath came in short gasps and his body discharged perspiration as a defense mechanism against the onset of anything unhealthy.

His jacket was slashed in three places and heavily lidded with mud. His pants, though in one piece, had definitely seen better days. The section that covered his knees was wet, dirty, and nearly worn through and it was readily apparent he had crawled more than a short distance trying to get back to the cabin.

"One leg is broken and I've hurt my back. I don't think anything else is broken but I hurt all over."

Carefully Walt assisted him in standing upright on his good leg and bore most of the weight as they disturbed the loneliness of a semi-dark cabin. With great difficulty the injured lad supported himself, with help from the table, while his rescuer removed his jacket and then practically carried him to his bed. As carefully as possible the boot was removed from the uninjured leg and when Walt touched the other boot, Tim let out a yell that would have made a banshee proud. It could probably have been heard for miles; had anyone been around to hear.

"I'm sorry but I've got to set that leg or you might lose it. I'll be as gentle as I can but you're going to suffer some real pain. I don't have any medicine or whiskey I can give you so you'll be wide awake when I set the bone. I've got to cut the pants leg and I've got to get that boot off. I don't want to cut it if I can avoid it....you'll need something to wear when you walk out of here. The pants leg I can sew together and it should last until we can buy some more.

I don't want you to talk any more and I won't shut up until after I've set the bone. Now, grab the back of the bed and hold on for dear life. I'm going to cut the pants leg and then I'm going to take the boot off and if you feel like yelling do it." He got his razor-edged knife and sliced the pants leg to within an inch of the knee. Tim gritted his teeth but never uttered a sound and Walt knowing the pain he was suffering had to admire the lad's spunk. With the pants leg cut he could see the break was higher up on the leg than he had originally thought and he could set it without taking off the boot.

"Hold on tight. It will all be over in a couple seconds."

As he finished speaking he took the foot of the injured leg in his hands, straightened the leg as much as possible, and gave a hard yank. Tim never uttered a sound. Mother nature in her all knowing way had given him a dose of life's natural sleeping pills, he had fainted. Walt careful removed the boot and fabricated six leg splints from his kindling wood reserve. He held the splints in place by strips of a spare sheet he had cut to make splint straps. When he tightened the straps Tim uttered a small groan but never gained consciousness.

It was eleven hours later when he began to stir and he could smell something good being cooked on the stove. He also noticed a set of crutches doctor Walt had made for him sitting by the edge of his bed. He started to get up when his roomie yelled at him.

"Stay where you are and don't move. It will be several days before you can move that leg and a whole lot more before you can put any weight on it even with the help of crutches. As soon as I can get some of this stew and hot biscuits into you I want to know what happened. I can't imagine how anyone can be dumb enough to break a leg like that."

A lump came to Tim's throat. If he had done this when his father and mother were alive they'd be worried about him and try to make him feel better, not insult him. At that moment Tim had a great dislike for Walt, that was until he saw the stupid grin on his face. He knew Walt was trying to add joviality to a position that worried him.

"I really shouldn't do this, but I'm going to tell you a story about the time I broke my leg. I was sixteen and was riding my bike one day when I looked across the street and saw the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. She smiled at me and instead of paying attention to what I was doing I ran straight into a telephone pole. I fell over, the bike still on top of me, and the curb caught my leg just right and snapped it like a piece of dry wood. I broke my leg, ruined my bike, and never saw the girl again. That was when my dad looked at me and said," son, that was the dumbest thing I've ever seen." Tim smiled knowing another link in the friendship chain had been added and a bond was growing between them.

Walt, of course, was truly sorry Tim had been injured and was delighted he had found him before the forest residents had devoured him as a tasty treat.

Tim reveled in a meal that was one of the best his taste buds had ever experienced. Either he was excessively hungry or Walt had become one of the worlds best chefs. He had partaken of many meals with his host and as he recalled all of them had been tasty. He wasn?t sure half the time what he putting in his mouth, chewing, and swallowing but an empty stomach has no desire to turn away sustenance. When he finished his delicious repast Walt took his dirty dishes from him and drew a chair up close to his patients bed.

"I want to hear how you got yourself into this mess so if you're ready to talk I'm ready to listen."

"When I left it was pitch black. I had walked several miles in the darkness and was thinking about my mother and father and not paying close attention to where I was going. I fell over the edge of a precipice in the darkness. I don't know how far I fell and when I woke up I had a broken leg and a sore back. I dragged myself all the way back to where you found me. I lost my packs and my gun again. I?m really sorry, Walt, and I'll get out of your hair as soon as I get back on my feet."

"You won't make it out this winter," Walt said with a little uneasiness and a lot of feeling. "It will snow before long and you'd be up to your neck in snow drifts. I've got to do some hunting so we'll have enough meat to last the winter. I'll get the vegetables from the garden before the first heavy frost and I'll set some taut lines to see if I can catch some extra fish. Meanwhile you just lay back and imagine you're vacationing on a tropical island somewhere."

Sunshine beamed through the window and landed on the youngster's face and the heat from the warm rays caused his eyes to open to a new day. Evidently he had visited slumberville while Walt was talking to him and now glancing around the inside of the cabin he discovered he was alone. He was sure his doctor wouldn't be far away and when he heard a tree fall and Walt crooning "Home on the Range" in his slightly bass and way off key style he knew exactly where Walt was and what he was trying to achieve. Tim heard a blade sing as it sliced branch after branch from a fallen tree trunk and light moans and groans from Walt as the cylindrical remainder was lifted and laid aside to be sawed into proper lengths for the stove and fireplace. Tim's greatest desire, at the moment, was to jump out of bed and do his share but he knew the pain he'd suffer if he tried. The bodily pain inflicted on him by himself would be far less severe than the verbal pain bombarded on him by Walt. It would take several motionless healing days before he could move without pain, numerous more before he could stand even being aided by a crutch, and several days longer before he could stand unassisted.

Happiness filled his thoughts knowing that each passing day bonded him more solidly with his new guardian. Deep down inside where it really counts they had become friends. Three times now he had come to the rescue and attended Tim during the three most traumatic experiences of his young life. He was there during the fever delirium, the broken leg, and the heartbreaking loss of his family. Now he had replaced both Tim's parents and was doing a superb job tending to an ailing orphan. Tim, wondering if he should he tell Walt how he felt or just let him figure it out for himself, decided to pass the time and see what happened down the line.

The activity outside ceased and Walt changed from woodcutter to cook.

"Hey sleeping beauty you ready for some chow?" he asked as he entered the room.

"Absolutely," came the cheerful reply, "I'd like three eggs over easy, orange juice....freshly squeezed....extra crispy bacon, two English muffins with butter and jelly, I prefer grape, a Danish and a bowl of hot oatmeal....with cream on the side."

"I'd be more than happy to appease your appetite with all that junk," Walt retorted giving his bedridden guest a sideways glance, "but think of all the cholesterol you'd deposit into your bloodstream. I couldn't be that unkind. I'll prepare a breakfast that will make your heart yell "thanks."

"How can I turn down such a generous offer?" a smiling youngster asked.

Breakfast that morning was pancakes covered with honey and washed down with hot coffee. The pancakes Walt made from scratch and the honey was some he taken from the home of wild bees. He had followed them to an old tree and very carefully removed the honeycomb from the hive. As Tim watched it evident his new mentor derived pleasure from having someone to wait on; he was an old softy.

The next few days went without incident as Walt busied himself trying to pan for dust now and then hunted for game that would be the mainstay of their consumables for the rest of the winter. He occasionally caught some fish ( with the aid of a taut line ) and added them to their menu. The majority of his time was spent waiting on his quickly improving patient. The invalid had taken his first few steps with the help of his crutches and suffered painfully for his endeavor. Concealing his pain from Walt was the hardest part of his whole undertaking for he didn't want his new guardian to think he was a baby. Each attempt at walking lessened the pain and soon he knew it was time to separate himself from the crutches and stand on his own two feet.

Walt was surprised the heavy snows had been delayed so long and that there had only been three small snow flurries. The new fallen snow melted as soon as it touched the slightly warmer ground but Walt knew a significant storm was due at any time. Every day had become a wood cutting day in preparation for the arrival of sub zero temperatures and blinding snow storms. Walt felled all the trees he'd need for winter, voided them of their limbs, and sawed them to proper lengths. His woodsman's mentality calculated he had five cords cut and that should suffice until spring returned in all her splendor.

Walt had become a specialist at banking his stove fire at night with ashes. Loading the business end of his stove to maximum he waited until the fuel was well ignited and then partially covered it with ashes removed from the stove's ash bin. It prevented most of the oxygen from reaching the wood and allowing it to burn in a high wasteful flame but at the same time permitted the wood enough oxygen to continue burning. It extended his burning time at least two hours and held the heat even longer.

Common sense was one of Walt's long suits and he was thankful it was present the day he purchased a Thompson stove with a built in water reservoir. The tank was separated from the firebox end of the stove by the oven and he could control the temperature of the water with the oven door. When he kept the oven door tightly shut against the seal the water got hot and when he left it slightly ajar the water stayed tepid. Hot water was used infrequently as warm was sufficient for most daily chores but the hot water was really in demand now. Most of Tim's hours since his injury had been spent in a prone position and he was as getting as ripe as a week old fish decomposing on dry ground under a blazing sun. His body was in dire need of a good cleansing. His convalesces was near completion so Walt got the galvanized bath tub from behind the cabin where he kept it hanging on a peg and put it close to the stove so it would absorb some heat. He informed his companion he was taking a short hike in the morning and while he was absent from the cabin Tim could have a hot bath.

"I'll load the tub and have everything ready before I leave and I'll clean up the mess when I get back. I'm going after your packs and gun. You'll need the extra clothes you were carrying and we can always use your gun and ammo to get some game. I'm sure I can find the area where you fell there's only one spot between here and town that's deep enough to inflict injuries like you suffered. I shouldn't be gone more than a few hours."

Tim welcomed the chance to enjoy a hot bath and a little solitude. He thought the world of his new friend but there are those times a man must be alone to give his thoughts a chance to form. Before leaving on his search Walt transferred hot water from the stove tank to the tub, lifted his gun from the rack, said goodbye to Tim and started off in the direction he had taken when he first found the unconscious youngster.

Tim reveled in the tub as the warm water caressed his dirty body and heat revitalized his ailing flesh. He leisurely washed and then relaxed as he soaked in the water until it lost its warmth. He dried himself, dressed, and decided to play cook. He inventoried the kitchen to see if there was enough sugar and flour to make a cake and still have a sufficient amount to last the rest of the winter. It didn't take a great quantity of common sense to know Walt had depleted a major quantity of his supplies feeding an extra mouth. Seeing how low the sugar was he decided against using it. He noticed there was a still a generous supply of flour so he found a package of yeast and made some bread. It still pained him to move around unless he was exceedingly careful how he moved his leg but it had to be done and he got to it.

When Walt arrived at five fifteen in the afternoon he walked into the room and put two backpacks, one heavy and one light, and a rifle on the bed. The room swelled with aromas that intermingled with themselves and filled Walt?s nostrils. Tim had put the bread aside to rise while he made a new batch of biscuits, a deer stew, and fresh coffee. The food was hot, it was good, and Walt ate so much he felt ashamed of himself. After he finished his meal he sat back rubbing his turgid stomach and thanked Tim for preparing the meal. Now it was to time to relive the events of the day for his young friend. The equipment had been easy to find and Walt was surprised how little damage had been done to a body that had fallen as far as it had.

"You fell about thirty feet straight down and evidently landed on a rock that broke your leg. Then you rolled another twenty feet further down the slope and stopped just a couple feet from a pool of stagnant water. I imagine you must have been unconscious at the time and if you hadn't stopped when you did you'd probably have drowned. That's all over now and you'll be safe here until spring----unless you can think of some other dumb way to hurt yourself."

Tim looked at him and started to say it was his fault for sending him off in the first place but changed his mind when he heard a silly chuckle. He knew he was being teased again. They cleaned the evening dishes together and stowed all the pots and pans that had been dirtied while preparing the meal. They sat at the table talking about when the snow would come and what they'd need to survive the winter.

Tim proudly, but sadly, talked about his parents. They had met in high school, fallen in love, and married after they both graduated from Bates College in Lewiston, Maine. They had started a small business in Maine that Tim's uncle Fred had purchased when the duo answered their call of the wild. They packed their bags and flew to Alaska in search of gold and although his mother knew the dangers and the loneliness she'd have to endure she felt the adventure was well worth the risk. Seldom had fortune seekers from Maine panned gold in Alaska and if the Ellis couple were victorious in their endeavors and struck it rich they'd jubilantly return home with some wild tales to tell.

If their luck exceeded their expectations they planned on buying a home in Florida too and enjoying the best of two worlds. When Maine winters became bitter cold and unpleasant they would bask in the heat of the Sunshine State and when Florida?s summer heat became uncomfortably warm they would simply return home.

When he finished his story he asked Walt why he had come to Alaska and the answer he received was a big yawn and a suggestion that it was time to hit the sack. Walt had a hard day coming up tomorrow because he still had a lot of wood to split before the heavens opened and dumped tons of snow to blanket the earth, and the passionless glacial north wind swirled naturally refrigerated air trying its best to freeze everything it touched. His stomach was pleasingly full, the cabin delightfully warm, and his aging physique tired from the tedious trek of the day. The perfect combination to make his mind send messages to all body parts it was time to sleep and rejuvenate. When they extinguished the lights and crawled between the sheets Tim turned over in his bed and said good night. Walt, heavy eyed, nearly into the sleep zone, answered,

"Good night, Billy." and in less time than it takes for a snowflake to melt on a warm day was projecting small stertorous noises. The name Billy, spoken by his slumberous host, put Tim's inquiring mind into motion. Why had he been referred to as Billy? The old gold seeker had never mentioned the name before and if there was such a person his picture was absent from the cabin. There was always the possibility someone had visited him before or it could be Billy was once a partner and his spirit had somehow wandered into purgatory. Billy could have just as easily been a criminal, a thief or murdered, who shared a cell with Walt in some high-walled prison. He instantly discharged that thought for Walt was a decent man and whatever it was that was drifting around inside his cranium, and disturbing the limbic system that stored and recalled memories, should be of no concern to the visitant. It was Walt's secret and his alone. When and if time ordained the revelation of the secret Walt would confide in him and divulge, without restraint, his bothersome thoughts. Still, it was difficult for a seventeen year old mind not to be curious. Tim rolled over and allowed the weight resting on top of his eyelids to slowly descend until both eyes were completely closed and he was joining his friend in dreams. The last thought in his mind was to continue this conversation at the appropriate time.

The sun had not been spreading light and warmth for more than thirty minutes when Tim lazily opened his eyes. Walt had absented the cabin at daybreak and was outside sawing the trees into adequate fuel size pieces. Tim dressed, stoked the stove, revitalized the fireplace, and readied the table for breakfast. He knew his roomie's inclinations well enough now to realize that soon, very soon, he'd walk through the door ready to devour anything palatable and he was correct in his assumption. Walt was in a great state of mind and ate a hardy breakfast.

"I have enough wood sawed to last until spring and after we finish here I'm going to start splitting up the bigger pieces. If you want to and your leg doesn't hurt too much you can cut the kindling. I have a hatchet all sharpened and it shouldn't be too heavy. If you don't feel like it you can stay inside and I'll do it tomorrow."

"I'd be glad to give you a hand," Tim answered, "my leg feels good, thanks to you, and I welcome the chance to get some exercise. I've been loafing around here so long I feel like a guest in a hotel somewhere."

When breakfast had found its way into, and had filled their stomachs, they washed and dried the dishes and placed them on the table in preparation for the next meal.

Light jackets were the order of the day and would be removed once they started their manual labor for as sure as eggs come from birds perspiration would soon soak their bodies. Outside it wasn't quite as cool as it had been when Walt began his task some time ago so he removed his jacket and placed it next to the door. He handed his young companion a hatchet and smartly walked to his chopping block.

Walt utilized two axes when he cut wood. One was a double bitted, razor sharp, Crown that he used to fell small trees and remove branches from the larger ones. His single bitted, honed to perfection, Yankee was flawless and saved for splitting wood after it had been expertly sawed into stove or fireplace lengths.

The first piece of sawed wood he positioned on his chopping block was a section of birch twenty two inches in diameter and eighteen inches long. With one strong splitting swing he sent the Yankee completely through the hardwood and twin pieces fell to the ground beside his chopping block. He replaced one half of the divided tree part on his chopping block and gave the axe another swing. It fell to the ground in two pieces. He repeated his actions and the one-time single block was now in four different pieces. He lifted the section of the tree adjacent to the first piece he had split and shortly it was quadruplets. The third section of wood chosen was placed on the chopping block and waited for the axe to continue its splitting ways. Walt hastily, powerfully swung the axe over his head to deliver another blow and at the top of his swing the axe head flew from the handle and headed heavenward. Both men heard a swishhh...swishhh...swishhh as it climbed into the air twenty-five feet and rotated a dozen times before gravity dictated its descent back to earth.

Pain erupted, exploded, from Walt?s left shoulder where the axe head landed. His first thought was lightening had bolted and chosen his shoulder as a place to come to earth.

"Boy," Walt said as he turned to look at Tim, ?it's a good thing it didn't hit me in the head or I might have been hurt.? The words had hardly passed his lips when nausea decided to pay him a visit and landing in his stomach emptied it of all contents. His frame shook in small convulsing jerks and his head metamorphosed from flesh and bones into a helium filled balloon. Blurry eyed he stared at the ground surrounding his feet and it was alive with flowing streams of his warm red viscous blood. The urge to rub the spot that had been injured guided his right hand to where the axe head had penetrated his skin and he was astounded to feel the axe head wedged in his body. The sharp blade had cut through the artery and had embedded itself half way through the clavicle bone in his left shoulder. He tried to speak to Tim as the lad rushed toward him but his vocal cords wouldn?t vibrate and produce sounds. Nature has devised its own system of pain relief and when suffering becomes unbearable it simply turns off all feelings and sends the mind into darkness....into a land of usually pleasant dreams and misty images.