Silver Mine

Dedication

For those who call far away or remote places home. North, south or in-between. Give me a shout—I’d love to come visit.

Part One

So gaunt against the gibbous moon

Piercing the silence velvet-piled,

A lone wolf howls his ancient rune—

The fell arch-spirit of the Wild.

O outcast land! O leper land!

Let the lone wolf-cry all express

The hate insensate of thy hand,

Thy heart’s abysmal loneliness

“The Land God Forgot”—Robert Service

Chapter One

Chase stood aside to allow the morning sunlight to fall onto the front porch of his log cabin and highlight his handiwork. He attached another piece of duct tape to the rocking-chair arm, circling three times to tighten the sticky material around the wrist he’d strategically placed along the broad armrest. He repeated his actions on the left side before kneeling to secure the young man’s ankles, one to each side of the sturdy extended rockers.

Another strand of tape around Jones’s naked torso pinned the wolf shifter against the chair back. For extra measure, Chase tore off two more long pieces and pressed them in an X across the shifter’s hairy chest.

Finally satisfied, Chase sat in the Adirondack chair next to the rocker and sighed contently.

“You know, if you’d asked, I would have been happy to let you stay.” Chase tipped the mouth of his beer bottle toward the silent figure beside him. “It’s not that difficult a job, opening your trap and asking permission. Sometimes that’s called conversation.”

A long slow drink followed. Chase gazed to his left over the tall pine trees crowding the base of the remote wilderness lake as he sipped the cold amber liquid. “Beautiful, isn’t it, Jones? I can’t think of another place I’d prefer to be. I’m mighty proud of what I’ve built here.”

“Why, yes, Chase, you’re right. This is a fine home you’ve got.” Chase raised his voice, matching the higher tones of the arctic wolf shifter as best he could. “And, Chase, I’d sure appreciate getting to stay here while you’re gone. I promise to take care of things.”

The rocking chair creaked as Jones moaned, his head lolling from the left to the right, mouth gaping open. Chase watched for a sign the young man was coming around. A low snore escaped instead, and Chase shook his head.

“Boy, you don’t know how good you got it. I should have tied you to the boat and sent you floating into the middle of the lake. I’m going soft in my old age.”

He adjusted his chair to face fully toward the water, ignoring the incapacitated wolf on his right. It was a glorious late June day, and hell if he would allow Jones to mess with the tranquility of the moment. Chase drank slowly, enjoying his view. Summer had officially arrived in the high Yukon, which meant there were only a few pockets of snow left in the shadowy places under the thicker sections of forest. The sun was hot enough the new green grasses were edging toward drying already, the limited growing season of the north a rush of forward motion hurtling toward death.

It was the most serene and idyllic of settings, if he ignored the hairy beast beside him trussed up like a chicken.

Serene, and lonely. Appropriate for most of the men who lived in these parts. Men like him.

Chase laughed as his thoughts followed a familiar path. He could have set his watch on it. Seemed every year this time he tended toward a bout of philosophical musings. He chewed on his bottom lip for a while and debated going fishing. He really should head out again, but until he had dealt with the disaster on two legs next to him, his hunting would have to wait.

Quiet. Nothing disturbed the air but the light creak of the rockers against the wooden deck boards and the wind playing with the pines. He was used to silence. Didn’t mean he loved it, but it fit the setting.

Nearly an hour later he woke from a catnap, an extra loud gurgle echoing from the wolf at his side.

“Hello, the house.”

There was another thing that was clockwork reliable this time of year. Chase rose smoothly to his feet and stepped to the railing, leaning his flannel-clad elbows on the sturdy log crossbar as he stared across the meadow at the old-timer approaching on an even older horse. A rattle carried across the distance, the beast’s easy gait jostling the miner’s gold pans and his solid tin coffee pot together like leaves on a wind-blown tree.

Chase waited until his company drew closer before he spoke. He wasn’t sure how well Delton’s hearing had held up over the past year, and there was no need to rub in the fact the man was getting older. Heck, they were all getting older.

“New saddle,” Chase noted.

Delton nodded. “Wilson quit. Passed it on to me.”

Silence returned as Delton pulled his horse up and laid the reins over the mare’s neck. She was already tugging lazily at the long grass as he slid off her back, hitting the ground without a lot of give in his knees.

Chase hid his wince.

Delton untied a sachet from the saddlebags and tossed it over his shoulder, pausing to pat his horse’s withers before approaching the wide porch staircase.

He was at the top of the stoop before his gaze fell on the shiny-striped man propped up like a freaky Christmas tree. Delton didn’t stop, just shook his head a little and made for the door.

“I take it the boy’s been a pain in the behind.”

“You might say that.”

Chase followed his friend into the cool of the cabin. The old cougar’s low cussing nicely echoed his own thoughts as he glanced at the damage inside his usually pristine home.

Delton wandered to the kitchen, shoving garbage out of the way with his feet. Bags and boxes crackled underfoot, shards of broken dishes snapping like shotgun blasts.

“You looking for something specific, old man?”

His friend dragged the broom from behind the fridge and hoisted it for a moment. “Didn’t think you’d mind if I did a little work.”

It was so like Delton—so like all the men that Chase cared for. Shit happened. You moved on.

He nodded and turned to grab a garbage bag, stuffing it with the items broken beyond repair like the plates and shredded cushions. Mentally making a list of all the things he’d need to replace as he cleaned methodically alongside Delton.

Silently. Companionably.

The place looked a whole lot better within a short time, and Chase sighed. “You know, you’ve gone and ruined my plans to make Jones clean up the mess in his wolf form.”

“Must have been in his wolf while he caused some of the damage.” Delton pointed to the scratched edges of the couch where the raw wood showed in deep gouges. Claws marks marred the corner, like a cat on a scratching post.

“Jones is usually half in his wolf form. The boy’s mostly feral—brain just doesn’t switch all the way back to human anymore.”

And now Chase felt a little bad about having taped the kid to the chair. Wasn’t really unexpected Jones had gone insane in the cabin. Although, he hadn’t asked to be allowed access in the first place. At the least a little pain might drive home that message of basic politeness.

Delton paused his sweeping, his grey beard sticking up wildly, the perfect image of an out-of-control Grizzly Adams. “You were gone for a few days?”

“Grabbing information from the Miller boys. I plan on heading north soon to track down everyone else who hasn’t been in contact during the past couple months. If I can find folks quick enough, I could be in Whitehorse by the third and home by the eighth.”

Five days in civilization. It was enough—and the only reason he’d go was he had to. No one else in those parts could handle the trip, and there had to be some contact with the outside world, if only to deal with banking and food orders.

Delton nodded. “I brought you my list. You’re a good man, Chase Johnson.”

He shrugged. “I’m the only person available. That doesn’t make me good, just makes me the one who can do it.”

“We ain’t gonna argue about this.” Delton leaned the broom to the side and motioned toward the kitchen. “I suppose it’s too much to assume you’ve got anything edible in there after Jones took the place apart.”

He hadn’t even looked. Chase had returned from his trip into the bush and found the tore-apart house and an unconscious wolf shifter half in, half out his front door. “If he’s ruined everything in there, I have supplies hidden in the shed. Can I make you supper?”

Delton’s gap-toothed grin lit his grizzled and lined face. “You find me some grub, and I’ll do the cooking.”

Chase’s stomach grumbled at the thought of something other than raw game he’d been eating while shifted. “You cook, and I’ll care for your horse.”

Two hours later Chase wondered if he’d explode if he ate one more biscuit. Also on the pondering list, would the wolf duct-taped out front ever stop snoring at the extreme decibel level and wake up? And three, what promises could he make to convince Delton to move in on a regular basis as chef because, man, the old-timer could cook.

Delton topped up their coffee cups and groaned in satisfaction. “Your stash of supplies is mighty fine. I could stay here and look after things for you while you’re gone. I’m getting tired of my bean and rabbit rations.”

Having a house sitter was the solution to a number of problems. Chase nodded. “I’d appreciate that. And Jones—well, I guess he can stay around if you’re willing to babysit, but I’ve got two requests.”

“Name them.” The cougar scratched his belly and yawned, pushing back the empty plates stacked in front of him.

“He’s got to do chores every day in human form. No shifting and bringing in game for the table, or some such excuse.”

Delton nodded. “I’ll try to explain to the boy, but it’s not easy when they’ve already got that touch of the wild in them. What else?”

The grin stretching his cheeks felt good. “Don’t release him. Force him to get out of that chair on his own.”

“Shit, you’re a mean one at times, Chase Johnson.”

Chase shrugged. “He’s got claws and teeth.”

“He’s gonna have a lot less hair by the time he gets free.” Delton shuddered. “Gonna be like peeling off a Band-Aid. Or them fancy ladies who rip the fur off their privates.”

Chase choked on his coffee. “You know about that?”

One bushy brow rose in the air, and Chase snorted at the old man’s expression. It wasn’t as if shifters were shy about sex, but he hadn’t imagined well-groomed women were high on Delton’s experience list.

The cougar shook a finger in the air. “Oh Lordy, I’ve seen more and done more than you’ll do in your entire life. Bright lights of Dawson in her heyday—that was an education and a half for a young man.”

The old-timer was still chuckling as Chase stood and grabbed the small bag he used for his annual trip. He loaded it with paper and a few writing instruments before draping the handle around his neck, checking to be sure the strap was set wide enough not to choke him once he shifted.

“You heading out already?” Delton asked.

“No use in waiting if you’re going to stick around. Sorry for leaving you with the rest of the cleanup.” To be honest, he couldn’t bear to have to throw anything else away. It would hurt less to simply have the destruction gone when he got back.

Delton waved a hand at him, then braced himself on his knees to push to vertical, bones creaking as he stood. “Least I can do to enjoy a roof over my head for a bit. Good hunting, Chase, and don’t worry about anything here. I’ve got you covered.”

Chase stepped outside. The sun was lower, but the sky remained full bright. There was tons of time to get into the bush. He stripped off his clothes and tucked them into the carrying sack, leaving his shoes behind to the side of the door.

A loud snore reverberated off the log walls, and he strode over to stare at Jones. The wolf shifter’s head hung back now, tongue dangling as he rattled the windows with his snoring. He was just a youngster, really.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t learn.

Chase tore one final strip off the roll of duct tape and careful applied it across both Jones’s bushy eyebrows. The shifter wiggled under his touch before settling back into a deep sleep.