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most irritated that I could not tell him what I thought of him in plain English. When
I finished, the crowd was on its feet, cheering.
"Well, godamighty, she is alive," Millie said. "Honey, that is the most energetic
performance I have ever seen you give."
Purdy grinned viciously at me.
I ignored both of them and headed for the bar. During my number, I had spotted
the entrance of what appeared to be a particularly long-legged humpbacked
muskrat. Lomax shed his fur and met me halfway. He carried something bulky
tucked close to his peacoat as he wound his way through the comradely crowd,
bellowing greetings to those who bellowed first, tweaked Loki's tail, or inquired
about Larsson. I was still two yards away when he thrust the package at me.
"Here," he said.
Though I would have thought his face was already as red from the cold as it could
get, it grew suddenly redder. Of course, Lomax apparently had a taste for dark-
haired exotic ladies, judging from his previous marriage, but I had not realized until
then that my theatrical persona had made such an impression on him. I dipped my
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eyes beneath my fan and tried to be surprised, but the oilcloth covering gave the
surprise away. Inside was all of my feminine apparel, old and new.
"Miss Devine says that stuff isn't hers and there's no need for it to go to waste," he
said, and winked. "For some reason, I just knew this would fit you."
He chuckled and stroked the cat in a self-satisfied way as I sorted through the
packet of warm feminine things, unmentionables without holes in them, and my
still-uninitiated ball gown! But the clothing, of which I seemed to be acquiring a
great deal in one day after practically parading in Godiva fashion all week, meant far
less to me than what I saw in his face. And that was a certain complicity. He no
more believed me a Spanish dancing girl than he had believed me a teenage boy. Of
course, no one else was as perceptive as he and we had to keep it that way, but still, I
was overjoyed to attain attire and an ally in one fell swoop.
As a professional practitioner of words, I could have formed an eloquent verbal
expression of my gratitude, had I been able to do so in English. However, for
appearance's sake, I could hardly respond in a manner appropriate to Valentine
Lovelace, novelist and popular historian, but had to conform to my assumed role.
Fortunately, I am quick thinking. I realized immediately what constituted the
proper and expected behavior for a dance hall girl of passionate Latin antecedents
who speaks no English and must convey a response for a generous and thoughtful
gift from an attractive patron.
I threw my arms around his neck and tried to kiss his cheek. To my embarrassment,
and I suppose in the privacy of these pages I can admit, pleasure, he spoiled my aim
and we ended up in a rather prolonged embrace with decidedly osculatory
overtones. Loki sprang from Lomax's shoulders in disgust and sat on the package
until we regained our senses.
The first part of that night was as delightful as the rest of it was dreadful. Despite, or
perhaps because of, the bizarre attacks of the previous night, business was even
livelier and rowdier than usual. Perhaps it was because the weather had suddenly
turned quite seriously cold, and word had come with the Bella that no more ships
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would be coming up the Yukon because of the extremely low waters in and around
the Yukon flats. Throughout the show, befurred sourdoughs, shivering cheechakos,
and a few that fell in a middle category, being newcomers smelling of new winter
woolens and hastily acquired furs, kept arriving, some carrying untried snowshoes
in case the snow deepened too suddenly for them to return home without that aid.
But once inside, with fur hats on hooks or pushed back and boots removed to add
pungency to the aroma of the room, everyone made merry.
Between shows, and after the final curtain, Lomax, the cat, and I formed a Siamese
trio, the cat on his shoulders and me tucked under his good arm as we coursed the
room. Finally, he selected a table near the fire. I had momentarily forgotten my
resolution to board the Bella, forgotten the murders, forgotten my suspicions of
Vasily Vladovitch, had almost forgotten my multiplicity of identities while basking
in the glow of this new association. Lomax's preoccupation took a different course,
however. When we were seated and I was just beginning to be frustrated because I
could not tell him all that had occurred since I left him and what my theories were
on the matter, he opened his book and commenced to read as serenely as if he had
been in his own cabin.
I tried to read over his shoulder, but Loki's tail kept flipping up in my face, and
heaven forbid I should dislodge the beast. I nudged Lomax, but he was so engrossed
he didn't seem to notice until London arrived and presented himself in a way that
could not possibly be ignored.
"Hey there, Dag, where you been today? I been looking all over for you."
"Been readin' this book. I tell ya, Jack, it's somethin'.
"How about reading it aloud then? I'd like to hear it and I bet some of the boys
would, too. Hey, Miles, commere. No-Coat, look here at this book Cap'n Lomax got
today. What's it about, Dag?"
" 'Bout a guy meets a bunch of wolves and this rich fella with a lot of nasty habits."
"Like what?" Miles asked, leaning forward eagerly.
"Bites folks. Drinks blood. Turns into a bat, all kindsa stuff."
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"What's the name of it, Dag?" Lane called. "Read it loud enough and I'll see that you
don't get thirsty."
"It's called Dracula. Some Irishman named Stoker wrote it. Just came out this year.
My sister in London sent it to me. I started reading it this afternoon and can't put it
down. Tried to read aloud to Egil some, but he fell asleep and it seemed to upset the
sisters."
"Wouldn't upset me. Read it to me. A brand new book, now that's a rare treat. Hey,
Herriford, Ladue, Parr! Come on over here and look at this."
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