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Show 36 "Oh, I thought everyone knew t h a t , " she said, "He looks like a minister. Except for his big white sombrero. And he rides a dapple-gray horse." I choked on my soup. "Careful," Mrs. Pullen said. "First thing you know someone will say I use horsemeat i n my stew. Everyone's doing i t . Boil i t up. Serve i t up. When the men cramp up on the t r a i l , they don't know what h i t them." Everyone stopped eating, and looked at Mrs. Pullen. She laughed, "Continue eating. Nobody's going to die from my cooking. Unless i t ' s from overeating." For two weeks while i t snowed, I stayed at Mrs. Pullen1 s . I bought my ton of supplies from a proprietor she recommended for two hundred dollars-the rest of Pa's savings, I decided to go Chilkoot Pass and, with two of the men at Mrs. P u l l e n ' s , took my goods by scow to Dyea-a Chilkoot Indian village suddenly turned gold rush camp. There was no wharf at Dyea and the heavy scow beached three miles from shore. We waited an hour for low t i d e , and then packers with horse-drawn wagons came over the hard, sandy tidal flats to haul our freight to the Dyea Trading Company Warehouse. I stored a l l my goods except one t r a i l outfit which I needed to keep out the north wind: a fur-lined Mackinaw coat, fur-lined cap and gloves, and a pair of high-laced, rawhide boots. |