The real operation was over the hill, spread out over fifty acres of mud and tumbled rock and piping and river all circling the Remington pit, now some hundred feet across and two hundred feet down, clear to the bedrock, where Ox Remington and his boys were churning out enough gold to keep hope alive.

More than that, actually, given the homes that were built a couple miles away from the mine on a hill overlooking Remington Lake. A large log home and two smaller ones, with electricity and plumbing.

Dodge sped past the old encampment, over the rise, and down the valley toward the compound. The operation had expanded, with a massive power plant that powered the various buildings. The Quonset huts-turned-summer-accommodations seemed abandoned, but a wisp of smoke curled from a metal pipe in one of the permanent metal buildings, probably the office. A sign of life.

Next to it, a giant garage door was open to the machine shop, lined with excavators, dump trucks, a crane, bulldozers, and an assortment of four-wheelers and pickup trucks, most of them covered in a layer of grime.

Gold mining was dirty, hard-labored work, but now snow lay upon the ground, a lumpy blanket of grace, as if forgiving the destruction of the land.

Echo’s father hated the place, but Alaska was so vast, the wilderness nearly indomitable, Dodge had to give props to the Remington boys for holding fast to their dreams.

Now, he just hoped that one of the brothers was around.

He pulled up next to the office and was getting off his snow machine when the door opened. Ox stood in the frame. The years of enduring this hard life were etched into his face, in his seasoned eyes. He wore a cap over his whitened hair, and an old flannel shirt, a leather vest, and jeans.

And held a shotgun.

Dodge held up his hand. “It’s me, Dodge Kingston. I need help.”

He lifted the goggles off his face and pulled down his scarf, and Ox lowered the gun. “Dodge?”

“What’s going on?” Jude Remington pushed past his father, wearing a puffy black jacket and a pair of work boots.

“Echo and I found a woman in the woods—she’s half-frozen and I need to use your plane.”

Jude looked at Ox, then back to Dodge.

“Echo said you have a plane?” Dodge added.

“Yeah. A Beaver. Nash picked it up last summer. But—”

“Does it run?”

“He flew it here, so yeah.”

“Can I borrow it?”

Dodge knew what he was asking—it wasn’t like borrowing a truck, but maybe—

“Of course,” Ox said and strode toward the machine shed. Dodge followed, Jude beside him.

“Who is she?” Jude asked.