“Name’s Dale—Malcomb Dale,” the old man rose and bowed.
“Oh, Mr. Dale,” Florence caught her breath. “You said you had been in Alaska a long time. Did you ever know a man named Tom Kennedy?”
“Tom Kennedy! Sure! A fine man, but like the rest of us.” He smiled oddly. “A little touched in the head, you might say, always looking for gold.”
“And did—did he ever find it?”
“Yes, once, I’m told. Let’s see. That was, well, never mind what year. They found gold, he and his partner, found it way back of the beyond, you might say, and—”
“And—” Florence prompted.
“And they lost it.”
“Lost—lost it?” Florence stared.
“His partner, Dan Nolan, became ill. Tom Kennedy dragged him all the way to Nome on a small sled. No dogs. Stormed all that time. No trail, nothing. Got lost, nearly froze, but he came through. Powerful man, Tom Kennedy. Good man, too, best ever. True a man as ever lived.”
“Oh, I—I’m glad.” Unbidden the words slipped out.