The beating they’d given him had been bad enough, and he was thankful that no bones appeared to be broken. Weak as he already was, thinner than he’d ever been, suffering again from the beginnings of scurvy and feeling how loose his teeth had become, the energy he’d expended that day should have slipped him into the deepest sleep. After panning for twelve hours with little food, then fighting Reese and taking the beating from Archie and the other thugs… He could not recall ever being so exhausted, and yet sleep eluded him. He lay on his back and stared up at the stars. The night sky drew heat from the ground, and from Jack, and however many skins he draped over himself—and some of the men had thrown their own across to him—he could not stay warm. He wondered at the number of stars up there, and thought about how many other hopeful people were lying like this across the Yukon Territory, staring into the dark and dreaming of the golden days yet to come. Even though Jack’s situation was far different—the bruises, his ankles tied to a stake in the ground—he still felt free.
