There were few women on the boat. Some were wives traveling with their husbands. Some had probably found husbands in Dawson City. Others, more flamboyantly dressed, were dancehall types. They were very pretty, yet perhaps of questionable character. But then, Jonathan reflected, who was he to judge others only by their appearance. A woman was a lady until proved to be otherwise. At least, that was Jonathan’s belief. It had better be his belief, or his mother would give him what for. As Mrs. Tibbs had written in her last letter, “Jon, you’re having the adventures of a lifetime, and your father, sisters and I share your excitement. Just continue to take care of yourself, and don’t forget who you were raised to be, and who you are.” Unsaid were such thoughts as “Treat all women like ladies.” Jonathan didn’t need to be reminded.

He was 20 years old, and had been on his own for almost two full years, yet, with only a half dozen “lapses,” his thinking and behavior left him with few feelings of guilt. Except, of course, for the three people he had killed.

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