The Top of the Chilkoot Pass.
The Top of the Chilkoot Pass.The neck to the Klondyke as it appeared in April, 1898, during the height of the stampede.From "The Romance of Modern Mining," by A. Williams.Copyright, 1898, by S. A. Hegg.
The Top of the Chilkoot Pass.
The neck to the Klondyke as it appeared in April, 1898, during the height of the stampede.
From "The Romance of Modern Mining," by A. Williams.
Copyright, 1898, by S. A. Hegg.
Pass in the Sierra Nevadas of California.
Pass in the Sierra Nevadas of California.
Pass in the Sierra Nevadas of California.
"Thirty thousand an' more, so folks said.Two thousand o' them, though, died in tryin'. An' they had Injun an' half-breed porters to tote their dunnage, too! The trail was marked for them. In the last years o' the big rush, there was an aerial tramway to take up the stuff. It wasn't like that in my day. We tackled it on our own.
"When we reached the top, the trouble wasn't over neither. 'Tother side was rough an' dangerous, all loose rock an' mighty little snow. We loaded the sleighs an' let 'em down by jerks, all three men hangin' on to the drag-ropes. But we made the bottom, safe, an' started off again. No trail, no map, no nothin'! We jest pushed on, blind, three white men in a country o' hostile Injuns huntin' for a river which we didn't even know where it was.
"Followin' a small creek an' pannin' now an' agin—though not findin' any color—we came at last to Crater Lake an' then on to Lindeman, an' final, to Lake Bennett. Here, we'd heard before leavin', the Yukon River begun, an' we started to go round the lake, so's to strike the bank o' the river.
"It couldn't be done. Muskeg an' thick forest run clear down to the shore o' the lake, an' a b'ar couldn't ha' pushed his way through. Smallcreeks shot out every which way. Sleighs were worse'n useless.
"There warn't nothin' to be done but build a boat, an' nary one o' the three of us knew the fust durn thing about boat-buildin'. But we put together a kind of a log-raft, that floated, anyway, put the dunnage aboard it, an' drifted down the lake. This was easy goin', for a while.
"All of a sudden, a swift current took us, the lake narrowed into a river, an', afore we had a chance to pole our heavy an' clumsy raft to the bank, we was shootin' wi' sickenin' speed down white water. It was Grand Canyon Rapids, a mile long! Half-way through, the raft struck a rock an' went to bits, the logs bustin' free. I grabbed one an' went spinnin' down the rapids. I must ha' hit my head on a snag, for I don't remember no more till I woke up to find myself on the bank, an' Bull Evans leanin' over me.
"'What's the worst, Bull?' I asks, as soon as I realizes.
"'Red Bill's gone,' he says, 'an' so's most o' the grub. The dunnage is scattered anywheres along a mile or two. We hoofs it from here. No more rafts in mine!'
"An' a good thing we did hoof it, too. If we'd got through the Grand Canyon Rapids an' struck, unknowin', the White Horse Rapids—what they afterwards called the 'Miners' Grave'—nary a one o' the three of us would ha' come out alive.
"As it was, bein' afoot, we broke away from what afterwards was the Klondyke Trail, an', instead of striking across Lake Labarge, kep' between it an' Lake Kluane, strikin' some creeks leadin' into the White River. There, at last, after three months on the trail, we panned an' found color. We trailed on, pannin' as we went, cleanin' up pretty fair, an' final, struck some placers on the Stewart River. The Injuns was peaceful an' we could get grub from a half-breed tradin' store near old Fort Selkirk. We wintered there."
"That was in '85?" Owens queried.
"Winter o' '85 an' spring o' '86."
"Then you must have been right on hand for the great strike on Forty-Mile?"
"We sure was."
"But, man, you should have made a fortune, there!"
"I did!" came Jim's laconic answer.
"Well?"
"I made a hundred thousand dollars in three months."
"What happened to it, then?"
"That," said the old prospector, leaning back, and looking at his two hearers, "is a wild an' woolly yarn! Do you want to hear it, or do I go on to the findin' o' that ore you've got in your hand?"
"Oh, tell the yarn, Jim!" pleaded Clem, who was less interested in Jim's strike than was the mine-owner. Owens nodded assent.
"Pannin' gold," Jim began, "is pretty much the same all over. One minin' camp is a good deal like another, though Forty-Mile was the cleanest an' straightest camp I ever struck. I could spin a good many yarns o' Forty-Mile an' near-by camps, but I'll leave 'em to another time an' tell you how it was I got poor, again, all in a hurry.
"With a bunch o' buckskin bags holdin' a hundred thousand dollars in the coarse nuggety gold o' Forty-Mile, I was good an' ready to take the back trail. I thought maybe I'd get back again next spring, for I'd become a sure-enough 'sour-dough' (old-timer of the northern gold-fields, so-called from camp bread). But I wanted to eat heavy an' lie soft for a while. I'd spend one winter in 'Frisco, any way, an' have a run for my money.
"The more I thought of it, the less I liked the notion o' goin' back over the Chilkoot Pass. Savin' for the first climb, the out trail was worse'n the in. All the rapids'd have to be portaged.
"What was more, the news o' the Forty-Mile strike had reached the outside, an' the human buzzards was a-flockin' in. The Canadian authorities held the camps in a tight grip, but the trail was a No-Man's-Land. A sour-dough comin' out from a strike stood a good chance o' bein' plugged for his gold an' no one the wiser.
"A few weeks after the Forty-Mile strike, a rich placer had been located at Circle, a hundred miles lower down on the Yukon an' across the Alaskan Boundary jest above where Circle City is now. Nothin' was easier'n to buy a small row-boat an' float down the Yukon to Circle. The rapids wasn't worth speakin' about. At Circle we'd take the river craft runnin' to Fort Yukon, an' then ship on board the steamer for St. Michael, Skagway an' 'Frisco.
"No weary miles o' hoofin' it on the trail, no portages, no work, jest sit in a boat an' take it easy! That hundred thousand made me feel too lazy to move.
"We got the boat, bein' willin' to pay whatever fancy price was asked. While she was still tied up at Forty-Mile, one o' the North West Mounted Police come up an' asked us where we was headin'. We told him. He wanted to know how many were goin'. There was my pardner, Bull Evans, me, an' four more. He shakes his head.
"'That's about twenty too few,' says he. 'Are you takin' the dust along?'
"'Right with us, Johnny,' says we.
"'You've got more gold'n you have sense,' he comes back, cheerfully. 'Better wait a month or so. We're goin' to convoy a party through the White Pass to Skagway, takin' the express an' the bank gold, an' you can come along, safe.'
"'It's too long a trail for millionaires,' says we.
"'A dead millionaire ain't worth much,' he says. 'You'll have your bones picked clean by the crows if you get across the border that a-way. Alaska ain't the Dominion, not by a long shot.'
"That hit us wrong. We thought he was jest bluffin', tryin' to make out that Canada was the only country that could run things right. Most of us was from the U. S., an' we grouched at his pokin' in.
"'Law an' order's as good 'tother side o' the line as it is here!' says Bull.
"'Have it your own way! I'll send the patrol boat with you as far as the border. I can't do no more.'
"We didn't want the patrol, but he sent it, any way, an' we started out.
"'Last chance!' he yells, when the border's reached, 'better come back!'
"'We ain't quitters!' Bull shouts back, an' on we go, six of us, an' close on to half a million dollars in dust among the lot. Every man had a rifle, a six-shooter, an' plenty o' ammunition. All was old-timers an' quick on the shoot. We reckoned we could take care of ourselves, good an' plenty. Any way, we weren't goin' to land anywheres until we struck Circle, so there wouldn't be no danger.
"We hadn't got more'n ten miles the other side o' the line, jest beyond the little minin' camp of Eagle, when of a sudden:
"'Spat!'
"A bullet strikes the boat, right at the water line, an' she begins to leak.
"It was pretty shootin', an' every man reaches for his gun. There's a curl o' smoke driftin' up from a pile o' rock, but no one shoots, knowin' well the marksman's under cover. We trims the boat, to keep the hole out o' water, and then:
"'Spat! Spat!'
"One on each side. We stuffs some bits o' rag in the holes, but the boat begins to fill. One side o' the river's sheer rock, an' there ain't no landin' there. Cussin' free, an' every man wi' his rifle ready, we beaches the boat on the other shore an' gets out, ready for the scrap.
"Then some one starts to talk, over our heads, hidden in the rocks:
"'Gents, I'm sure sorry to stop your trip! There's twenty of us, an' each has his man covered. It ain't no use for you to make trouble. Them as is reasonable can leave their bags o' dust an' their pop-guns on the beach, an' walk off fifty paces to the left. Them as wants to show their shootin' can wait jest two minutes by the watch, an' the fun'll begin, us havin' the pick o' the shots an' bein' under cover. The cards isstacked agin you, gents, an' there ain't no use to play.'
"We all shoots back, o' course, more to relieve our feelin's'n anything else, for we knows this new-style road-agent has dodged back to cover.
"Me an' four others, we don't hesitate. We lays our bags o' dust an' our guns on the beach an' toddles off, as directed. Then I looks back an' sees Bull standin' there, alone.
"He's a durn fool an' I knows it. But he's my pardner, is Bull!
"I goes back an' tries to persuade him to eat crow. But Bull's stubborn as a mule an' don't budge. I ain't a-goin' to leave him. So we both stands there.
"The road-agent has been takin' this in, an' presently he pipes up:
"'Very pretty, gents. Pardners is pardners and that's doin' it handsome. Put up your hands an' we won't shoot.'
"For answer, Bull snaps his rifle to his shoulder an' fires.
"A volley rings out, an' Bull drops dead, a dozen bullets through him. I wasn't two yards away, but not a shot touched me.
"Then this road-agent, a tall thin galoot,heavily masked, comes down to where I'm standin' alone.
"'It was a dirty bit o' shootin'!' says I, indignant.
"'You've no cause to complain,' says he, 'nothin' hit you! I like your spunk in standin' by your pardner. He seems to ha' been a he-man, too, even if he was a fool. Had he any folks?'
"'A baby girl back in Montana,' I tells him.
"'I'm not robbin' babies,' he says to that. 'She gets my share o' the loot. I give my word. Do you know the address?'
"I reaches down into Bull's coat, takes a letter from it what he'd written to his sister, what was lookin' after the kid, an' hands this bandit the envelope. He reads it, nods an' puts it in his pocket."
"Did he ever send the money?" suddenly interrupted Owens.
"He did. I heard, years after, that the sister received thirty thousand dollars in cash, in a registered letter, sent from Skagway, an' in the envelope a slip o' paper 'From the Chief o' Circle.'"
"What happened next, Jim?" queried Clem, excitedly.
"What, after I'd given the galoot the envelope? He makes a sign an' half a dozen o' his gang comes down out o' the rocks where they've been hidin'. They gather up the guns an' the bags o' dust lyin' on the beach, while some more o' them goes over an' searches the other four men.
"'What's the next turn?' I asks the chief.
"'I don't do things in a small way,' he says. 'Your nerve's good. For bein' willin' to stand by your pardner, when the rest run like rabbits. I'll leave you five thousand in dust, an' see you get back to the border. Unless you want to join our band?'
"'I don't!' I answers, snappy like.
"But he was as good as his word. He weighs out an' hands over the dust, an' two of the gang takes me back to the line. There they gives me back my shootin'-irons, though, o' course without any ammunition. Next day I'm back in Forty-Mile."
"And the other four men?" queried Owens.
"Two joined the gang, an' later, started to get funny on the Canadian side. A Vigilance committee strung 'em up. The other two turned up at Circle City and I never heard no more about 'em.
"I staked out another claim—though there wasn't much to choose from, then—an' begins to pan again. But the luck had turned, an' I didn't strike nothin' rich.
"I stayed at Forty-Mile that winter, buildin' fires at night on the frozen dirt to thaw it, an', next day, shovelin' an' haulin' it up to the top o' my little shaft on the windlass I'd made myself. The pile o' pay dirt had to be left till the spring thaws for cleanin' up.
"Ten years I stayed inside, goin' from one placer on the Yukon to another, makin' a livin', an' that's about all. Now an' again, when I gets a bit ahead, I sends a bag o' dust to Bull's little gal.
"In '98, I joins the rush to Nome, an' there's a roarin' wild town! But luck ain't runnin' my way. Like the rest, I starts to wash the sand o' the sea-beach, the last place a prospector'd ever look. I clean up thirty a day, maybe, jest enough to keep goin'. I'm no richer'n no poorer'n I was ten years afore, but I got Bull's little gal to work for, an' that keeps me pluggin'.
"Then, sudden, I gets a letter from the gal, enclosin' a note she's received. It's short:
"'Rich pay gravel here.' It's signed with acircle, an' a cross. On the back, there's a map.
"I figures this is the Road-Agent o' Circle, an' he's dyin' an' wants to make restitootion. It's my dooty to Bull's little gal to go an' find the place. I've jest about money enough to go there, an' the lay is right. There's a bank of pay gravel more'n two miles long, an' a hundred feet deep, maybe more. It's frozen, summer'n' winter, an' too hard for thawin' with wood fires."
Jim halted for emphasis and looked keenly at the mine-owner.
"I was thawin' it out wi' coal, when I was there," he said, slowly, "soft, smudgy coal, brown an' sticky-like."
"What!" cried Owens in amazement. "Lignite coal?"
"Not a mile away from the gravel."
"But why, man—?" Owens stopped.
"A bunch o' Russian seal-poachers come up an' chased me off, sayin' it was Russian territory. I believed 'em, at first. I didn't say nothin' about the gold, but made believe I was huntin' coal. But that lignite, as you call it, was so sure low-grade that they jest laughed at me.
"It ain't in Russian territory. It's in the United States, I've found out that much. Butminin' men don't take much stock in what I tell 'em, an' coal men say it's too long a haul. But a man wi' money what knows coal an' knows gold, an' could do some steam thawin' an' hydraulickin' would make good."
Owens looked at him thoughtfully.
"It's a wild and woolly yarn, all right," he said, "and it sounds like a story from a book, with the hold-up, and the girl and the idea of restitution, and the treasure-map and all the rest of it. You haven't any proof?"
"Nothin' but what I've told you—an' the map. My pardner's got to take my say-so."
"You say you wrote frequently to Bull Evans' daughter?"
"Once a season—sometimes twice. Whenever I could get some money through."
"She will have kept those letters, certainly," the mine-owner mused, "and the payments through the Express Company will be easy to trace. Where does the girl live?"
"In Pittsburgh, now, with her aunt."
"If I guarantee to advance two hundred thousand, when satisfied that your story is straight, will you produce the map and come along, yourself?"
Jim looked him over.
"I'll trust you more'n you're willin' to trust me," he said, and took a thin slip of paper from the buckskin tube out of which he had shaken the gold dust the day before. "Here's the map. It's an island due north o' the Diomede Islands in the Behring Sea. The Eskimos call it Chuklook. There's quartz gold on Ingalook, too. But mind, one-third o' what you pay for the claim belongs to Bull's little gal."
"Agreed!" declared Owens. "You trust me an' I'll trust you. The letters an' the express records, being as you say, I'll go in."
"Clem bein' a pardner!" Jim insisted.
"Clem being a partner, sure!"
The littleBunting, brigantine-rigged, and, yacht-fashion, possessing an auxiliary screw, plowed the waters of Behring Sea.
Jim, with Clem and Anton beside him, stood on the foc's'le head, gazing into the foggy distance. Owens was on the poop, with the owner of the tiny yacht, who was a personal friend, and moodily scanned the horizon. Otto, utterly disregarding the universal sea injunction: "Don't Talk to the Man at the Wheel!" stayed at the stern and exchanged occasional sentences with the helmsman.
There were, also, two other passengers on board, both down in the cabin. One was a grizzled giant, the other was a young woman, some 25 years of age. The first was a half-brother of Joe Juneau, and was known throughout the Far North as "The Arctic Wizard" from his uncanny knowledge of Alaskan mining deposits, and hisability as a mining engineer in overcoming the peculiar difficulties of frozen ground and of maintaining machinery in working order under the most rigorous conditions of weather. The second was "Bull's little gal," more properly known as Jameine Evans, herself a graduate of the Pittsburgh School of Mines.
With the money that had been sent her, when a baby, by the Road-Agent of Circle, and with the additional sums forwarded from time to time by Jim, Jameine (so christened as a namesake of the old prospector) had been able to pay her way through school and college and had taken a mining course besides.
This specialized education had been her plan of gratitude. Only by making herself efficient in a kindred field, she felt, could she ever be a real "pardner" to Jim; only thus could she repay, in some measure, the generosity of the old prospector. She had long realized the unselfishness of the man who had stayed winter after winter in the frozen North, denying himself the rude pleasures of a mining camp in order to help "Bull's little gal."
Ever since Jim had made his famous strike, as a result of the map which had been sent to herby her father's murderer, Jameine had regarded herself as the heiress of a dream mine, but a dream which might, some day, come true. For her own sake, as well as Jim's, she had read and studied as much as she could of Alaskan conditions.
It was she who finally disclosed to Jim that the Russian seal-poachers were probably at fault in chasing him from his strike, and only wanted to get rid of the inconvenient witness. Thus she had reawakened the prospector's lagging interest in his find, but lacking the large store of capital necessary to exploit the mine, she could do nothing. Jim had used up all his savings in going from town to town trying to interest a big investor and had finally entered Owens' coal mine in order to get a little stake again.
Wizard Juneau was amazed at the extent of mining knowledge shown by this girl shipmate, and he had spent the greater part of the voyage from Sitka in imparting to her some of the secrets distilled from his long experience in frozen mining. He had brought on board theBuntingmany of the publications of the U. S. Geological Survey, and of the Bureau of Mines, annotated by himself.He had brought, also, a number of crude maps of half-explored territory, either drawn by his own hand or by old prospectors, which maps and charts were among his most prized possessions.
"Some of these," he explained, "were made by Alf Brooks,8one of the nerviest explorers that the U. S. ever sent out. I've been with him on more than one reconnoissance survey. And some were made by experts on the U. S. Revenue CutterBear.9I sailed on her two seasons."
[8]For the Alaskan explorations of Brooks ("Rivers") see the author's "The Boy with the U. S. Survey."
[8]For the Alaskan explorations of Brooks ("Rivers") see the author's "The Boy with the U. S. Survey."
[9]For the Behring Sea work of theBear, see the author's "The Boy with the U. S. Lifesavers."
[9]For the Behring Sea work of theBear, see the author's "The Boy with the U. S. Lifesavers."
"And do you think, Mr. Juneau, that this island of Uncle Jim's is on the American side of the line?"
The "Wizard" pursed his lips with an expression of doubt.
"It's a toss of the dice," he said. "Ingalook, the easternmost of the Diomede Islands, where Jim found that piece of gold-bearing quartz, is sure American territory. I don't take kindly to Ingalook, though. There'd be trouble, there, in trying to install proper mining and crushing devices. There's no landing place on that isolatedgranite dome standing forlornly out of the sea, except for seals, polar bears, or crazy prospectors like Jim, there.
"But this Chukalook Bank of the Road Agent's map, where the pay gravel and the lignite coal lie—supposing that it's the same as this little unnamed dot marked on the charts—seems to be right on the international boundary line. We'll have to wait until we get there to make accurate observations."
"Can you do that, too, Mr. Juneau?"
"Me? No! I can take a sight of course, but not accurate enough where it's a matter of minutes or even seconds of a degree. But Captain Robertson can. Like many of these amateur yachtsmen, he's a better navigator than the captain of some Atlantic liners. It's his hobby. Besides, he's got instruments of precision aboard that an admiral would envy. What's more, he's a certificated man, and his say-so on a nautical observation of longitude would be legal in the courts. Mine wouldn't."
"And suppose the island should prove to be on the Russian side?"
"Then, young lady, you'll have to turn Russian!"
"What nonsense! You know I wouldn't. No, but speaking seriously?"
"Well, seriously, then, you'd have to buy the island from the Bolsheviks, or from the Eastern Siberian Republic, or from the Japanese, or whoever happens to be claiming it. International rights up in the Asiatic Arctic are badly mixed up, these days. And that wouldn't be the worst of it. You'd have to pay stiff royalties and you wouldn't be sure of any sort of protection—unless it was the Japanese."
"We'll buy it, if we have to!" declared Jameine decidedly. "I'm not going to have anything happen that will spoil Uncle Jim's strike!"
"He's a regular dad to you, Miss Evans, eh?"
"He's the only one I ever remember," the girl replied. "My real father went up to Skagway, just a few weeks after I was born, only having stayed down in Montana long enough to see me. And, as you know, Mr. Juneau, he went over the Chilkoot Pass with Uncle Jim and never came back any more. Mother died when I was quite small. I know Uncle Jim feels that 'Bull's little gal' is his own. I feel so, too!"
The grizzled mining engineer patted the hand with which the girl was holding open the chart.
"Don't ye worry," he said, kindly, "we'll make good. We'll bluff any one that comes to Chukalook—supposing we find it—long enough to get the best o' the pay gravel. If that don't do the trick, we'll fight.
"And there's another thing. If Chukalook doesn't pan out, there's the quartz at Ingalook. I've never seen the gold deposit yet—no matter how poor—that I couldn't turn into money, so long as I could get enough capital behind me to exploit it."
"Mr. Owens will give that," asserted Jameine confidently.
The "Wizard" shook a warning finger.
"Not just for sentiment, he won't," he said, "not if I read him right. He's generous enough, and he'd see that you and Jim didn't suffer. But he's too keen a business man to invest his money unless he sees a fair chance of return. We've got to show him!"
"He certainly doesn't seem as enthusiastic about it now, as he did when we started," Jameine agreed, thoughtfully.
"That's natural enough! Don't ye forget he's an Australian, and all the gold fields he's ever seen, there, and in South Africa, were in hotdesert country. These waters don't look promising to him!"
The "Wizard" was right. Owens was scanning the slate-gray water flecked with foam and the sky of dripping fog with equal distrust and dislike. The pieces of ice-floe bobbing in the choppy current inspired him with uneasiness, even with fear. The assurances of his friend, the yachtsman, gave him no confidence.
Had it been possible, he would have been heartily glad to back out of his agreement, but there was no way he could do it with honor. He had sought out Jameine in Pittsburgh, had seen Jim's letters, and had checked up the Express Company's receipts of gold forwarded by the old prospector from the mining camps of Forty-Mile, of Circle, of Juneau, of Klondyke, of Dawson City and of Nome. Jameine's hopeful spirit and her determination to make good on Jim's strike had been infectious. Owens had set out, almost gaily. But this grim, inhospitable sea put a damper on his spirits.
"Doesn't the sun ever shine here, Jack?" he asked abruptly.
"Not often," was the yachtsman's cheerful answer. "That's why the fur seals love it. Why,bless you, on Pribilof Islands, where the seal rockeries lie, there aren't twenty days of sunshine in a year. I know these waters. I came hunting sea-otter once. We ran two summer months without seeing the sun."
"It's no place for me!" declared the mine-owner. "Those who like the sea can have it, and be welcome!"
The yachtsman bridled. He loved the sea.
"Open your nostrils, man, and sniff; that's pure air, at least. It isn't like what I smelt last time I visited your dirty old coal mine!" he retorted. "Every dog to its own kennel, Owens! After all, you wanted to come here."
Jim felt much the same way. Standing on the foc's'le head, the raw air, with its sudden hot spells when the sun gleamed dully through the fog, brought him welcome memories. It seemed homelike, after his brief experience in a coal mine. As he had said himself, he was a "sour-dough." The uncanny fascination that the Far North exerts on those who have once lived there, gripped him hard.
"Ain't no crowd here to worry a man!" he declared, drawing in deep breaths, "an' there's room enough to stand straight! Would youwant to go back to them coal galleries, Clem, four feet high an' stinkin'?"
"They suited me all right before, Jim," the young fellow answered, "and I don't see why they shouldn't again. I got mightily interested in coal. Still, I needed a rest, and this trip is interesting, I'll allow. But wait till we get to the actual mining of the gold, and then I'll tell you which I like best."
"An' you, Anton?"
"I never want to go below ground again," the boy answered promptly. "But it must be awful cold here in winter—if this is summer!"
"Ay, it's cold an' dark, no sun at all for two months. An' a man'll go hungry often. But it's free an' open an' no one has a boss! What's more, there's gold!"
Anton shivered. The call of the North had not gripped him, yet.
Otto, beside the helmsman, was worrying him—neither with the weather, nor with the question of treasure. To the first he was indifferent, to the second he was satisfied with drawing full pay every day and not doing any hewing for it. With huge delight, he was absorbing all the superstitions of the sea, and giving the steersman a gruesome crop of tales of knockers and gas sprites underground.
There was no special reason why he should have come on the voyage, except that he had asked to come. Owing to Anton's hatred for coal mining—born of the entombment—Clem had used his position as Jim's "pardner" to bring the boy along. Otto, having taken what might be termed a paternal and prophetic interest in the imprisoned men, wanted to join the party.
Owens made no objection. He knew laborers would be wanted, and he preferred men who would not be likely to betray the secret of the gold. He knew the miner's unswerving loyalty, and was well aware that loyalty is the one quality which is beyond all price.
Towards the close of the afternoon, theBuntingshortened sail. They were drawing near.
Somewhere, not far from them, lay the Diomede Islands, those two great granite crags rising sheer out of the sea with deep water on every side. The lead would give no sign. There is no fog signal on the Diomedes. In such a thick and clammy mist as hung over the water, a ship could wreck herself upon those bleak coasts almost before she saw the surf under her bows. The wind was light, and the brigantine slid slowly over the water.
The "Arctic Wizard," his eyes accustomed to the northern skies, was the first to see a faint purplish blotch in the swirling mist.
"Land! Captain!" he warned, quickly. "Keep away! Keep well away!"
Almost instantly, the booming of breakers was heard.
Well was it for those on board that theBuntingwas quick on her helm! She bore off, just in time, the creaming surf not more than three cables' length ahead.
"A little too close for my liking!" exclaimed the yachtsman, but treating the danger lightly. "That's Ingalook, I suppose, Mr. Juneau?"
"Ingalook she is. At least, I think so. I've never been quite so close, before."
"And I don't want to be, again! Well now, I suppose, the real treasure hunt begins."
He called Jim.
"How did you say Chukalook Bank bore from here?"
"From Chukalook," Jim answered, "on a clearday, I could see this island two points east o' south, an' the other island, the Russian one, three points west o' south."
The yachtsman looked at him thoughtfully.
"And there's no knowing what compass correction to allow for a pocket compass, and there's the magnetic variation besides. Well, we'll work it out! And how far away do you reckon the island was?"
"I don't know nothin' about sea distances, Cap'n. She looked just about the size o' my thumb-nail."
"So! How high was Chukalook Bank above the water?"
"She goes up like a wedge o' cake, Cap'n. Maybe five hundred feet at the highest point. Where I was workin' wasn't more'n fifty foot above sea level."
"Well," commented the yachtsman thoughtfully, "allowing for the curvature of the earth, and for low visibility on these seas that ought to make Chukalook about thirty or forty miles from here. We'll put on a little sail and cruise N. N. E. for a few hours."
But the bank was nearer than Jim supposed.
Shortly after dawn, a sailor posted in the cross-trees reported a flat berg to starboard. The sails were furled, and theBuntingcame up to it slowly under her auxiliary screw.
Jim heard the engines and rushed up on deck.
"That's Chukalook!" he cried, after the first look. "Now, who says I'm dreamin'? Wait till I tell Bull's little gal!"
He had not long to wait.
The sound of excited voices on deck had awakened the girl, and she dressed and came up hastily.
"Jameine!" he shouted, as soon as she came up the companion ladder, "there's our gold!"
The girl ran lightly across the deck and pressed the old prospector's arm.
"I knew you'd find it, Uncle Jim," she rejoiced, "I said so, all along!" Then, turning to the mine-owner, who had also come on deck, she added, "There it is, Mr. Owens!"
The Australian looked. That low flat bank, slowly sloping upwards, fringed with ice and deep in snow, was none too reassuring.
"You're sure?" he asked suspiciously. "It looks to me a whole lot more like an iceberg than it does like a gold-field!"
The "Wizard" interrupted, fearing lest Jim should make some rough rejoinder.
"It looks like an easy landing-place and that's one good thing," he said, cheerfully. "The Captain, here, has been making soundings and says there is good holding ground."
"That's all I will say, though," put in the yachtsman. "It's not a harbor. You're exposed here to every wind that blows!"
"You mean I'd have to build a breakwater?" Owens queried.
"Probably, if you want smooth water for handling cargoes. But I doubt if you could manage it. The winter ice would chew your breakwater all to bits. There's five months of open water, anyway, and the summer months are not so stormy."
"I wouldn't try to build a breakwater!" Owens burst out. "How would I get men and materials up here?"
The "Wizard" winked at Jim, who was growing restive.
"Wait till we get Owens ashore and start on the gold," he whispered. "I've seen these backers get cold feet before, when they hit this northern country for the first time. They're the worst to hold back, often, after they once get going."
But Jim was thoroughly dissatisfied. There was more than a little likelihood that the old prospector would make some scornful remark, for he was in his own land now, and had all a "sour-dough's" contempt for a "tenderfoot." But Jameine's hand was on his arm and he obeyed the warning pressure.
The little motor-launch was lowered from the davits, with every member of the party aboard. None of the sailors was taken, for Jim did not want to run any risk of strangers taking up claims. The "Wizard" ran the engine, and the yachtsman took the helm.
One piece of mechanism, small but very heavy, was lowered into the boat. It sank her low in the water, but it belonged to the "Wizard" and he was not the kind of man whose acts any one would question. Picks, shovels, sledge-hammers, wedges, and dynamite were included in the cargo. Thus heavily loaded, the boat reached the shore, Jim pointing out the landing-place. It was not so easy to land as the Wizard had suggested. It was necessary to wade through the sponge-ice, churned up the shore, Jameine being carried in the huge arms of the, "Wizard."
The snow on the island was almost knee-deep,but, except Owens, none of the party minded. Jameine was the gayest of all.
"Lead on to the millions, Uncle Jim!" she cried.
But the old prospector made the girl take his arm.
"We'll git there fust, together!" he declared.
A few minutes tramping brought them to a depression in the snow.
"Here's the old glory-hole (an open pit, not a shaft), an' nobody's been here!" he announced triumphantly. He grabbed pickaxe and shovel and slithered in, with the confidence of a man who knew every inch of the ground.
A few scoops of the shovel cleared away the snow.
Below, though overgrown with dry weeds of many seasons' growing, were the infallible signs of human handiwork. Even the old sluice was there, though fallen to pieces.
The others crowded around the glory-hole. The moment of test had come.
"Here, 'Wizard'," said Jim, when he had exposed the workings, "there's where I was pannin' last. Jump in an' take a look."
The expert, despite his years, leaped in lightly.He took the pick from Jim's hand, and, with a few vigorous strokes, loosened some of the gravel. He scrutinized it carefully, first with the naked eye, and then with a strong pocket lens.
"Well?" asked Jim, impatiently.
"Where are the other prospects?" The "Wizard's" kindly tone had vanished. He was now a mining expert, at his work. Personalities had faded. Geological questions, only, had weight.
Silently Jim led him up the slope, Jameine and Clem following.
Despite the veiling snow, the old prospector located hole after hole with unfailing accuracy, until seven had been found and examined. The last one was half-way up the cliff.
At each prospect the "Wizard" loosened a small handful of gravel, examined it carefully and put it in a small buckskin bag, pencilling each bag in order. His expression changed not at all; he bore the true Western "poker face."
"What overlies this gravel?" he asked abruptly.
"Slate," said Jim.
"Let's see it!"
They climbed upwards.
On arriving at the stratum which lay above thegravel, dipping down at a sharp slope, the expert examined carefully the carbonaceous slate of which it was composed.
"We'll go back, now," he said at last.
But he expressed no opinion.
"What do you think of it, Mr. Juneau?" queried Owens, when the four climbers returned to the glory-hole. His tone seemed to suggest that he half hoped for an unfavorable answer.
"I'll tell you presently," was the non-committal answer.
Then he turned to the prospector.
"Show me that lignite outcrop, now!"
"Kick the snow away with your feet!" answered Jim, curtly.
Every one kicked vigorously. Under the snow was a thin layer of soil, and, below that, not more than two inches beneath the surface, was the brown-black gleam of a low-grade lignite. Owens broke off a piece from the outcrop and his expression cleared slightly. Certainly Jim's statement about the coal was justified, though it was of too low-grade a quality to be worth exportation; possibly his story about the gold might prove to be true, also.
Then the "Wizard," still without a word whichmight be construed either as hopeful or as discouraging, brought from the boat the heavy piece of machinery. He fitted it with a handle and bade Otto turn. The machine proved to be a small but very powerful crushing-mill, so devised that the hardest quartz could be ground to powder by hand. Besides which, it contained within itself, some modern devices for separating out the gold.
Bag after bag of the decisive seven was poured in, ground to dust, and passed through the separating riffles. Each of these riffles had a self-cleaning device. The expert weighed the gravel before grinding, weighed the scrapings of the riffles, and made careful notes on the results of each batch. All was done in utter silence.
Jim, the true prospector, who had often seen wealth or poverty decided by the twirl of a pan, stood immovable. If he were worried, he did not show it. Jameine, on the other hand, was trembling and white.
At last, the "Wizard," note-book in hand, turned to give his decision.
"Judging from a direct crushing and separating process, without the use of mercury," he said, "this gravel ought to give about six-dollars'-worth of gold to the ton. With mercury, perhaps two or three more dollars' worth can be extracted, and another couple of dollars by cyaniding. The gravel is soft and can be hydraulicked, during the summer. The gold is coarse and easy to separate. The quartz pebbles will yield more than enough to be worth crushing, but just how much is indeterminate.
"That's not rich! By itself, or in the interior, the deposit might not be worth working. But with lignite right on the ground, to make steam both for running the machinery and for steam thawing points, and with a pumping plant using heated sea water for hydraulicking, there ought to be a net profit of about three dollars a ton."
The news was received in silence, each voyager occupied with his own viewpoint of the decision.
Clem was the first to speak.
"We've come a long way to get three dollars!" said he, with an attempt at jocularity.
Anton grinned assent. Like Clem, he knew nothing about gold-mining.
Otto waited, well aware that the final result lay between Owens, Juneau and Jim.
It was Jameine, with her book-knowledge of mining, who put the vital question.
"How many tons do you estimate there may be in the deposit, Mr. Juneau?"
"Impossible to say, exactly, especially when the island is masked under snow. But the prospects have been carefully chosen. They suggest about four hundred thousand tons in sight, and probably a good deal more. The gravel is an early Tertiary deposit, lying between two beds of carbonaceous slate, the lower of which is lignitic. Judging from the strike of the beds, the gold-bearing gravel runs down under the sea."
"Then," said the girl, slowly, "if there are four hundred thousand tons in sight, which would yield a net profit of three dollars a ton, you figure on over a million dollars, clear?"
"If modern machinery is put in and the mine is run on a business basis, I should say at least that. Possibly more!"
There was a burst of excited exclamations from all sides.
Every one turned to Jim, who was looking out across the sea toward Alaska.
"Bull, old pardner," he said softly, "I reckon I've made good for your little gal!"
By July, Chukalook Bank was humming with noise. The clank of machinery, the pounding of stamp mills, and the grinding smash of giant jets of water driven from hydraulic nozzles, set vibrating the tiny islands on the borders of the Arctic Ocean.
The terns and gulls, driven from their century-old refuge, circled over the little spot of land with shrill cries and fled to nest on Ingalook; polar bears, who, in other seasons, had found a dinner of fat seal on Chukalook, swam toward the island from floating cakes of ice, and then retreated hurriedly; the sea otter, shyest of all the fur-bearing creatures of the world, sped to more isolated haunts.
The island itself was melting like a snowbank beneath a summer sun. A three-inch jet of water, immeasurably more powerful than the forceful spout that hisses from a fire-engine hose,roared vengefully night and day against the gravel bank, and ate away the hill.
The never-ceasing torrent of gravel and boulders, mingled with the water, rattled and rumbled downwards with the force of the current into a massive sluice. The bottom of this sluice was constructed of paving blocks, crossed with copper-plated riffles of tremendous strength, on which not less than two tons of mercury had been placed.
Thus considered, the installation of the Bull Mine—as Jim insisted that it should be called—was but a simple miners' sluice on an enormous scale. It was the same device as that which Jim's father and his partners were working on the Carson River when the Comstock Lode was discovered, save that the hydraulic jet performed all the work of digging and shoveling the pay dirt into the sluice.
Shortly before reaching the sea, however, the works became more complicated. The "Wizard" and Owens—one with Arctic and the other with Australian and South African experience—had arranged a system of separating the gold bearing gravel from the bowlders, and, later, the unproductive material from that which contained theprecious metal. The smaller, gold-bearing part was washed into the stamp-mills, which worked incessantly, and which reduced pebbles and grit and sand and gold to a pasty slime. This, in turn, was led to cyanide tanks. Thus every particle of the gold was extracted.
Hydraulicking was not altogether new to Jim. He had seen it done on a giant scale, as in California during the seventies, when huge reservoirs and mile-long canals were built at a cost of many millions. Vast works these, belonging to a short and strange era of mining, immense constructions, now lying ruined and abandoned in the deserts of their own making.
That was before the farmers and fruit-growers of California had succeeded, in 1884, in securing the passage of a law to prevent "slicking," as hydraulicking was termed. It was time! Vast stretches of territory were being reduced to chaos by the appalling havoc which follows hydraulic operations on a large scale.
Many rivers were entirely choked by debris from the crumbled mountains and spread their waters in destructive floods. On one small stream alone, the Lower Yuba, over 16,000 acres of high-grade farm lands were reduced to a condition which anofficial investigator for the state declared "could not have been surpassed by tornado, flood, earthquake, and volcano combined."