The little Bunting, 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 his ability 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 her by 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 the Bunting many 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,8 one 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 Cutter Bear.9 I sailed on her two seasons."

"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 isolated granite 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 hot desert 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 you want 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, the Bunting shortened 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 the Bunting was 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 clear day, 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 the Bunting came 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 the gravel, 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 which might 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!"