Francis Rolt-Wheeler

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 the precious 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 an official investigator for the state declared "could not have been surpassed by tornado, flood, earthquake, and volcano combined."

Hydraulicking in Colorado.

The "Snowstorm Placer," a typical modern pay-gravel plant.

From "The Business of Mining," by A.J. Hoskins. J.B. Lippincott & Co.

Before the farmers had succeeded in stopping the hydraulic miners, a stretch of land, larger than all the territory devastated by the World War, was rendered a hideous desolation forever incapable of settlement. Ten years of hydraulicking had brought more than $150,000,000 in gold dust to the mining interests, but had caused a perpetual damage that ten times that sum could not repay.

In every civilized country, to-day, hydraulicking is forbidden, except on a small scale. It is only permitted in such cases and under such conditions that the mining company can dispose of the tailings without injury to property holders further down the stream.

The "gold ship" has taken the place of the hydraulic jet and the sluice. It is a weird device! It is nothing more or less than a dredge, floating in a lake of water—maybe in the middle of a desert—which, as it moves along, moves its own lake with it. It dredges, washes, and separates hundreds of tons of sand or gravel with the same water in which it floats, using the water over and over again. By law, the tailings which it leaves behind must be leveled, soil placed thereon and either grass or trees planted. Thus the gold ship advances over dry land, chewing its own way forward, and remaking the land it leaves behind.

On Chukalook Bank, however, hydraulicking was permissible. There were no farm lands to be spoiled. There were no rivers to be choked up. The tailings and the refuse could do no harm. On the contrary, by employing the forces of the current descending in the sluice, the "Wizard" operated a narrow-gauge tramway on an endless chain, and the tailings were emptied into cars which ran out to sea, making their own land as they went. The cars had a dumping device, and needed but one man to tip them. Thus little by little, a natural breakwater crept out seawards, forming a harbor in which ships could ride in safety.

As the "Wizard" had anticipated, Owens had become as enthusiastic after the value of the mine had been demonstrated as he had been coldly critical before. The lure of gold caught him anew, and he invested capital freely. He was an excellent business man and a good judge of men. Besides paying Juneau a large salary as superintendent and mine engineer, he had shrewdly put several shares of stock in the "Wizard's" name, thus ensuring his most hearty support.

Moreover, Owens had learned to appreciate Jameine. He had found out that the girl had taken courses in the business side of mine management as well as in the technical branches, and though her knowledge was theoretical only, it was sound. With her he could discuss detailed questions of book-keeping and the like, which only annoyed the mining expert. Accordingly, Owens appointed Jameine his personal representative, thus securing Jim's loyalty forever. This done, he returned to his coal mine in Ohio, leaving the "Wizard" in charge.

Otto had been made foreman, and, though he constantly related to the men under him how different were the ways of coal-mines, he was inordinately proud of his position. He was able to do that most important of all things in mine labor—to keep the workmen satisfied at their work without raising wages to the point where profit ceases.

Anton, despite his first objection to the country, had become a hero-worshipper of Jim. He had a new ambition. He desired, above all things, to reach the sublime height of being regarded as a "sour-dough." The boy had shown a certain natural quickness for mechanics, and, while on the yacht, had chummed up with the wireless operator of the Bunting. Capt. Robertson, on his second trip, had brought with him a small wireless outfit, which the operator installed on the highest point of Chukalook and taught Anton to handle.

Clem took the place of assistant to the "Wizard." His small knowledge of geology—though it was mainly of coal seams—was of service, and the young fellow was quick to learn. But the principal attraction to him, on the island, was "Bull's little gal."

Jim was the life and soul of the mine. He was here, there, and everywhere. The workmen, especially those who were "sour-doughs" themselves, found a keen pleasure in the thought that a man like themselves had thus made good. It fed the fuel of hope which flames so brilliantly in the Frozen North.

A typical gold prospector, all the complicated machinery of his own mine meant little to him. Jameine understood it all and did her best to explain it to him, but Jim could not be persuaded to take an interest in it.

One day he turned his back on the works. With pick, shovel, and pan, he set off to the other side of the island, where the little creek ran, and where he had first panned gold on Chukalook, before he began prospecting the gravel. Once more, from early morning to late evening, he dug and panned as of old. Each night he returned triumphantly with half a handful of gold dust as the fruit of his day's toil.

Jameine did not have the heart to point out to him that, with the Bull Mine running at full blast, his share of the profits brought him more wealth in an hour than did a week's laborious panning of the sands of the little creek. She knew that Jim could have no greater happiness than, at the end of the day's work, to add a few more grains of gold dust to the growing heap that rested, in a bowl, openly exposed, on a rough table in her tiny sitting room.

But this peaceful exploitation of Chukalook was not to continue uninterruptedly.

One morning, the smoke of a good-sized steamer was seen on the horizon. She came, not from the direction of Ingalook, as the Bunting and the supply steamers came, but from the Russian island to the south-west.

Jim, busily panning on the creek, was the first to see her. He dropped his tools and hurried to the power house.

"There's trouble coming, 'Wizard'!" he said briefly, and pointed to the steamer.

"You mean she's Russian? It's likely enough, then," was the grave reply. "Though I don't know that they can do much."

"They chucked me off here, once!" the old prospector remarked, revengefully.

"They'll have their hands full doing it a second time! Counting all the workmen, we've a pretty strong gang here, Jim. And most of the men would fight."

The steamer drew nearer, and the mining expert went into the house for his field-glasses.

Presently she was close enough for the glass to reveal an unusually large number of men on her deck. There was a more sinister omen still—a six-inch gun in her bow!

"A converted cruiser! H'm, this looks serious, Jim! Send Anton here, on the run."

The boy came instantly.The "Wizard" shot out his orders.

"Get to the mess-tent as quick as you know how and grab some food. Get a gun and some ammunition. Then climb up to the wireless station right away. If I blow one blast on the engine-house whistle, don't pay any attention. If there are two long blasts, you can come back. But if you hear a succession of short, sharp blasts, be sure you start sending, and keep on sending!"

Anton, keenly at attention, answered,

"What shall I send?"

"The S.O.S., first. Then the code signal for the Revenue Cutter Bear—you know it, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then send—'Americans in peril, Chukalook' and give the latitude and longitude. You'll find that written down just inside the cover of the International Code Book. I put it there in case of need. Repeat the S.O.S., the code number and the message until you get a reply."

"And if I don't get a reply?"

"Keep on sending."

"Until when?"

"Until you're shot down, if necessary!""Very well, Mr. Juneau. You can count on me."

"I know I can, my boy. Now—hurry!"

The suspicious steamer came nearer and turned the corner of the newly made breakwater. As she dropped her anchor, she displayed the flag of the Eastern Siberian Republic, at that time in the hands of the Bolsheviks.

"We've some 'sour-doughs' in the plant," suggested Jim. "If there's goin' to be trouble, they'll be lookin' for front seats. Shall I get 'em here?"

"You might as well. They can bring their shooting-irons, too."

Jim was not long gone. When he returned, he brought ten men at his heels, all of the Roaring North breed. Most of them held posts of trust in some part of the Bull Mine plant and all were ready to stand by Jim through thick and thin.

The "Wizard's" address to the men was brief.

"Russian 'claim-jumpers,' I reckon," he said, pointing to the steamer. "If they're looking for trouble, they'll get it. We'll parley first, and if necessary, shoot afterwards. No one touches his gun till Jim fires. That's orders. Do you get it?"The men nodded. Like most of their kind, they were chary of speech and the word "claim-jumper" means to a miner what the word "horse-thief" meant to the cowboy. There was no need to say more.

The men had gathered none too soon. A boat had put out from the steamer and was drawing close to shore. There were a dozen sailors aboard in a nondescript imitation of the Russian naval uniform, but armed with modern rifles. An officer was in the stern.

On reaching the landing-place, the officer leaped ashore, followed by the armed guard.

"Who owns this mine?" he demanded in good English.

"An American syndicate," the "Wizard" answered briefly.

"And who is in charge here?"

"I am."

"In that case, I am instructed to notify you that you are occupying Siberian territory."

"That," responded the "Wizard" curtly, "is either a geographical error or a deliberate lie."

The officer made a gesture towards his hip, evidently forgetting the sword at his side, a movement which both Jim and the "Wizard" noted.

"Sir!" he began.

"This island," the "Wizard" continued, ignoring the interruption, "is a few seconds more than forty minutes of a degree east of the international boundary. Observations of the most precise character have been taken by Captain Robertson of the Bunting and were duly recorded at Washington more than two months ago."

The officer seemed taken aback at this definite declaration, but maintained his position firmly.

"This is Siberian territory," he repeated. "I have orders to confiscate whatever gold may have been extracted, and to take possession of the plant, as it stands, in the name of my government."

"If you try it, you'll get shot," was the terse reply.

"You would fire on an officer of—"

Jim cut in, dryly.

"I'll fire on an American navy deserter, any time," he said, making a shrewd guess at the character of the intruder, "an' it won't worry my conscience none. What's more, I'll put a bullet through a claim-jumper, whenever I feel like it."

The self-styled Siberian felt that he was getting the worse of the argument, and his temper rose.

"Enough talk! I have received information that you are gold-mining on Eastern Siberian territory. You are hereby notified that the mine is confiscated. All those in authority will come aboard the cruiser Mir as prisoners. You will be taken to the mainland for trial. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to prove your observations as to longitude, there!" he sneered.

"Is the Eastern Siberian Republic at war with the United States?" queried the "Wizard" with dangerous quietness.

"That does not concern you! Deliver me, at once, the keys and working maps of the mine."

"No!"

Jim added a western retort that roused the deserter to a livid fury. He answered viciously,

"We've a six-inch gun aboard that can blow your works to splinters!"

"And then?"

"We'll come ashore and take possession. It won't do you any good to ask for mercy, then!"

The "Wizard" stepped forward, his giant frame towering above the intruder.

"This parley is over!" he thundered. "I declare you pirates, and give you five minutes to get yourselves off this island!

"Jim, get your watch out! If there's one of these scoundrels on shore at the end of that time, shoot! If any one of them makes a hostile move, shoot! And shoot to kill!"

He turned to the supposed Siberian.

"As for you, you'd better be the first one in the boat! Every one of these men is a two-gun man, and I reckon you know what that means!"

The officer stood his ground, and entered upon an argument as to the rights of the case, but was cut short by Jim's crisp announcement,

"One minute gone!"

For a second or two the filibusterer hesitated, but the odds were even, twelve against twelve. Well he knew that the Americans could shoot quicker and straighter than his men, who were an undisciplined lot. He realized, also, that he would be the first to fall.

Scowling, he gave the order to retreat, amid the open murmurs of his men, who, under Bolshevist rule, considered themselves the equals of their officers.

The instant that they were embarked, the "Wizard" turned to Jim.

"We haven't many minutes to lose! That hound will open up with the gun, as soon as he reports on board.

"Get to the house as quick as you can. Rush Miss Evans and all the office crowd into No. 2 gravel pit, pronto! Shells can't reach them there."

"I'll tell the engineer to whistle to Anton. Then I'll close down the works and get the men into shelter. But we've got to act lively!"

Crisply he gave his orders to the waiting men, several of whom were grumbling because they had not been allowed to "clean up the gang" as one of them phrased it. They brightened up, however, at the prospect that there would be a fight.

Half a minute later, the whistle sent out a succession of sharp blasts, and, almost simultaneously, there came the sharp crackle of wireless from the station on the hill.A volume of Russian curses was heard coming over the water at this sound, and the rowers redoubled their efforts.

Presently, from all corners of the plant, the workers came hurrying. The last man was hardly down in the gravel pit when there came a detonation from the sea-front and a shell came whistling over.

It was not directed at the works, but at the tiny cabin on the top of the hill which held the wireless outfit. Fortunately, the cabin was partly sheltered by a rock, and, moreover, it was but a small mark to try to hit. Some twenty shells passed over the island or exploded idly on the hill before one struck the sheltering rock. The pieces screamed over the cabin, one fragment tearing a hole in the roof but doing no harm to Anton.

Truth to tell, the boy was thoroughly enjoying himself. He felt a hero. Never having seen a shot fired in earnest, he hardly realized what the effects of a shell-burst might be.

The wireless crackled on.

For two hours the bombardment continued, several pieces of shell having passed through the walls above his head. The rock protected the lower part of the cabin. Anton was crouched low over his instrument, and, as yet, the aerials were intact.

Then, suddenly, a piece of bursting shell whizzed across the wires.

Silence!

The wireless was down.

Chukalook Bank was absolutely cut off from all communication with the outside world. The men of Bull Mine must fight off the Siberian cruiser, alone.

The six-inch gun now was turned on the works, a nearer and an easier target. The power-house, the stamp-mills and the cyanide vats suffered most. A six-inch shell at close range can do an appalling amount of destruction. At the end of an hour, most of the works were in ruins. Yet shells could not destroy the gravel bank, nor damage the great sluice beyond repair.

The bombardment ceased for a few minutes.

Then four boat-loads of men put off from the cruiser, and, at the same time, the six-inch gun began anew, covering their advance.

"Let's get down to the shore an' keep 'em from landin'!" cried Jim.

But the "Wizard" held him back.

"And have our men killed for nothing? No, Jim, we've got a good trench here and can hold it. It'll cost them dear to attack."

"But they'll get all the gold from our last clean-up!"

"They won't, Uncle Jim," put in Jameine. "I opened the safe and we carried all the bags here."

"And your own little pile?"

The girl shook a little sewing-bag she was carrying, and laughed.

"I was sewing when you called me, and I only had time to throw it in here. Gold dust is all mixed up with pins and needles and things."

Jim nodded.

"You're right, 'Wizard'," he said. "This is the place we've got to hold."

"And we'd better fortify one end of it, solid, if the worst comes to the worst. Get some of the men to roll bowlders here to make a solid wall."

The boats drew up to the landing-place.

"Hand me one o' them rifles!" suggested one of the twelve men whom Jim had first chosen. "I'm good on the shoot. Them claim-jumpers is only about six hundred yards away. I can hit a runnin' rabbit, at that distance."

"Good enough," agreed the "Wizard," "if you can pot them off, so much the better. They began the trouble and they fired first. Are there any more snipers here?"

Two more of the men professed themselves to be fair shots.

Creeping out of the trench, the three snipers esconsced themselves in cover, leaving only a loophole for their rifles. Presently one, and then another rifle cracked.

Two of the invaders fell.

A volley followed. It pattered harmlessly against the bowlders where the snipers were hidden and passed high over the heads of the rest of the men, safe in the gravel-pit.

"This," said the first sniper, as he took aim and fired a second time, "is tame sport. It's too easy."

A third man fell.

The Siberians scattered. It was clear that they had little taste for this kind of thing. They found cover, and, for half an hour or more, not one showed himself.

Then a little group dashed across towards the house, evidently with the intention of pillage. The three snipers fired. One man fell, and two, evidently wounded, limped after their fellows.

Then, for hours, not a sign!Evening drew down, a foggy evening, with a mist so dense that the faint gleam of what was almost the midnight sun failed to pierce it. By eleven o'clock, it was nearly dark.

"They'll attack around midnight, likely," one of the men suggested. "Can't we make a big fire, 'Wizard'?"

"There's no wood here, Bob," the expert replied. "As for the lignite, even if we could get enough of it here without exposing ourselves, it makes such a lot of smoke that it would help them more than it would us. No, we'll have to send out scouts, though it'll be dangerous for those who go. Who'll volunteer?"

A chorus answered him, the three snipers claiming the preference.

"No," said their leader, "I can't spare you. But I'll take old-timers, that's sure!" He chose them carefully. "Now," he said, when he sent them out, "keep your ears open. Don't shoot unless you have to. If you see or hear any one coming, get back as quick as you can. It's a risk, you know!"

"Aw, 'Wizard'!" exclaimed one of them reproachfully, "you ain't talkin' to tenderfeet!""If you were a tenderfoot I wouldn't have picked you for a man's job," the leader answered, knowing well the pride of the "sour-dough." "Out with you, now, and quietly!"

An hour passed, and then one of the scouts crawled back.

"They're comin', 'Wizard'!"

The other three scouts followed in short order. The Siberians were advancing in an extended line.

"To your places, men! Jim, you and the three I named will hold the breastwork. The girl's there!"

Jim looked longingly at the edge of the gravel pit, up which the men were creeping. He was torn between his desire to be in the forefront of the battle and his eagerness to be near enough to protect Jameine. But, like all men who have really known the life of the frontier, he obeyed a leader's orders unquestioningly.

A few minutes later, out from the half-gloom and the wet fog, an irregular line of fire ran, as a hundred or more rifles cracked simultaneously. The miners responded with a scattering fire.

The Siberians were on them!The fog gave the attackers an advantage. The Americans had only the time to fire a second volley when the Siberians leaped over the edge of the gravel pit. A furious hand-to-hand conflict began, but the miners were terribly out-numbered.

Worse, infinitely worse, the attackers possessed those diabolical engines of destruction which were developed in the World War—hand grenades. These, thrown upon the frozen gravel, exploded in all directions. Into the disordered ranks of the miners, the Siberians charged with the bayonet.

Armed only with their rifles, which were useless at close range, and with six-shooters, a weapon of but short usefulness, the Americans fought a losing fight.

Yet they repulsed the first attack, but at a staggering loss. The "Wizard," seriously but not fatally wounded, was carried behind the breastwork, his last words before losing consciousness being an order to cover the shelter with flat slabs of slate, before the Siberians got near enough to throw their grenades into the little fortified space.

Jim straightened up."Good-bye, little gal, if I don't see you again!" he called. "My place is at the front, now!"

He assumed the lead.

A second attack, even more vicious than the first, followed. The miners had reloaded. Most of them had two guns, hastily snatched from dead or wounded comrades. But for the grenades, they could have more than held their own. It was not to be. When the second rush subsided, the Siberians held one end of the gravel pit. The farther end, where were Jameine and the wounded men, held firm.

There came a lull, and, from where they lurked, the defenders saw suddenly some flashes of light from around the wireless house.

"They're after Anton!" said Clem. "He's all alone, up there. We can't leave the kid!"

"Right!" agreed a couple of the men. "Let's go!"

But Jim stopped them.

"We're too few, as it is," he ordered. "Anton must take his chance. We've the girl here, the wounded, and the gold."

"He's my partner!" declared Clem, who knew the magic of the word on Jim."Me, too; I go!" declared Otto, in his most stubborn voice.

Jim hesitated. A partner's right was sacred.

"Go ahead, then," he said, "an' quick, afore the fog lifts. She's gettin' lighter, now!"

The odds were more even now. Between the barricade that the Siberians had thrown up hastily and the breastwork held by the miners, there was an open space, too wide for the throwing of the grenades. The six-shooters held it clear.

Again the Siberians rushed. Claim-jumpers they might be, but they were worthy fighters. They reached almost to the breastwork, and one man had his arm poised to throw a grenade within, when Jim leaped forward and brained him with the butt end of a pistol. For full ten minutes, it was a death-grapple, but the attackers were beaten back.

The case of the Americans was desperate. Ammunition was growing short.

Another such attack might finish them.

The Siberians, however, had suffered heavily, and, all unknowing that their foes were almost out of cartridges, refused to charge again.The faint light strengthened. The mist began to rise. Soon it would be full daylight. The miners braced themselves for what they feared might be the last shock.

Jim, bleeding from two slight wounds, held his men well together.

There came a babble of voices and then a movement behind the barricade.

The Americans stiffened.

Suddenly, a sharp shot resounded across the water, followed by a second report, evidently from a gun of different calibre.

The Siberians clambered from behind their barricade and fled.

At almost the same instant, Otto, Clem, and Anton were seen to emerge from the wireless cabin, running down the hill and shouting. The boy had his arm in a bloody sling. So far as could be seen, the others were not hurt.

Jim scrambled to the edge of the gravel-pit and looked to sea.

There, her guns trained on the filibustering cruiser Mir, the Stars and Stripes flying at her stern, lay the U.S. Revenue Cutter Bear, summoned by the wireless messages of Anton, sent while the roof over his head was being rent by shell.

Jim's strike was not to go for nought. The gold of "Bull's little gal" had welded the partnership that a coal-mine disaster had begun.

THE END

U.S. SERVICE SERIES
By FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER

Illustrations from photographs taken in work for U.S. Government

Large12mo Cloth $1.75each,net

THE BOY WITH THE U.S. SURVEY

This story describes the thrilling adventures of members of the U.S. Geological Survey, graphically woven into a stirring narrative that both pleases and instructs. The author enjoys an intimate acquaintance with the chiefs of the various bureaus in Washington, and is able to obtain at first hand the material for his books.

THE BOY WITH THE U.S. FORESTERS

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THE BOY WITH THE U.S. CENSUS

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