The day following his locating of the mother-lode, Pant worked feverishly. Hardly four hours had passed when he found himself digging away the heart of the snowbank that blocked the entrance to his cave and melting it that he might wash the pans of rich gold that were now being thawed from the cavity beneath the one-time river falls.

“Going to be a rich haul,” he whispered to his dog, “richer than Mine No. 2, not so rich as No. 1, but rich enough all right. And if we can make our getaway, Oh, boy!”

Only one thing troubled him as he worked. Not having been outside at the time the blizzard was piling snow about the entrance to the cave, he could not tell the exact depth of the snowbank; could not be sure that he was not removing too much of the snow and leaving too thin a crust above.

This did not worry him greatly, however. The hard-packed snow would not crumble in easily. So he cut away at it until there was a hollow space at the mine’s entrance twenty feet long and half as wide.

Meanwhile, he was panning the pay dirt and putting it away in carefully sewed, split walrus-skin sacks. At times, he paused to rub his hands together like Midas, as he stowed away another sack on the top of a small sled which was hidden in a corner. On this sled were a sleeping-bag and a little food. When their work was completed and the gold all loaded on, he and the dog would harness themselves to this sled and steal out into the night. If they were successful in evading the Bolsheviki, the natives, and the little yellow men, they would hurry on to the south where there was a reindeer station. There he would barter his watch and other valuables for two sled deer. He would hate parting with the dog, but he could not take him with the reindeer.

The mine had been fairly stripped of its wealth and the sled loaded down with gold, when, as he drank his coffee, munched his hard biscuit, and thought things through, he was startled by a growl from the dog. The next instant there came the dull thud of falling snow-crust, followed by the jarring thump of a heavy body. A startled expression uttered in Russian brought Pant to his feet with his hand on his automatic.

Realizing that one of the Russians had blundered upon the snow above the entrance, that it had caved in with him, and that the only chance of safety was in “getting” that Russian before he made his escape, he dashed down the mine. An unfortunate step threw him to the floor. This lost him the race. On reaching the spot, he found the Russian had vanished.

“Well, old pal,” he said, addressing the dog, “that means we gotta get out, and mighty quick, too. That fellow’s not coming back alone. Bolsheviki’ll be swarming up here like bees in less time than it takes to tell it.”

He stood silent for a moment. Then he sprang into action.

“I’ve got an idea!”

Seizing the long knife from a shelving rock at the side of the entrance, he began cutting cubes of snow from the bank. Working along the edge of the rocky cliff, where the bank was thickest, he soon had a side tunnel well started. He worked with feverish haste. It was only a matter of moments until the whole Bolshevik band would be upon him. To come out into the open was to invite death. To hide away in the side cavity in the snow with his gold, to wait until they had all entered the mine, then to burrow his way out and make his escape, seemed his only hope.

When he had tunneled into the bank ten or twelve feet and hurriedly arranged some blocks for closing the opening, he raced to the back of the mine for his sled. He had just made a grab for the draw-strap, when there came a sound from the entrance.

He was trapped. They had come. His heart skipped a few beats. How many there were, he could not tell, but more than enough. He must act and act quickly, and, even so, all seemed lost. On one thing he was determined; he would not abandon the gold save as a last resort.

The dog, exercising an almost human sagacity, uttered not a single growl, but hung close to his master’s side.

Exerting all his strength, the boy threw the heavily laden sled upon his back; then, in a crouching posture, he began making his way toward the entrance. There was no light, yet he made his way without a second’s hesitation, round little piles of frozen earth and over heaps of stone and gravel. Not a rock was loosed, not a sound made by his soft, padded footsteps, as he moved swiftly along the passage.

Now he was a quarter way to the entrance, now half. No definite plan of action had entered his mind. He knew only that, in some way, he must make good his escape.

Suddenly a light flared. A match had been struck. A bearded face flickered behind it in the shadows, then another and another. There followed a steadier gleam of light.

“A candle!” the boy whispered in despair.

He shrank back into the deeper shadows. The procession of grizzled giants moved forward with caution. Soon they were twenty feet from him and then only ten. It seemed inevitable that he should be seen.

The moment for action had arrived. In his right hand was a heavy lump of frozen pay dirt. With a sure twist of the wrist he sent this crashing into the candle. Amid the curses of the men, the candle snuffed out. The next instant, there came a thundering crash. Pant had overturned a whole tier of pay dirt cubes.

In the midst of the confusion that followed, he made his escape. Scorning his snow-den, in which he was to have hidden, he scrambled out of the main entrance and, with the sled shooting on before him down the steep incline, headed straight toward the ice-blocked ocean.

It was but a matter of moments until he found himself effectually lost in the labyrinth of ice piles and up-ended cakes on that endless expanse of ice that lined the shore.

Breathing more easily, he sat down upon his sled, and, after digging into his scant food supply, opened a can of frozen beans. These he shared with his dog. Having eaten, he took up his tireless march to Vladivostok.

These things had been happening to him while his former companion, Johnny Thompson, was threading his way through the ice floes to Vladivostok. While Johnny was completing his journey and making his trading trip to the wandering city of Mongols, Pant was hurrying southward. This passage was uneventful. It so happened that, the very day on which Johnny Thompson was about to re-enter this Russian city of many dangers and mysteries after his visit to the Mongols, Pant, coming from an opposite direction, was also entering.

It will not, I am sure, seem strange that Johnny at this very time found himself longing for this companion and his protection. And, of course, since Johnny was known to have gone to Vladivostok, it will not seem strange that Pant was wondering if he would be able to locate him there.

You will observe that the “clan is gathering.” The little band for a time so widely and strangely separated are moving toward a common center, Vladivostok. Pant and Johnny are at the city gates. But Dave and Jarvis, far in the north, are only hoping. If they can get the balloon afloat and can manage the engine, Vladivostok is to be the air-port of their dreams.