CHAPTER VII

THE GOLD FEVER

Four travel-weary looking boys stood on the hurricane deck of the steamer _Arctic_ just landed at St. Michael's Island which lies somewhat below the Arctic circle and close to the mouth of the great river Yukon. We spoke of the boys as standing, but that was incorrect, rather they were sitting, with legs swinging, on the deck of the motor boat _Rambler_, looking down at the strange scene going on below them. From one gang plank the _Arctic's_ passengers were pushing out eagerly to reach the shore, while up the other gang plank was struggling a line of curious humanity.

"Whew, if that's what the gold-seeker gets to be like, then I don't want to be one," declared a boy gloomy looking, unless something exciting was going on around him. "Gee, they are a ghastly looking sight. See how some faces are disfigured by frost bites, and those others at the foot of the plank, notice how pale and wan their faces are, and notice the lines of suffering on them. Famine all winter I'll bet caused that. See those three fellows coming up now, two with only one arm and one with one leg, been frozen or broken in accidents on the ice. Right behind them are two nearly dead with the scurvy; you can see the marks from here."

"Well, maybe they have been well paid for their sufferings, Case," observed Alex, whose good-humored, freckled face was always cheerful. "They'll most of them get well quick as soon as they get to the States and get proper food and medicine."

"They don't look as though they make much money," observed Ike, the Jew boy, dubiously. "Most of them has on rags and the best of them I could fit out better in a cheap second-hand shop."

"You can't tell a man by his clothes," said Clay, the fourth boy, who was looking over at the distant town of Nome, a cluster of tents and rough shanties on the mainland.

"You're right there," said a voice behind them and the four wheeled around to find the captain of the steamer standing behind them. "No, you can't judge those men by their looks or clothes. That fellow in rags has a claim up near Dawson that has turned him out over two million already. He wants a change. His folks have a kind of a farm up in the States. He'll go there and lay around under the trees for a while and then drift back. That big man next to him is one of the richest miners in the north. He'll go out for a month perhaps, spend a quarter of a million having what he calls a good time, then he'll drift back. Maybe more than half of that crowd coming on board have made good stakes. Of the balance most are tenderfeet, who have simply got cold feet and have given up the game. But, boys, three-fourths of that crowd will be back in a year. I can't understand it myself, but there is a lure to this Northland that seems to draw men back to her in spite of the awful punishments she gives. But all this isn't what I came to see you about, boys. I wanted to say that we can lower your boat down any time, but its pretty rough now so I would advise you to wait until tomorrow."

"Thank you, Captain," said Clay, after a questioning glance at his companions. "We thank you very much, but we have been delayed so much on the journey that we have got to hustle to see much of the Yukon before the ice sets in. We want to see Nome this afternoon, and tomorrow begins our trip up the Yukon. I am sure the _Rambler_ can ride those waves--she has gone over much bigger ones in her time. If the slings are placed right so that she will hit the water evenly, she will be all right."

"All right, boys," smiled the Captain. "Have your own way about it. Good-bye, and I hope it will be our fortune to go back on the same boat in the fall. I'll send the boatswain right up to fix the slings. He's an artist at that kind of work. We will have your boat in the water in a jiffy."

He was gone but a moment when the boastswain appeared and with deft fingers adjusted the slings. At a signal the steamer's big crane, hoisted high, swung in over their heads. The boys clambered aboard the _Rambler_ and took their places--Case at the wheel, Clay at the motors, and Alex and Ike at the slings ready to cast off when the time came.

The big crane lifted them over the rail, held them poised for a minute, then lowered them gently down into the rough water below. The moment the slings slacked, Ike and Alex cast off the iron hooks that connected them to the crane. Clay started the motors, Case swung the wheel around, and the _Rambler_--like a bird freed from captivity--darted away, followed by the cheers of the steamer's crew.

Alex danced up and down the deck, while the others could hardly refrain from joining him in their joy at being once more afloat on their beloved craft.

Case headed the _Rambler_ for the straggling village. The little motor boat rode the sea valiantly and by mid-afternoon they were safely moored in the lea of a short pier running out from the beach. "Alex, you and Case run out and take in the sights while Ike and I stay by the boat," Clay said. "We had not ought to leave the _Rambler_ alone with all her valuable cargo. As soon as you get through with your sight-seeing, come back again and give Ike and me a chance. Better take Captain Joe and Teddy Bear with you. They need a walk after their long confinement. The two eagerly obeyed and Alex led Teddy away with Captain Joe at his heels.

An ancient looking prospector who had been sitting on a wharf post and who had been listening to the boys' conversation with unabashed interest, got up and strolled over to where they were sitting.

"Chekakos, ain't you?" He questioned laconically. "Young ones, too, at that."

"We're young, all right," Clay admitted with a smile, "but we don't exactly know what you mean by 'chekakos.'"

"Old timers' name for a greenhorn or tenderfoot. I knowed you was greenhorns from the States as soon as I laid eyes on you," he continued. "Your faces haven't been painted with lines and scars yet by old North now; then, too, I heard you talk, and that showed you didn't know the region around the Arctic. You can leave your boat alone with the cabin unlocked at any miner's camp and nothing will be touched. We hang thieves on mighty slim evidence up here. It's a worse crime here than killing. Run on and see the town if you want to. No one will bother your boat."

Clay was convinced by the rugged honesty of the miner's face.

"Come on, Ike," he called. "Let's go and stretch our legs for a while and see what Nome looks like. Slip your automatic in your pocket. One always needs one when they haven't got it. Hurry up, perhaps we can catch up with the boys. They haven't been gone long." But although they hastened their pace, they could not catch sight of Alex and Case. At last they gave up the attempt to find them and turned their attention to the busy scene around them. Everywhere upon little plots of ground heaps of dirt were being reared skyward from holes in which brawny men in their short-sleeves toiled with shovels and hoisting-pails; the whole place looked like a grouping of ant hills.

The boys paused beside several of these holes and watched the steady labor of digging and hoisting. Every man appeared to be working so against time that the boys did not want to butt in with questions. At one hole, however, they found a great giant of a man clad in overalls who was handling a bucket. He greeted them cordially with a demand for the latest news from the States.

"Yes, these claims are rich, but gold ain't all in life," he said in answer to Clay's questions. "I used to figure out if I was only rich I'd be happy, but that thar hole holds a million dollars apiece for me and my partners and I don't feel happy. Seem like I'd give it all now to think that I'd been kinder to mother and sister when they were alive or had tried to help dear old dad when he was struggling to find clothes and food for us all. Hold on a minute," he said, as the boys started to bid him good-bye. "I never let a stranger off my claim without a souvenir, so to speak." He gathered up a miner's pan almost full of the fresh gravel and taking it down to a little running stream and filling the pan, tipped it up on edge, and gave it a peculiar whirling motion which sent the sand and gravel out over the edge. This was repeated several times and then he extended the pan out for their view. In its bottom lay fine flakes of yellow and resting upon them as upon a bed glistened eight nuggets varying in size from a grain of corn to a small marble. "Take them and you can have them made into scarf pins as a reminder of the trip when you get back home. No, no, thanks. Just take them and run along. I've got to get to work."

Ike eyed the gold with a calculating eye. "I bet that gold's worth $20.00 he said. Suppose we stop and talk to some of the other men what hoists the buckets. Perhaps they give souvenirs too."

"Not much, I guess," laughed Clay. "That man's an exception; all are too busy to waste time on strangers." He stopped at the next claim to inquire if anything had been seen of two boys, a dog and a grizzly. The man scratched his gravel splashed hair. "Yep, I did see a bear some time ago. He was licking it for town in a hurry. He had a rope dragging behind him so I reckon he was some one's pet. A little after a boy, all covered with gravel and mud, passed a-running, an' I made up my mind he was the bear's owner. Didn't see no dog or other boy."

"Let's make for town as fast as our legs will carry us," Clay said. "Alex has had trouble with Teddy and no telling how it will end. I wonder how he got separated from Case. I never intended for him to be on shore alone. He always gets into trouble."

A few minutes of running brought them to the edge of the town, which consisted of one main street bordered on each side by long ramshackle buildings or dug-outs. Every building seemed to be a dance hall, saloon, or gambling den; often one building seemed to combine all three. The din of pianos and the harsh discord floated out on the street, disgusting the two boys who had carefully kept away from unclean things.

They hurried down one side of the street and back on the other side without catching sight of either of the missing ones. "I wonder what could have become of them," Clay repeated for the twentieth time. He stopped by a man sitting in a doorway and inquired of him if he had seen anything of the boy and bear.

"Sure, they are both in the Golden Nugget, that saloon over there, where so much noise comes from. It's a tough place and y'd better get your partner out of there right away. Wait a second till I get my belt and gun an I'll walk over there with you. I know most of the fellows and may be able to save you trouble." It took the man but a moment to buckle on his heavy belt, laden with cartridges and two long barreled Colts. Then he led the way across to the cheaply-gaudy saloon. As he flung open the door a curious sight greeted the boys' eyes. Leaning against the bar with the air of an old toper, his head tipped to one side and his mouth parted in a silly grin, was Teddy, his eyes fixed on a pail of beer the bartender had drawn and which, when full, he set before the bear.

Alex, in the far corner, tears of sheer rage in his eyes, was pulling with all his strength and repeating commands for him to come away. He had not noticed the entrance of the boys. Suddenly he dropped the rope and his hand sought his coat pocket.

"Look here, you fellows," he called, his eyes flashing through his tears. "That's my bear and I want you to leave him alone. Don't give him another drink; why, he's getting as drunk as some of these men and he hasn't got much more sense than they have when he's this way. He would not be in here if you hadn't coaxed him in with sugar and got him to boxing and drinking beer. Now stop it, cut it out and cut it out quick."

"What are you going to do about it, my young bantam," sneered the bartender.

"That's simple," said Alex, in steady tones. "I'm going to shatter that mirror. I've heard one was worth $2,500.00 up here. Then those rows of bottles on the shelves--I've seen you sell some at $10.00 per bottle--that I think will about pay for Teddy."

"What do you think I'll be doing all that time," sneered the bartender.

"You'll be smiling sweetly and holding up your hands as high as you can get them," came the cool retort; "otherwise I might take you for an enlarged whiskey bottle and make a mistake in my shooting. Stop!" he cried, as the bartender reached under the bar.

"It's time to interfere," said the stranger by Clay's side.

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