SAVED FROM THE MOB
"What do you know about that gold mine?" Johnny asked, turning an
inquiring eye on Iyok-ok, whom Johnny now strongly suspected of being a
Japanese and a member of the Mikado's secret service as well.
"Which mine?" Iyok-ok smiled good-naturedly as he blinked in the
sunlight. It was the morning after Johnny's battle with the Russian.
"Are there others?"
"Seven mines."
"Seven! And all of them rich as the one we were in yesterday?"
The boy shrugged his shoulders.
"Some much richer," he declared.
"How long has the world known of this wealth?"
"Never has known. A few men know, that's all. The old Czar, he knew,
but would let no one work the mines. Just at the last he said 'Yes.'
Then they hurried much machinery over here, but it was too late. The
Czar--well, you know he is dead now, but they have their machinery here
still."
"Who are 'they'?" asked Johnny with curiosity fully aroused.
"American. I know. Can't tell. Worked for them once. Promise never
tell."
Johnny wrinkled his brow but did not press the matter.
"But this Russia, the Kamchatkan Peninsula?" Iyok-ok continued. "Whom
does it belong to now? Can you tell me that?"
Johnny shook his head.
"Neither can They tell. If They knew, and if They knew it was safe to
come back and mine here, when the world has so great need of gold, you
better believe They would come and mine, But They do not know; They do
not know." The boy pronounced the last words with an undertone of
mystery. "Sometime I will know. Then I--I will tell you, perhaps."
"Where's the machinery?" asked Johnny.
"Up the river. Wanta see it?"
"Sure."
They hurried away up the frozen river and in fifteen minutes came upon a
row of low sheds. The doors were locked, but to his great surprise
Johnny discovered that his companion had the keys.
They were soon walking through dark aisles, on each side of which were
piled parts of mining machines of every description, crushers, rollers,
smelters and various accessories connected with quartz mining. Mingled
with these were picks, pans, steam thawers, windlasses, and great piles
of sluice timber. All these last named were for mining placer gold.
"Quartz too?" asked Johnny.
"Plenty of quartz," grinned Iyok-ok. "Come out here, I will show you."
They stepped outside. The boy locked the door, then led his companion up
a steep slope until they were on a low point commanding a view of the
village below and a rocky cliff above.
"See that cliff?" asked Iyok-ok. "Plenty of gold there. Pick it out with
your pen knife. Rich! Too rich."
"Then this Peninsula is as rich as Alaska?"
"Alaska?" Iyok-ok grinned. "Alaska? What shall I say? Alaska, it is a
joke. Think of the great Lena River! Great as the Yukon. Who knows what
gold is deposited in the beds and banks of that mighty stream? Who knows
anything about this wonderful peninsula? The Czar, he has kept it
locked. But now the Czar is dead. The key is lost. Who will find it?
Sometime we will see."
The boy was interrupted by wild shouts coming from the village. As their
eyes turned in that direction, Johnny and Iyok-ok beheld a strange
sight. The entire village had apparently turned out to give chase to one
man. And, down to the last child, they were armed. But such strange
implements of warfare as they carried! All were relics of by-gone days;
lances, walrus harpoons, bows and arrows, axes, hammers and many more.
As Johnny watched them, he remembered having been told by an old native
that during and after the great war these people had been unable to
procure a sufficient supply of ammunition and had been obliged to resort
to ancient methods of hunting. These were the bow and arrow, the lance
and the harpoon. Powerful bows, of some native wood, shot arrows tipped
with cunningly tempered bits of steel. The drawn and tempered barrel of
a discarded rifle formed a point for the long-shafted lance. The
harpoon, most terrible of all weapons, both for man and beast, was a
long wooden shaft with a loose point attached to a long skin rope. Once
five or six of these had been thrown into the body of a great white bear
or some offending human he was doomed to die a death of agonizing
torture; his body being literally torn to pieces by the drag upon the
strong skin ropes, fastened to the steel points imbedded in his flesh.
Now it seemed evident that for some misdeed one member of the tribe had
been condemned to die. As Johnny stood there staring, the whole affair
seemed so much like things he had seen done on the screen, that he found
it difficult to realize that this was an actual tragedy, being enacted
before his very eyes.
"They do it in the movies," he said.
"Yes," his companion agreed, "but here they will kill him. We must hurry
to help him."
"Who is he?"
"Don't you see? The Russian."
"Oh!" sighed Johnny. "Let 'em have him. He deserves as much from me,
probably deserves more from them."
"No! No! No!" Iyok-ok protested, now very much excited. "That will never
do. We must save him. They think he's from the Russian Government. Think
he will demand their furs and carry them away. They mistake. They will
kill him. Your automatic! We must hurry. Come."
Johnny found himself being dragged down the hill. As he looked below, he
realized that his companion was right. The man was doomed unless they
interfered. Already skillful archers were pausing to shoot and their
arrows fell dangerously near the fugitive.
"Now, from here," panted Iyok-ok. "Your automatic. Shoot over their
heads. They will stop. I will tell them. They will not kill him."
Johnny's hand went to his automatic, but there it rested. These natives?
What did he have against them that he should interrupt them in the
chase? And this Russian, what claim did he have on him that he should
save his life? None, the answer was plain. And yet, here was this boy,
to whom he had grown strangely attached, begging him to help save the
Russian. A strange state of affairs, for sure.
Toward them, as he ran, the Russian turned a white, appealing face. To
them came ever louder and more appalling the cry of the excited natives.
Now an arrow fell three feet short of its mark. And now, a stronger arm
sent one three yards beyond the man, but a foot to one side. The whole
scene, set as it was in the purple shadows and yellow lights of the
north-land, was fascinating.
But the time had come to act.
"Well, then," Johnny grunted, whipping out his automatic, "for your sake
I'll do it."
Three times the automatic barked its vicious challenge. The mob paused
and waited silently.
Out of this silence there came a voice. It was the voice of Iyok-ok by
Johnny's side. Through cupped hands, he was speaking calmly to the
natives. His words were a jumble of Eskimo, Chukche and pidgen-English,
but Johnny knew they understood, for, as the speech went on, he saw
them drop their weapons, then one by one pick them up again to go
shuffling away.
Johnny looked about for the Russian. He had disappeared.
"Now what did you do that for?" he asked his companion.
"Can't tell now," Iyok-ok answered slowly. "Sometime, mebbe. Not now.
Azeezruk nucky, that's all."
He paused and looked away at the hills; then turning, extended his hand.
"Anyway, I thank you very, very much I thank you."
With that they made their way toward the village and the sea, which,
packed and glistening with ice, reflected all the glories of the
gorgeous Arctic sunset.
Three hours later Iyok-ok put his head in at Johnny's igloo and said:
"One hour go."
"North?" asked Johnny.
"North."
"You go?"
"Eh-eh."
"Jap girl go?"
"Eh-eh."
"East Cape? Behring Strait?"
"Mebbe." With a smile, the boy was gone.
"Evidently the Russian is on the move again," Johnny observed to
himself. "Wonder what he intends to do about his diamonds? Well, anyway,
that proves that the gold mines are not his goal."
As Johnny dug into his pack for a dry pair of deer skin stocks, he
discovered that his belongings had been tampered with.
"The Russian," he decided, "evidently hasn't forgotten his diamonds."