Riddle of the Storm

  CHAPTER XXII GREAT GOOD FORTUNE

  Which is most to be desired, thrilling adventure or great good fortune?Individuals will ever answer this question in their own way. The soldierof fortune, going from war to war throughout a long lifetime, seeks onlyadventure. Men of great wealth, shuddering at thought of anythingapproaching true adventure, lock themselves up in their caged offices tocount their gold.

  However we are to answer this question, it is necessary to state thatwhile Johnny Thompson and Curlie Carson were passing through thrillingadventures, their good friend Joyce Mills was enjoying a taste of greatgood fortune.

  The days following her father's narrow escape from the rushing river weretrying ones. Yet they were days of hope. Her father's recovery, thoughslow, seemed sure. He was a man of splendid vitality. Overtaxing laborshad partially shattered his nerves. But all his life he had fought hardbattles. This was but one more battle, and he fought it nobly.

  At the end of ten days he was able to be about the cabin a little and tosit for long hours dreaming by the fire. Then it was that for the firsttime Joyce told him the disappointing news of the test that had showedplenty of copper and nickel, but no worth-while amount of radium in hispitchblende samples.

  "I am so disappointed." Joyce's tone was very sober. "It was my hope thatwe might truly do this suffering world a great service."

  "With radium?"

  "Yes."

  "Never you mind." He placed a hand gently on her arm. "We will do it yet.If we find only gold, we will use it to buy radium for some littlehospital in some needy section of our great city."

  "Does the world need more gold?"

  "Perhaps not. But with gold we may purchase the things we and our fellowmen need. 'Ours not to reason why,'" he repeated with a strange smile.

  It was on that very evening that Lloyd Hill, the Canadian youth with thealert and restless eyes, came to the Mills' cabin. He seemed in anuncommon state of excitement.

  "Joyce," he said, coming to the point straight off, "will you do me afavor?"

  "Always. Anywhere." She laughed a strange laugh.

  "I've something to share; at least I hope I have. That is, I mean thereis a great joy or great disappointment due. Whatever it may be, I want toshare it--with you."

  "Wh--when?"

  "To-morrow."

  "Oh, all right."

  "To-morrow. Will you drive out to my diggin's? I'm going out early. Beenthawing frozen ground all day. Stuff it with dry moss. Won't freeze, notmuch. To-morrow--well, it's my big moment."

  "I--I'll come." Her voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion. She hadcaught it from him.

  "Be there at nine."

  "At nine," she repeated after him. Then he was gone.

  She slept badly that night. Sometimes she fancied she heard a voicesaying, "You find gold? Mebby yes. Mebby no." At other times she thoughtof her companions. She had not quite forgotten that all their efforts tofind gold, silver, radium were guided by films that rightly belonged toanother. No longer could she believe that one of these men had committedthe theft. She thought of Lloyd Hill's faultless world war record. Sherecalled the time Jim had saved her dogs, and that night he had talked soearnestly of religion. Most vivid of all was the memory of that hour whenher father's life had hung in the balance and Clyde Hawke had snatchedhim from the grave.

  "They couldn't have done it!" she told herself stoutly. "And yet--"

  She woke from a period of belated slumber just in time to swallow a cupof steaming coffee, hitch her dogs and go speeding away across the snow.

  When she arrived at the scene of the diggings the young prospector wasnowhere to be seen.

  "He's here somewhere," she told old Dannie, the dog leader, as she turnedhim about and tied him to the sled.

  Having passed a mound of dark earth, she approached a crude windlass whena voice coming apparently from the very earth called:

  "Is that you?"

  "Where are you?" she called back.

  "Where a miner should be. In the mud. Come to the windlass and lookdown."

  She obeyed. He was, as he explained, "drifting" along the old bed of theriver, cutting a passage toward the rocks that had formed the falls.

  "Give me a hand!" he exclaimed. "Twist the windlass. Now! Up she goes!Dump that anywhere, and lower the bucket."

  The excitement of the hour being still upon him, it did not occur to himthat the task he had set for her was little fitted to her slight form. Asfor the girl, catching his enthusiasm, she toiled on for an hour withoutapparent effort. Again and again the bucket rose; again and again heraching muscles responded to the call.

  "It's gold," she told herself. "It must be! This time we must win!"

  "Dump this bucket to one side, and the next and the next," he shouted upat last as, feeling her strength oozing away, she stood for a momenteasing her aching back. His next words, running through her being like anelectric current, gave her strength she had not known before. "These," heexplained, "may be pay-dirt. We should be nearing the pocket."

  Again the windlass creaked and groaned. Again her sore muscles respondedto her iron will. One, two, three, four, five, six buckets were added tothe fresh pile of earth.

  Then, for a time there was silence below. The cry, "Ready! Up she goes!"was slow in coming. It failed to come at all. Instead, there was a lowshout of triumph, then a call:

  "Catch!"

  Before her some shining object rose in air. With a deft hand she caughtit. Then her turn came.

  "It's gold!" Her tone, in which were mingled hope, disbelief andunbounded joy, called forth a roar of mirth from below.

  "Gold," he agreed. "Only one sizeable nugget, but gold all the same."

  "Gold!" she cried once more.

  At that moment she seemed to hear a voice say: "You find gold? Mebby yes.Mebby no."

  Did she see something stir beyond the low ridge to the right? She thoughtshe had. Dannie appeared to agree, for suddenly he rose to his feet andgrowled.

  "Gold!" She spoke more softly now. "How much gold?"

  The young Canadian did not answer. Perhaps he had not heard. With handsthat trembled he once more gripped his shovel to fill his bucket withthawed earth, that by this time ran heavy to coarse gravel. And from eachshovel-full came more than a suggestion of that yellow sand that is gold.

  "Gold!" the girl murmured again, this time very soberly. "Whose gold?"