"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.