There were many mysteries about this place; there was that earth-tremble that, to-night, was more noticeable than ever; there were those strange brown people who had attacked him on this very hill; there was the tiger slain that very day and skinned by Dave and Jarvis; there was the oriental chain and tag about the beast’s neck. Johnny seemed surrounded by many mysteries and great dangers. Was it his duty to call the deal off and desert the mines? Sometimes he thought it was. Ice conditions were such that it might yet be possible to get their gasoline schooner into open water and go pop-popping south to Vladivostok. But there would be those there who waited and hoped for gold to aid them in the battle against hunger, disease and death. Could they go empty-handed?
Rumors of a new peril had drifted in that day. A Reindeer Chukche, coming from a five days’ journey into the interior, had told of great numbers of Russians pushing toward the coast. These could be none other than Bolsheviki who hoped to gather wealth of one kind or another by a raid on the coast. If the Chukche was telling the truth, the stay of the white men could be prolonged by only a few days at the most.
At the same time, the mining crew had reported indications that they would reach the mother-lode in No. 2 within three days.
“We’ll chance it that long,” Johnny said, with an air of determination, as he rose and left the mine.
He was crossing a ridge of snow, when, as once before, his eye was caught by a spinning black object.
“Another phonograph record! Another warning!” he exclaimed. “Wonder what it will be this time?”
Johnny whistled thoughtfully to himself, as he strode forward to pick up the little black messenger.