“Pitchblende,” explained Sandy, as he dropped heavily into a chair, “is the ore from which we take uranium.
“And from uranium we get radium.”
Radium—Johnny knew in a general way what radium was. He knew little of its value.
“Radium,” Sandy reminded Johnny with a benevolent smile, “is at present worth about a million dollars an ounce.”
“How—how do you get it from that stuff?” Johnny pointed at the bag.
“It’s a slow process,” said the aged prospector a trifle wearily. “You crush the ore fine, then you leach it in acid. After two or three leachings you get a fair amount of uranium. Then you separate the radium from other elements. And if you’ve a ton of ore you’ll get, if you’re lucky, as much radium as you can tuck under your thumb nail.”
“That is,” he went on to explain, “if it’s ore as rich as has been found thus far. Of course mineralogists are always hoping to find richer deposits. And when some one does make the discovery, even if it’s on the North Pole, men will go after it. And the man that finds it will be rich beyond his wildest dreams; what’s more, he will be classed as one of the world’s greatest benefactors. What better could he ask?”
“What indeed?” murmured Scott Ramsey, his young partner.
“This stuff,” said Sandy, touching the sack with his moccasined foot, “must go where the other samples have gone, to Edmonton.”
“Be a week before the next mail plane goes south,” said Johnny.