Dragging the newly acquired batteries back to where the others were lined up along the wall, he attached one of them to the circuit, then threw in the switch which should set the buzz-saw mining machine into operation. An angry spit and flare was his only reward.

Nothing daunted, he cut in another battery, then another. As he touched the switch after attaching the third battery, a loud whirring sound rewarded him.

"Eureka! I have found it!" he cried, leaping high in air. "Now we win!"

The dog barked loudly at this singular demonstration, but since the vault-like mine was sound proof, it mattered little how noisy was his rejoicing.

The cutting machine was instantly set in operation. The sing of the wheel against the frozen earth was deafening. The earth-tremble, started by the machinery, could not fail to make itself felt outside the mine. But when he realized that only the yellow men knew the cause of such a tremble and that they were many miles from that spot, making their way south with dog team or reindeer, Pant had little fear. He would find his way to the mother-lode, would melt snow from the inside of the bank by the mine's entrance, would wash out the gold; then, if only he could evade the Russians and the Chukches, he would begin the southward journey.

Hour by hour, the stacks of dark brown cubes of frozen pay dirt grew at the sides of the mine. Hour by hour, the yellow glistened more brightly in the cubes. Yet he did not come to the mother-lode. He slept but little, taking short s.n.a.t.c.hes now and then. Sometimes he fell asleep at his task.

One thing began to worry him; the gasoline was running short. With no gasoline to run his motor, there could be no electric current, no power.

Now and again he fancied that men were prowling about the snow-blocked entrance. He knew these were only fancies. Sleepless days and nights were telling on his nerves. When would the rich pay come?

At last, while half asleep, he worked on the upper tiers of cubes, there came a jarring rattle which brought him up standing. The wheel had struck solid rock. This meant that there was a ledge, a former miniature fall in the river bed. At the foot of this fall, there would be a pocket, and in that pocket, much gold. The gasoline? There was yet enough. To-morrow he would clean up the mother-lode. Then he would be away.

He stumbled, as in a dream, to his blankets, and, wrapping them about him, fell into a stupor that was sleep and more.

As the balloon, in which Dave Tower and Jarvis rode, drifted toward the sh.o.r.e of the mainland, Dave, shading his eyes, watched the yellow gleam of the City of Gold darken to a purplish black, then back to a dull gray.

"Man, it's gone. I 'ates to look," groaned Jarvis. "It's gone, the City of Gold."

Dave had been expecting something like this to happen. "Probably the surface of some gigantic rock, polished by wind and rain, reflecting the rays of the sun," was his mental comment. He did not have the heart to express his thoughts to Jarvis.

They drifted on. Suddenly Dave dived into the cabin and returned with a pair of powerful binoculars. He turned these on the spot where the shining City of Gold had been.

What he saw brought an exclamation to his lips. It died there unuttered.

"After all," he thought to himself, "it may be nothing, just nothing at all."

What he had seen was still brownish gray in color, but instead of the flat even surface of a rock broken here and there by irregular fissures, he had seen innumerable squares, placed as regularly as the roofs of a house.

"Nature does not build that way. Man must have had a hand in it. Here's hoping." Such were his mental comments as he saw land rise up to meet them. Were they nearing an inhabited land?

He did not have long to wait for the answer. As the balloon drifted in over the land, figures ran across the snow, in evident pursuit of the drifting "sausage."

Jarvis, who had taken the gla.s.s, let out a roar. "It's 'uman's, me lad, 'uman bein's it is, and if it's no one but the b.l.o.o.d.y, bloomin' 'eathen, I'll be glad to see 'em."

He was right. As the anchor, catching in a claybank, jerked the balloon to a sudden halt, they could see the people racing toward the point where the car was sure to land.

Dave's mind was in a whirl. First his right hand gripped his automatic, next it hung limp at his side. What manner of people were they, anyway? If that broad flat surface of little squares meant the roof of a building, then these certainly were not natives, Chukches or Eskimos. Those always lived in houses of deer skin or snow. And, if it was a house, what an immense thing it must be. A hundred feet long, perhaps two hundred, and half as wide.

There was little time for speculation. The balloon carriage dropped rapidly. Their daft professor hung to the rail, babbling incoherent things about returning to the mouth of the Anadir. Jarvis was silent. Evidently there was but one thing to do; to trust themselves to the tender mercies of these people.

As the cabin b.u.mped the snowy tundra, Dave sprang over the rail, followed by Jarvis, who a.s.sisted the still feeble professor.

They found themselves at once in the midst of a curious-eyed group of people. These, with their long beards and droll clothing and droll manners, made Dave feel as if he were another Rip Van Winkle entering a land of dreams.

In the crowd there were some twenty men, slowly straggling in. There was a woman of middle age, and beside her a girl of about sixteen years, evidently her daughter. Dave's eyes approved of the girl, and though she was a stranger to his tongue, she did not fail to find an immediate means of letting him know that she looked upon him with much favor.

All these people were dressed in skins, fawn skins for the most part, though there were occasional garments of leather. The garments were not cut at all after the manner of Chukches or Eskimos. The girl wore a skirt and a loose middy-like jacket of white buckskin, the skin of which had been split thin. The garments suited her wonderfully well.

Dave had concluded, before one of them spoke, that they were Russians.

When the oldest man of the group attempted to address him, he knew his guess to be correct, though he understood not one word of what was being said.

"But what," he asked himself, "are these people doing here so far within the Arctic Circle, and how do they live?"

Having made it evident that he did not understand their language, he awaited further attempts at conversation. Other languages were tried with no success, until a man of thirty years or past suddenly said:

"Do you speak English?"

Dave could have wept on his shoulders for pure joy. What he did do was to extend his hand with a hearty, "Put her there, old chap, that's just what I do!"

"You must be hungry," said the new-found friend.

"We could eat," admitted Dave.

"Come this way."

Having made sure that the balloon was in a safe position, Dave and Jarvis, a.s.sisting the professor, followed their host round a point of rock and up to a row of cabins on the southern side of the hill. Having entered one of these, they were invited to sit down while the professor was helped to a room in the rear and tucked into bed.

"Now, gentlemen," said the stranger, "we can offer you only venison and fresh sweet potatoes for your main course. You will perhaps not mind that.

But in the matter of salads, we can give you a little choice. Will you have head lettuce or sliced cuc.u.mbers?" He smiled genially.

Dave looked at Jarvis; Jarvis stared at Dave. Was this man jesting? Head lettuce and cuc.u.mbers in mid-winter, inside the Arctic Circle? What a rank impossibility! Yet the man did not smile.

"Mine's 'ead lettuce an' a little whale blubber," laughed Jarvis.

"And yours?" smiled the host, turning to Dave.

"S-s-same," stammered Dave,

"'E's a jolly sport," sighed Jarvis, as the man went out. "Next 'e'll offer strawberries for dessert."

Imagine their utter astonishment when the man returned presently with a wooden tray heavily laden with food, and on it, not only two heaping wooden bowls of head lettuce, but two smaller bowls of luscious red strawberries, and beside each of these, a little wooden pitcher of rich cream.

"Sorry we have to offer our food in such plain dishes," smiled the host.

"We have experimented with pottery but have had no success as yet." He bowed himself out of the room.

"Dave, old pal," said Jarvis, "don't move, don't speak to me. Don't wake me up. I'm 'aving such a beautiful dream."

CHAPTER XV

TRAPPED