he workmen satisfied
at their work without raising wages to the point where profit ceases.

Anton, despite his first objection to the country, had become a
hero-worshipper of Jim. He had a new ambition. He desired, above all
things, to reach the sublime height of being regarded as a
"sour-dough." The boy had shown a certain natural quickness for
mechanics, and, while on the yacht, had chummed up with the wireless
operator of the _Bunting_. Capt. Robertson, on his second trip, had
brought with him a small wireless outfit, which the operator installed
on the highest point of Chukalook and taught Anton to handle.

Clem took the place of assistant to the "Wizard." His small knowledge
of geology--though it was mainly of coal seams--was of service, and
the young fellow was quick to learn. But the principal attraction to
him, on the island, was "Bull's little gal."

Jim was the life and soul of the mine. He was here, there, and
everywhere. The workmen, especially those who were "sour-doughs"
themselves, found a keen pleasure in the thought that a man like
themselves had thus made good. It fed the fuel of hope which flames so
brilliantly in the Frozen North.

A typical gold prospector, all the complicated machinery of his own
mine meant little to him. Jameine understood it all and did her best
to explain it to him, but Jim could not be persuaded to take an
interest in it.

One day he turned his back on the works. With pick, shovel, and pan,
he set off to the other side of the island, where the little creek
ran, and where he had first panned gold on Chukalook, before he began
prospecting the gravel. Once more, from early morning to late evening,
he dug and panned as of old. Each night he returned triumphantly with
half a handful of gold dust as the fruit of his day's toil.

Jameine did not have the heart to point out to him that, with the Bull
Mine running at full blast, his share of the profits brought him more
wealth in an hour than did a week's laborious panning of the sands of
the little creek. She knew that Jim could have no greater happiness
than, at the end of the day's work, to add a few more grains of gold
dust to the growing heap that rested, in a bowl, openly exposed, on a
rough table in her tiny sitting room.

But this peaceful exploitation of Chukalook was not to continue
uninterruptedly.

One morning, the smoke of a good-sized steamer was seen on the
horizon. She came, not from the direction of Ingalook,