Stormy Voyage Sandy Steele Adventures #3

Jerry James’s foot came down gently on the brake pedal of Old Faithful, his cut-down, open-air jalopy, and as the car slowed, Sandy Steele vaulted lightly over the side onto the pavement. With a wave of his hand and the shout, “See you tonight, Jerry,” Sandy whirled and sprinted up the front walk.

His long, gangling legs gobbled up the distance with astonishing ease and catapulted Sandy up the porch steps three at a time. But then, after the screen door had slammed shut behind him, Sandy Steele came to a sudden halt as though tackled by an entire enemy football team.

“Dad!” he cried. “But I thought you’d be in Alaska by now!”

“Signals off, Sandy,” John Steele said, rising from the porch hammock and laying aside his evening newspaper. He gazed soberly at his tall, blond son. “You know, Sandy,” he went on, “I believe you’ve grown another two inches in the few days I’ve been away.”

“It’s Mom’s cooking,” Sandy said, smiling. He brushed aside the cowlick that had flopped over his eyes as he ran up the walk. His face resumed its normal expression of quiet thoughtfulness, and he said, “What happened, Dad?”

“Change of plans, Sandy. Instead of testing for uranium in Alaska, the government has decided that I’d better spend the summer on the Mesabi Range.”

“Mesabi?” Sandy repeated, frowning. Then, brightening, he exclaimed, “Oh sure. That’s in Minnesota. The ore mines. Mr. Wilson told us all about it in class the other day. Why are you going there instead of to Alaska, Dad?”

John Steele’s face became grave.

“I don’t know how much your teacher told you about the Mesabi iron-ore mines, son. But the truth is that these ore deposits are among our country’s greatest treasures.” His voice turned grim. “And I’m afraid they’re running out.”

Sandy looked perplexed. “But I thought there were whole mountains of ore up there. At least, that’s what Mr. Wilson said.”

“Your teacher’s right, Sandy. But, unfortunately, most of these deposits are of low-grade ore. As the son of a government geologist, you should know what that means.” Sandy nodded soberly and automatically lifted a hand to brush back the cowlick that had fallen forward again. His father continued, “The average iron content of the Mesabi ore has been dropping pretty steadily. If it gets much below 50 per cent, it would be doubtful if it would be worth working. And the Mesabi, son—the Mesabi is the greatest producer of iron ore in the world.”

“Gee,” Sandy said. “That is serious, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t be worse, son. From iron ore comes steel, and steel is the backbone of any modern nation. That’s why it’s important for somebody to uncover some high-grade deposits. And that,” he said, smiling at the expression of deep seriousness on the face of his son, “that explains why John Steele will spend his summer in Minnesota instead of Alaska.”

Suddenly he laughed. Leaning forward, he ruffled Sandy’s hair.

“Come, now. There are other important things in the world. Such as the score of this afternoon’s game between Valley View and Poplar City. You haven’t told me who won yet.”

Sandy grinned jubilantly. “We did,” he said. “Three to nothing.”

“Oh, ho! Shut ’em out, eh? How many strike-outs?”

“Twelve,” Sandy said, blushing. “But you should have seen the homer Jerry hit! Boy! It must have traveled close to four hundred feet in the air. Honestly, Dad, Jerry James could play in the big leagues if he wanted to. Why, he’s got a big-league arm already. Today he caught two men trying to steal second and he picked another man off third.”

Inwardly pleased at his son’s refusal to boast of his shut-out victory, John Steele said, “Well, the pitching helps, too, Sandy.” He turned to lead the way into the dining room of their comfortable home, when he was stopped in his tracks by a cry of dismay from Sandy.

“What’s wrong, son?” he said, turning. “What is it?”

“Alaska!” Sandy burst out. “Don’t you remember, Dad? Jerry and I were going to join you in Alaska this summer! That’s why we’d saved all the money we made at Mr. James’s drugstore.”

Sandy’s father struck his forehead with the flat of his hand. “By George, I’d forgotten all about it,” he said.

“Yes,” Sandy said, dejected. “It looks as if Jerry James and I will be the only ones around Valley View this summer.” His face darkened. “Pepper March is going to South America with his father. Won’t he rub it in when he hears that our Alaska trip is off!” He shook his head. “And Quiz Taylor’s got a job as counselor at a boys’ camp.”

“Oh, come now,” his father said. “It isn’t that bad. Maybe you and Jerry can use all that spare time to sharpen up your forward-passing combination.”

Suddenly, the look of disappointment disappeared from Sandy’s face. In an instant he was his old high-spirited self, and he all but shouted, “Dad! Dad! I’ve got it! Why can’t Jerry and I go to Minnesota?”

“Minnesota! What on earth would you do there?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Of course it isn’t as romantic as Alaska and all that. But still—why, we could even ride cross-country in Old Faithful—you know, Jerry’s jalopy. We’ve got enough money. And, maybe,” he said, growing more excited, “maybe by the time we got there, you could find a job for us in the ore mines!”

“Son,” John Steele said, “it’s an idea.”

“Sure, Dad—it isn’t as though Jerry and I aren’t strong enough to do a man’s work.”

“Well,” his father said with a grin, “I don’t know for sure if you can do a man’s work, yet, son—but I do know you can put away a man’s meal. And unless I miss my guess, that’s fried chicken that I smell cooking in there. So let’s go in and eat, and talk some more about this Minnesota business.”

Jerry James was already behind the soda fountain in his father’s drugstore when Sandy Steele came walking through the door. Sandy put on a long face as he moved around the counter and began winding a white apron around his own slender, hard-muscled waist.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Sandy?” Jerry said. “To look at you, you’d think it was Poplar City that won this afternoon.”

“Bad news, Jerry.”

“What?”

“The Alaska trip’s off.”

“Oh, no!” Jerry groaned. “And after we saved all that money!” He slumped forward on the counter and propped his lean, lantern jaw into his hands. Then he ran his hands back over his close-cropped inky-black hair and said, “I could tear it out by the handful! What happened, Sandy?”

“Dad’s orders were changed,” Sandy replied, carefully making his voice sound glum. Then, unable to contain himself any longer, he let out a whoop and whacked his chum soundly on the back. “But we’re going to Minnesota instead!”

“Minnesota?”

“Sure thing! Dad says he’s pretty sure he can get us jobs in the ore mines. Honest, Jerry, it’ll be great! Maybe it’s a chance we’d never get again ... to go east I mean. The mines are right on the Great Lakes, you know. Who knows? We might even take a trip on the Great Lakes.”

“Sa-ay,” Jerry breathed, his dark eyes gleaming. “That would be something, wouldn’t it? But how will we get there? I mean, would we have enough money for the train fare?”