The River Motor Boat Boys on the Yukon: The Lost Mine of Rainbow Bend

The motor boat Rambler lay moored securely fore and aft to a short pier in the South Branch of Chicago. Great care had been taken in the mooring, for the holding lines where they ran in over the side of the boat were thickly wrapped with soft cloth to prevent chafing and between her side and the dock's rough piling, were placed huge, soft, rope bumpers to prevent the wearing by rubbing between boat and dock. Even in the dim light of the late April evening, the reason for this careful mooring was apparent at a glance. The Rambler was gay with a coat of fresh paint from cabin top to keelson. This gay, cleanliness did not stop with the exterior, for down below in the warm cosy cabin, the lights glistened on sides and ceiling freshly enameled in purest white. The four folding bunks along the sides were bordered with gilt and above their folded tops protruded the edges of clean sheets and soft warm blankets. Knobs of mahogany protruding from the lower sides of the wall showed where the occupants, or crew, kept their personal belongings, while in the racks on the ceiling above were suspended three glistening rifles and a large bore shot gun. Everything in the room bore testimony to careful, constant, well planned work. The back end of the room had been partitioned off into a cozy kitchen with an abundance of lockers to hold supplies. Back beyond the kitchen, under the after deck, were the powerful little motors which, when in action, drove the beautiful boat at a rapid pace.

But more interesting than the boat were its occupants gathered around the small table in the cozy cabin. They were three in number. The one at the end of the table was a tall lad with an intelligent, manly face. His name was Clayton Emmet, but he was commonly called Clay by his acquaintances. On Clay's right sat a boy of about his own build, but of graver face, whose name, Cornelius Witters, had been shortened to Case. He was plucky and loyal, but gloomily-inclined and accustomed to prophesying the worst in any difficulty. Next to Case sat Alexander Smithwick, or Alex, smaller in size, but whose freckled face and grinning mouth told of a humorous, joking disposition. All three were engaged in a lively debate, Alex darting out every few minutes to stir up a stew which was sending out a savory odor from the tiny kitchen. Hurrying back from one of these trips he flung himself again into the discussion.

"We have just got to make another trip this summer. Look at all the work and expense we have been to repairing the Rambler this winter. We do not want to have all that wasted. Then think of all the fun we have had on our other trips. On the Amazon, the Mississippi, the Ohio, the Columbia, the St. Lawrence, and the Colorado. Why, every one of them has been chock full of fun, adventure and excitement."

"I would like to go," said Case gloomily, "but in the first place, we have explored all the best of the big rivers and, in the second place, we can not afford the time for any more trips. We have helped others to make money but I doubt if all our trips have brought us one thousand dollars. We had ought to keep steadily at work and lay up money for our future careers. You want to remember we are getting old."

"Oh, yes, we are getting old," Alex grinned. "I feel old age creeping upon me day by day, gray hairs amongst the gold, a touch of rheumatism, a gathering weakness in flesh and bone, and often a terrible aching pain in the stomach."

"Those stomach pains are from over-eating," retorted Case.

Alex turned to Clay. "What do you think about it? You are always the clearest headed one of the bunch."

"I agree with what Case has said," Clay declared, gravely. "We are all over seventeen years old and had ought to be beginning to try to get a start in life instead of wasting time and money in these summer trips, however pleasant they may be."

Alex's freckled face took on a look of gloom, while even Case did not look pleased at having his theory indorsed.

Clay smiled at their serious faces. "I have been thinking about this matter seriously all winter," he said, quietly, "and have decided that we will have to give up mere pleasure trips for the future, but I see no reason why we should not go this summer if there is a way to make the trip profitable. How much money have we got altogether?"

"Why we have got that $1,000.00 in the bank," said Case.

"I've saved $100.00 this summer," declared Alex, eagerly.

"Oh, for that matter, I've hoarded up $125.00, if it's needed," Case confessed.

"I've had a pretty good position all winter," Clay said. "I've managed to lay by $175.00. Let's see what that brings the total up to. Why, $1,400.00, but I am afraid it will take all of that."

"What is your plan?" demanded Alex, his eyes shining.

Clay hesitated. "It seems a bold one to propose, but I really believe our best chance lies in a trip up the Yukon."

"Whew!" whistled Alex and Case together. "You mean for us to go up there and hunt for gold? We know nothing about mining," said Case.

"It would be lots of fun," Alex insisted, "but it's some trip up there to the Yukon."

"I did not mean for us to go merely for gold, although I think we could soon learn enough about it to try it out if we so desired," Case explained. "My idea was to stock up with beads, trinkets and tobacco--especially tobacco--to trade with the Indians for skins, furs, and specimens of the far North. Even at the worst we could go to work and make big wages, for labor is scarce up there."

"But will not the expense of such a trip be something fierce?" inquired the gloomy Case.

"It will. We would have to ship the Rambler by rail to Seattle and the cost of transportation for her and ourselves would be high. You see it is not so very long since gold was discovered in Alaska and the rush of people to get there enables the steamers to charge almost any price."

"Keep still a second," exclaimed Alex. "Isn't that some one moving about up on deck?"

He darted for the cabin door, followed by his two companions. Coming from the brightly lighted cabin out into the night, they could not see ten feet in the inky darkness, but they could hear the retreat of hurried foot-steps going up the dock.

"No use trying to catch him in this darkness," Clay remarked. "Probably it's only a river thief. Let's go down into the cabin."

"Call him a river thief if you want to," Case said, darkly, "but I doubt it. All our trips seem to start with a mystery."

"All the more fun," grinned Alex. "They help to make excitement, Gloomy Gus."

"There will be no mystery this time. No one would want to join a trip like the one we are going to take," Clay said.

"You'll see," Case said darkly.

"Let's get back to our trip," said the cheerful Alex. "What will we want to take with us?"

"First we will want to stock up with all the food we can carry, for food prices will be high in Alaska. Our guns are all right, but we had ought to have some warmer clothing and heavier blankets. Our heaviest expense, however, will be a new motor for the Rambler."

"A new motor for the Rambler?" cried Case, in dismay. "Why, what's wrong with our dear little motors? They have carried us thousands of miles without a hitch."

"That's just the trouble. They have about worn out their lives in faithful service for us. I have gone over them carefully this winter and I find that the cylinders have worn thin while the working parts are almost gone. Aside from that we could not carry enough gasoline for the trip and I do not expect we will find much, if any, gasoline on the Yukon."

"Then what are we going to do?" demanded Alex, anxiously.

"I wish we could put in a wood engine and save the expense for fuel, but a steam engine which would do our work would be too heavy for the Rambler. The next best thing is a kerosene engine. They are not much heavier than a gas, and I feel sure we can get kerosene on the Yukon. It always follows closely the movements of civilized man. Well, what do you say? Shall we have a new motor or not?"

His companions recognized the wisdom of his arguments and gave ready assent, although they hated the idea of parting with their loyal little friends.

"If you have finished and all is settled, I would like to offer a few remarks," said Alex, grinning as he rose from his chair with a twinkle in his eye. He paused for a moment while the other two looked up at him expectantly. "Gentlemen," he began, "it gives me great pleasure to look over this vast sea of upturned faces. In them I see resolve, a resolution to do or die, a determination to conquer a frozen wilderness and wrench from it its golden treasures. Gentlemen, I propose a toast. Here's to----"

"Whew! Don't you smell something?" interrupted Case.

"Smell! Why I can almost hear it," grinned Clay. "It seems to come from the kitchen."

Alex, his speech forgotten, flew for the kitchen. In a moment he was back with a sheepish grin on his face. "Most of the coffee has boiled over, but there are two inches of stew which hasn't stuck onto the pot," he announced.

"You seem to forget everything else when you get to talking," commented Case, gloomily.