The Icelandic Canadian - 01.03.1955, Qupperneq 37

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
35
sere. Behind them gloomed a grove of
evergreens and shadowy willows,
against a background of boulders, bar-
ed by the icy touch of glaciers, and the
persistent erosion of the ages. Bill’s
spirit soared at the sight. His weariness
dropped from him like a worn-out
parka. His heart throbbed with a rival
love—the lure of rocks. Before him, in
the bouldered ridges lay his mining
claims.
Bill pulled in to the old pier and
began the task of unloading. Once
again, like so many past summers, he
pitched his tent.
He was barely up next morning
when he heard the drone of the plane
in the distance. He had rested well in
his bedroll under the mosquito bar. He
ate his simple meal with the view of
the unruffled lake before him. In the
trees nearby two robins trilled; a tern
flapped out across the bay; and already
a dozen gadflies buzzed on silver wings.
But Bill did not share the tranquil-
ity of the morning. There was a restless
expectancy about him. Tense, he
puffed at his pipe impatiently.
Presently, the plane swooped low
above him. Then he saw it settle, like
a travel-weary bird, and taxi to the
rickety old dock before his camp.
A sudden new energy seized Bill.
His rugged features lit up in a wel-
coming grin as Tom Brady, and bush
pilot, Matt Kern, climbed out of the
cockpit.
“You fellows are up early,” he greet-
ed.
“We brought the drill,” Tom said.
“And your mail.”
Bill scanned the contents of his
single letter.
“I noticed some old mining claims
are running out,” he said. “Worthless,
anyhow. Not a showing on them.”
He felt a pang of disappointment.
Lila had promsied to let him hear
where she was and how she was doing.
“They say you got a mine here all
right,” Kern broke in on his thoughts
of the girl.
Bill turned to the business of help-
ing to unload the drill. It was heavy
and awkward to handle, but he felt
an exhilerating force surge through
him as he tugged and strained. Some-
thing that was not exertion left him
hot and perspiring.
“Yep”, he affirmed enthusiastically.
“I got a mine here all right. Now I
will prove the worth of my claims.
Proof is all we need. Exploring surface
work and trenching sure brought good
showings. Even the sceptics had to
admit that. We’ll drill and show ’em.
That’s the way to convince Sam Green-
back of the mining company.”
“Greenback is a tough one, but this
will do the trick,” Bill kept thinking
day after day, as he and Tom Brady
pierced the rocks, angling deep down
into the very heart of them.
Excitedly they waited to see their
first core come up. The gray granite,
to an underlying complex of igneous
and sedimentary rocks dashed their
hopes. But Bill’s convictions remained
unshaken.
“There must be mineral,” he argued.
“I had rich copper-nickel showings.
Here along this ridge the instrument
near went crazy. We’ll try a little
farther along. Must’ve angled the
wrong way.”
Laboriously they winched the drill
along the fifty feet of boulder. They
burrowed through the overburden till
they struck the hanging wall, and pass-
ed into greenish-black quartz gabbro.
“This is more like it,” Bill applaud-
ed. “I told you we had a mine”.
Again they moved the machine, and
yet again, following the dip of the