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Updated: June 7, 2025
Down below, the pump-house motors were far from satisfactory, sparking and heating in a way that Bruce, who did not know the a, b, c's of electricity, could see was not right. While the pumps and scrapers were working Banule dared not leave the motors alone.
"And I've tried so hard." "You've sure worked like a horse." There was a look that was half pity, half grudging admiration on Smaltz's impudent face. Banule was to run the power-house for the day and complete some work inside, so when Bruce had finished with the mercury he told Smaltz to telephone Banule from the pump-house that they were ready to start.
It was not until he reached the slab which served as a bridge over the water from the spillway that he recovered anything of his impudent nonchalance. He was in the centre of it when he heard Banule say: "If it ud be me I'd a put a lash rope round his neck and drug him up that hill to jail." Smaltz wheeled and came back a step. "Oh, you would, would you? Say, you fakir, I'm glad you spoke.
That was one of the compensating features of mining; if the returns came at all they came quick. Bruce started on, hastening his footsteps until he almost ran. The electrical genius was driving a nail with a spirit-level when Bruce reached the pump-house and Bruce flared up in quick wrath. "Stop that, Banule! Isn't there a hammer on this place?"
"Yes," Banule answered irritably, "but don't yell so in my ear." Smaltz already had slammed the receiver back on the hook. With a swift movement he threw in the switch and jumped for the outside. He dropped from the high platform and fell among the rocks some ten feet below.
And not the least of Bruce's increasing anxieties was "Alf" Banule with his constant "good enough." It was well toward the end of October and Bruce, hurrying over the trail with sheets of mica for Banule, who was working on the submerged motor which had to be rewound, noticed that the willows were turning black. What a lot had happened since he had noticed the willows turning black last year!
Then, after a couple of days' unsatisfactory work, the water dropped so low in Big Squaw creek that there was only sufficient pressure to use one scraper. Bruce discharged all the crew save Smaltz, Banule, and Porcupine Jim, who labored in the kitchen a living insult to the Brotherhood of Cooks.
Banule made light of the sparking motors but the bearings were heating badly, daily necessitating more frequent stops. When a grounded wire sent the leaking current through the cable that pulled the scraper, and knocked Bruce flat, he was not convinced by Banule's assurance that it "didn't amount to much." It was all evidence to Bruce that fundamentally something was wrong.
Therefore while Bruce took his place at the lever on the donkey-engine enclosed in a temporary shed to protect the motor from rain and dust, Smaltz went to the pump-house as he was bid. When Banule answered his ring he shouted: "Let her go in about two minutes two minutes d'ye hear?" The telephone receiver was shaking in Smaltz's hand and he was breathing hard.
"What's the matter? Where's it gone? And out of all that dirt!" Bruce shook his head; his voice was barely audible: "I don't know." The sagging clouds were not heavier than his heart "I wish I did." Banule stood a moment in silent sympathy. "Guess you won't work any more to-day," he suggested. "Yes; tell Smaltz to start," Bruce answered dully. "I've got to save the mercury anyhow."
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