The Mystery of the Old Gold Mine

By Thomas W Dawson

A weeks vacation goes terribly wrong for four young people when hoodlums kidnap and leave three of them tied and gagged two hundred and fifty feet underground in an old, abandoned mine shaft. Charlie and Jennifer are forced to find a way to rescue their friends before it becomes too late. With a limited supply of water available and cave-ins that threaten to trap all five of them underground, the group struggles through dust, lack of air, and a desire to be free again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781449799090

Thomas W Dawson

I am a heavy equipment operator. I have worked in producing gold mines and have worked the different processes used to extract gold from gravel. I am also an adventurer; I love travelling, exploring old back roads, and the miracle of nature. Since my early teens, I have wanted to write my own book. This first manuscript has taken me over twenty years to get it where it is today. Since I often work in isolated camps and usually work seven days a week, ten to twelve hours a day, I found it difficult to find the time to keep up with writing. Since I have semi-retired, I have found the time I need and have two other manuscripts in this series that just require editing. I have lived most of my life in various parts of Yukon, Northern British Columbia, Alberta, and Vancouver Island, right in the area where this first manuscript takes place.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

GET OUT OF MY way kid, a gruff voice growled.

A rough callused hand grabbed Charlie McCabe’s shoulder, squeezing so hard that he sagged downward, his legs buckling as he tried to pull away. The next thing he knew a violent push sent him flying sideways.

As he fell, it seemed everything was in slow motion. Charlie reached out to brace himself but found nothing to slow his fall. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a row of large rose bushes along the edge of the Westwind Café’s veranda. He felt the first of the rose bushes’ claws rip at his face, and then at his shoulder and down his bare arms.

Hey! Charlie shouted, crashing violently onto the red tiled entranceway. Dirt, pots, and rose bushes flew through the air. He pushed one of the barbed menaces away from the side of his face, the needles biting at his open palm. Another rosebush lay on its side, its needles stabbing his arm and side.

You stupid idiot! What’s your problem mister? he shouted after a tall slim, filthy looking guy just stepping through the open doorway into the cafe. It was then the odour reached his nostrils. Oh, what’s that smell? Is that body odour? Go take a shower mister, he hollered, still trying to roll away from the long thorns. Four flowerpots lay on their sides, one of them broken, the roots exposed, and the dirt scattered about the tiled entranceway. What a mess. I hope no one inside the café noticed, otherwise I may have to pay for the broken pot.

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Lonnie Horowitz stuffed the computer magazine into his back pocket as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He heard a cry ahead of him then watched, as a stranger who seemed in a terrible hurry, push his friend Charlie into a row of rose bushes and continue into the café.

Hey you! Lonnie hollered after the man. The man did not respond. Stretching his long legs, he soon reached Charlie’s side.

Are you okay, Charlie? Lonnie grasped his friend’s outstretched hand.

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I’ve seen better days, Charlie grumbled, trying to hold some rose bushes at bay as he climbed to his feet. Did you get a whiff of that guy? I don’t know how people can live like that. Charlie brushed the dirt from his tan coloured shorts and light blue tee shirt and examined the cuts on his arm. How does my face look? He ran a hand over his dark blonde hair, feeling a place on his face that stung.

There’s a few scratches on your cheek, and a couple on your neck, and some on your head, but otherwise, Lonnie said, I’d say you’ll live.

Charlie looked at his friend a moment, a sour look on his face, and then bent over and set the four flowerpots upright. He scooped up what dirt he could in his hands and returned it to the pots. He pushed together the broken pot as best he could, hoping no one would notice it.

The claws on those rose bushes don’t tickle, Charlie muttered, rubbing his arm where patches of blood covered an injury. Would I like to do something to that guy. I can’t figure out his problem. He just came up behind me, grabbed my shoulder, and pushed me aside. He brushed his shorts and tee shirt off again. He was slim, of average height, with soft blue eyes that the girls in school loved to tease him about—Hey, blue eyes, are you going to take me out to a movie tonight? Charlie usually just laughed these comments off.

He must be having a really bad day, Lonnie replied. I can’t think of any other reason why he’d do that.

As they entered the restaurant, Charlie paused a moment to search the dimly lit room. Is he still here? Lonnie asked, pushing up behind his friend. Both of them scoured the room.

Over here fellows, a baritone voice rang out before Charlie could answer.

Charlie turned toward the far corner of the room where the voice had come from. As his eyes adjusted to the darker room, he became aware of the different aromas in it. They reminded him of early mornings at home, when his father was having his first cup of coffee. Stepping past the first table, he smelled other odours, telling him there was bacon on the table and someone had burnt some toast.

A hefty old timer, dressed in a spotless dark blue suit with a red slash on each leg, was sitting at a nearby table. His white hair matched his neatly trimmed beard so that he almost resembled a character from a famous chicken franchise. Wrinkles on the side of his face and across his forehead appeared to have earned their place to exist. His hazel eyes seemed to display contentment. A blue officer’s hat with a red band hung from the corner of his chair and a bronze badge of membership stood out on its peak. His fingers toyed with a near empty coffee cup, turning it around and around, obviously hoping to attract attention from one of the waitresses.

I’ve been waiting almost half an hour, he said as the two boys pulled out vinyl-padded chairs.

But Charlie was distracted by the strange smell. Oh no, he thought, glancing at the occupant of the next table. It was the smelly character again, and he had his chair pushed back so far that Charlie found it difficult to squeeze into the chair next to the wall. Squeezing onto the chair, he slammed it back as hard as he could to gain more space.

What’s your problem mister? Charlie shouted at the man behind him. I haven’t bothered you, so why are you giving me a hard time? He felt the heat from his red flushed face as he tried to turn towards him. The smelly person ignored Charlie and continued his discussion with a big guy in clothes that appeared just as filthy as his friend’s.

I hate kids, the man finally said in a gruff voice, without turning his head. Now bug off, before I get mean, and quit pushing against my chair or you’re going to feel my number 12 in the back of your pants.

Finally able to turn enough in the tight space, Charlie stared at the bully behind him and said Sounds like your mother never taught you any manners. Then he turned back to face Captain Paulson, who had a questioning look on his face. Captain Paulson was a member of the Salvation Army, but once a week he became the scoutmaster for the Northern Victoria area, Charlie and Lonnie’s troop.

Was that really necessary, Charlie? Captain Paulson asked with a look of amazement.

Yes, I’m afraid it was, Charlie replied in a matter of fact voice, giving the chair behind him another push.

Sorry we’re late, Lonnie said. "We had some shopping we had to finish, since we’re leaving for Martha’s Lake tomorrow morning. He gave his scoutmaster a tight smile.

Charlie and Lonnie had spent hours over the winter months making plans for their upcoming trip to Martha’s Lake. The road into the lake was almost straight across the Island Highway from where they both lived at Cowichan Bay, just south of Nanaimo, in the province of British Columbia. It was a chance to get away for a week and not have any adult bossing them around.

Man does he smell, Lonnie said about the guy behind Charlie.

That’s all right, Captain Paulson replied. What was all that scuffle about in the doorway, and what’s this now, with this character? There’s no need for this. It sounded as if someone was being killed there in the doorway.

That was me, Charlie replied. "And I thought I was being killed. He turned partway around, his thumb indicating the smelly critter behind him. The rose bushes attacked me, after I was pushed."

Oh, I see, yes, the air is rather scented all of a sudden. It really smells bad. What do you suppose his problem is? Captain Paulson spoke in his normal baritone voice. Charlie felt himself squeezed up against the table again. It became obvious they had been overheard.

Maybe the ants in his pants were nipping at his cheeks, Lonnie said, a big smirk on his face.

Ants, really Lonnie, Charlie said, chuckling. He noticed that Captain Paulson didn’t bat an eye at either of them.

He just came up behind me, hollered, and pushed me aside, Charlie said a little louder.

Not much we can do about it now, Captain Paulson replied. Just let it go, turn the other cheek.

You mean our backside cheeks, right? We could give him a moon job, Lonnie said, a nasty smile growing on his face.

You’ve got an awfully dirty mind, young fella, Captain Paulson said. When are you going to grow up?

We could give him a double moon job, Lonnie, Charlie said, butting in and ignoring Captain Paulson’s remark.

Alright boys, enough of that kind of talk, Captain Paulson said, a stern look on his weathered face. If you boys would spend as much time pursuing a solid Christian life as this stuff you both come up with every once in a while, you might find life a lot easier to live.

Both Charlie and Lonnie grinned back at their scoutmaster. We’ve had this conversation before. I’m not interested in that kind of life, Charlie replied. I’m having fun with the life I’m living now.

And, Lonnie said, my parents are Jewish, which makes me Jewish. You know that, yet every time we get together you want to convert me to Christianity and I can’t understand why. And, if you haven’t noticed, it bothers me.

It looks like we’re off to a real good start, Captain Paulson said finally, his voice heavy. In case you boys haven’t noticed, it’s because I care about you. You both have good heads on your shoulders. I just wish you would both use more common sense. A strong solid life in Jesus Christ would make a tremendous difference in both of your lives. You both know I’m a Captain in the Salvation Army; it’s my duty to talk to people about Jesus Christ.

Can we just put this kind of talk aside? Charlie said, slouching down in his chair, his chin almost touching the tabletop. We came to talk to you about Martha’s Lake, not get preached at.

Captain Paulson hesitated a moment, his fingers tattooing a beat on the side of his empty coffee cup. After all the stories I told you boys, you’re finally going into Martha’s Lake. It’s a terrific place to spend a few days, or even a week.

We’ve been thinking about this trip for a long time, Charlie replied. David Porter is going with us. He glanced down for a moment, and then continued, looking up again to meet Captain Paulson’s eyes. My father sort of insisted on it, he said in a lower tone of voice.

Oh, I see. That doesn’t meet with your idea of a good time? Charlie felt like Captain Paulson’s grey eyes were staring holes through him.

My father always seems to ruin our fun somehow, Charlie said in a bitter voice. We wanted to ride into Martha’s Lake by ourselves and spend a few days. Not have a chaperon tagging along behind telling us what we can and can’t do.

Oh, I see. Your father is supposed to trust you enough to let you ride into Martha’s Lake all on your own, and not get into any trouble, and then return home after a few days, much the wiser and happier. After all the pranks you boys have pulled? Charlie noticed the tightness in his scoutmaster’s voice.

Yeah, Lonnie replied, shifting in his chair, something like that. The Lonnie grin had returned to his face.

When did either one of you behave yourselves such that you could be trusted to go off on your own like this? Because I am your scoutmaster, I have firsthand experience with your behaviour. I wouldn’t let you boys go on your own either. Think about it, guys. Trust requires a certain pattern in your lives. Captain Paulson paused a moment. Now that is all I’m going to say about that. I say good for your father, Charlie, sending David with you. I hope you boys have a lot of fun in there, but I also hope you learn something about yourselves. Make the most of it, guys.

But why David? Lonnie whined. All he wants to do is fight with us. He may be my cousin, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s a bully.

I don’t like David very much either, Charlie admitted. And like Lonnie said, he is a bully.

I remember David. David the fisherman. Now that boy loves to fish. How old is David now, seventeen, eighteen? Charlie could see Captain Paulson was trying to change the subject. It was something he did often, whenever a problem occurred.

David turned nineteen last month, Lonnie said, a lighter tone to his voice. I suppose that makes him old enough to be a babysitter. It would be so much nicer if we could go on our own.

Oh, I see…who’s the baby? Captain Paulson said, a smirk growing on his face.

That’s not what I meant, Lonnie snapped back, his cheeks turning red.

Here you are, fellows, the waitress said, setting the two ice filled glasses of cola on the table. Charlie picked up his drink, the ice tingling against the side of the glass as he brought it to his lips. Just as he was about to take a drink, a sharp jolt from behind thrust his chair tighter against the table. The glass of cola flew out of his hands, hit the table, and splashed down the front of his shirt and shorts.

You idiot! Charlie hollered, trying to push back against the chair. The smelly man climbed to his feet, his bearded face turning to face Charlie. Purposely, he jammed his thigh against Charlie’s chair, forcing Charlie even tighter against the table. The putrid odour was so foul, Charlie felt his stomach turning over. Hey, Charlie shouted, trying to push back, give me some room. Again, the guy pushed tighter up against Charlie’s chair, his eyes going from one face to the other. He paused a moment when he met Captain Paulson’s eyes.

I heard you fellas mention Martha’s Lake, he said in a slow heavy voice. His eyes seemed to bulge in their sockets as if they were about to pop out of his face. Charlie glanced at the thin face and protruding nose. It was a face he wouldn’t soon forget—the bulging eyes shifting back and forth, the yellow, misaligned teeth, and the foul breath.

You had better stay away from there, if you know what’s good for you. It’s no place for kids to be playing around. Again, he looked from one face to the other. We have some business in there, and we don’t want any brats running around. You could get into serious trouble. He then turned to Charlie who was still pinned against the table. He bent down, putting his lips close to Charlie’s ear. You called me an idiot. His voice was serious, soft. I don’t like being called an idiot, little boy. You had better watch your mouth. If you were half a man I’d give you a swat alongside the head and rearrange those freckles on your face.

That’s enough, Albert, the heavyset man snapped, stepping forward and grabbing his friend’s left arm. His jeans and plaid shirt were just as filthy as his friend’s. Charlie studied the round face and tight lips, the long scar that ran down the left side of his face, and the bushy eyebrows. Come on, the stout man said. We don’t have the time for this.

Well, we can’t have them up there goofing around, Albert hollered back, his hip pushing on the back of Lonnie’s chair as he passed behind it..

Hey fellow, Captain Paulson bellowed to the heavyset guy. He climbed to his feet, a tense look on his face. You can’t tell us where we can and can’t go. Who do you think you are?

Sit down preacher boy, the heavyset man said in a gruff voice. Mind your own business. And you boys, he said, his finger waving back and forth at Charlie and Lonnie, you’ve been warned, stay away from Martha’s Lake. Now that’s all we have to say about this.

Hey now, where have I seen you fellows before? Captain Paulson said to the man. I know you from someplace. What did you say your name was?

I didn’t, but I don’t need a name to be your worst nightmare, Preacher. Now sit down. The heavyset man laid some money on the table and then turned and walked toward the doorway; his slim friend fell in behind him. Charlie saw the younger man shoot them a dirty look as he followed his friend out.

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Captain Paulson paused a moment, his face flushed and his voice quivering. The nerve of that guy, he muttered. Why can’t I think of their names? Again he paused, his head bent down. Then he lifted it back up and continued.

Sven Torrenssen is the caretaker at Martha’s Lake on behalf of the government, so he’s the boss. Therefore, you have to ask his permission before venturing onto his mining lease. His lease pretty much covers most of the Martha’s Lake area, so it would be almost impossible to stay off his claim. Sven is a very good friend of mine, so treat him with respect. If you want to go fishing, he has a couple of boats and he may even let you use one. There are some very nice trout in the lake. Bring one back for me. And behave yourselves, guys.

You don’t need to worry about us, Lonnie said. We’ll look this Sven guy up and be as nice as possible. He tilted his head back slightly, the light reflecting off his narrow cheeks and long chin. His longish nose often had the girls referring to him as Ichabod, after a character in their English literature books. His lean figure and long legs completed the character build-up.

Coming from you, Lonnie, that’s just what I’m concerned about, the captain said. As I’ve already mentioned, when you two boys get together, mischief is sure to follow. Now, I was telling you about the fishing. A few years back, Robbie Robinson, one of Sven’s workers, caught the biggest fish ever caught in Martha’s Lake—it weighed in at twenty-two and a half pounds. The fish tend to be bigger in that lake, since not many people go there. The road is too rough and too long for most folks to bother with.

Sounds like a great place, Charlie said. What about the mines? You mentioned three. Can a person still get into them?

I don’t know what state the second mine is in; it should still be okay since it isn’t that old. The first one that Sven and I worked in a long time ago would be in a decayed state by now, I would think. I know I wouldn’t want to go in there. It would be just too dangerous. Older mines tend to have many cave-ins. The timbers used for cribbing tend to rot in time. It would be very treacherous.

How deep are the mines? Lonnie asked.

The captain scratched at his chin a moment. They are deep, Lonnie, very deep. He paused. You fellows are planning on going into the mines and looking around, aren’t you? That’s what this trip is all about, isn’t it? His voice became very soft. Don’t do that, fellows, don’t try going into either of the shafts by yourselves. You may not come back.

CHAPTER 2

CHARLIE LOOKED UP INTO the eyes of his scoutmaster. A deepening shadow surrounded his eyes. The scoutmaster tilted his head back so Charlie felt like he was looking down his nose at them. He spoke slowly.

I am really, really concerned guys. I’m serious. Do not go near those shafts without Sven beside you. Sven is a gentle person, until someone gets him riled, then look out. You go to Martha’s Lake, you look him up right away, and you do as he says. Captain Paulson’s voice rose and people at other tables again turned to stare. That way you’ll be sure to have a good time. No goofing off, do you hear me, boys?

After a moment’s pause, Charlie looked up to meet his scoutmaster’s eyes again. The deepening shadow seemed to have disappeared. Yeah, we understand, Charlie muttered softly. Then speaking louder, he said, you’re drawing a lot of attention here, Captain Paulson.

That’s okay. I want to make sure you boys understand. That’s no place to be goofing off. Those mines are dangerous. The shafts are very deep. You fall into one of those shafts and you’ll be coming back in pieces, in a body bag. Captain Paulson continued to talk slowly. Now, the third mine, the one Sven now works on, is a placer operation. That means the mine is on the surface, so there aren’t any shafts or drifts to contend with. I’m sure Sven will be willing to explain everything about the operation.

What’s a drift? Lonnie asked. His right elbow was propped on the table and his head rested on his hand.

A shaft is a vertical hole into the earth that allows the miner to get to the level he wants. Once he’s at that level, he digs a horizontal hole, usually square or rectangular, that looks very much like a shaft, only it’s horizontal. This is what they call a drift. There can be many of them in a mine, all running off the one shaft. If you leave word with someone on the surface that you’re going into drift 133, everyone will know exactly where you’re going.

There’s something I didn’t know, Charlie said, slowly spinning his glass back and forth, which now contained a small amount of ice and a dab of coloured water. After his drink spilled, Charlie scooped up what ice remained, and put it back into the glass. Well, if that’s the way things are, then we’ll be sure to look this Sven fellow up. We’re just looking for a good time. It’s a chance to get away from home for a while.

What are you boys going to do after you come back? You have jobs lined up, don’t you?

I’ll be working at the store helping Dad, as always, Lonnie said, almost too quickly.

What about you, Charlie? Captain Paulson asked. Have you anything lined up?

Not really, Charlie replied. Dad has been talking about a trip to Dawson City to see his brother’s gold mine. Uncle Robert says the mines up there are much bigger than anything we have down here. But that trip is still undecided.

Charlie’s dad was a staff sergeant for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, assigned to the Criminal Investigation Division. He often worked with police officers from other countries. At times his work took him away from home, leaving Charlie to take care of the family hobby farm.

So what happens if you don’t go this summer? You’re not just going to lie around for two months are you? Captain Paulson said. Charlie could feel his eyes boring into him, scrutinizing him. His stories to the scout troop had revealed he was from the old school way of things. Everybody must work, even the young people. His work with the Salvation Army was caring for others, although there were times Charlie wished Captain Paulson did not care so much. Sometimes he was a royal pain in the butt. Especially when he brought up the subject of religion.

I can always work for Lonnie’s dad in the store. I’ve done that before, and it does get busy during the summer. That’s besides taking care of our farm as well.

You two young fellas seem to have all the answers. It wasn’t like this when I was a boy.

That’s what we call progress, Lonnie said, a smirk on his face.

Hey, way to go Lonnie, Charlie said, slapping Lonnie on the shoulder.

Progress you say, I have to agree, Captain Paulson remarked, his eyes glowing at Lonnie’s words. It’s a way of life, but progress, yes I have to agree. Things are not as hard as they used to be and an easier way of life is a relief, but when I was a young fellow, life wasn’t so easy.

Oh boy, here we go again, Charlie thought. He tried to block out the voice of his scoutmaster, but other than putting his fingers in his ears, it was impossible. It was a story they had heard many times before.

I had to work from a young age, and the work was hard, but it didn’t hurt me in any way. It was a hard life, but a good life. The best we could expect at that time. My father hurt his back at work, so my mother had to work. She didn’t make enough money to feed all four of us, so I had to drop out of school and find a job. Charlie remembered the story Captain Paulson had told them about his sister Loraine. Because of her death on street drugs while she was living in Vancouver, he’d gotten involved with the Salvation Army. Captain Paulson had been away working and hadn’t had a chance to see his sister before she’d died.

When did you first go to Martha’s Lake to work? Charlie asked, trying to pump more information out of him.

I was thirteen at the time, at least that’s what I seem to recall. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be—old age you know. Captain Paulson chuckled and then paused for a sip of coffee. I was there maybe six or seven months when Sven Torrenssen showed up with his parents. His mom started cooking for us. His parents didn’t stay long though. His mother got sick and his father took her to the hospital in Vancouver. Sven stayed and worked to pay the hospital bills. He’s two years older than me, so that would probably make him fifteen at that time.

Charlie waited while Captain Paulson wandered off with his thoughts. He was a good worker and very strong. We often chummed together, but I could never take him in a wrestling match. We were both big boys, but he was bigger and stronger, and it was all in fun. He’s a very good friend, and we get together every once in a while to remember.

You’ve told us to stay away from the mine shafts, so what else is there to do at Martha’s Lake? Charlie asked, playing with the empty glass again.

Well, first of all, it wasn’t always called Martha’s Lake.

Charlie felt the beginning of another good story and slouched down in his chair to listen.

This goes way back, Captain Paulson said. I recall the name MacArthur or something like that. Sven applied to have the name changed, and the government of British Columbia permitted it since he owned all the mining rights in the area. Everybody laughed at him, thinking he was a little touched in the head, but now the laugh is on the other side of their faces. Sven has made some very good money working that area. He sunk a new shaft across the valley from the old mine that he and I worked in. That one’s the second mine I spoke of, and he started drift mining. He had problems with his crew every once in a while, but somehow they seemed to always get back to work.

Both of the boys had known Captain Paulson for many years, and they knew when he got started on a story it was best to just sit back and let him run with it. Lonnie had sometimes referred to him as an old windbag.

I think it was around 1975 or so, the Captain said. Sven married a gal from here in Victoria. She was quite pretty. She sure made Sven happy. He was like a kid with a new puppy, not that I want to compare his new bride to a dog. He was very happy. He taught her how to run the machinery and feed the trammel with the loader. The two of them working and playing together, well… you can use your imagination. Then it was three or four years later, they had a baby, a girl, they named her Jennifer. Now she is quite a girl, beautiful and smart. Jennifer would be about seventeen or eighteen now.

Oh, brother, that’s all we need. And we’re taking David with us, Lonnie mumbled, his face buried in his hand.

Captain Paulson went right on talking. "You don’t want to miss one of her meals should you get an invite. Martha was a fantastic cook and she made sure to teach her daughter. Sven’s wife died when Jennifer was fifteen, I think. That just about did Sven in. If it hadn’t been for