Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1)

by Randall Reneau

  I managed to shrug out of my backpack. Kicking as hard as I could to stay afloat, I shot-putted my pack to solid ground on the portal side of the adit. I could stay afloat now, but needed to find a place to crawl out. The water smelled like dead rats and was cold as ice.

  Now in full-blown survival mode with Mr. Hypothermia tapping me on the shoulder, I worked my way into a corner of the winze, where I could get some leverage with my steel-toed boots. Using my rock hammer like an ice pick and jamming my toes into any purchase, I managed to pull and crawl my way out.

  My ascent from the abyss probably wouldn't have made the next issue of Rock Climber, but I made it out. Cold and smelling like week-old kitty litter, I grabbed my pack and headed, a bit more cautiously, back to the portal.

  Clearing the portal, I went straight to Montana Creek and cleaned up as best I could. I draped my clothes over huckleberry bushes and laid out my gear and myself over several large, flat, sun-warmed boulders.

  I’d nearly drowned in some damned stinking mine, and now, lying bare-assed in the sun, my mind started drifting back to my last date with Tina. Jesus, I thought, guys really are hopeless.

  After a nap, I put my mostly dry clothes back on and rounded up my gear. I was anxious to see how the samples looked in sunlight. I opened a couple of sample bags and examined several of the larger rock chips with my ten-power hand lens. I confirmed the presence of chalcopyrite, a copper sulfide, secondary copper minerals, pyrite, and a ton of pitchblende.

  Holy moly . . . this could be good, I thought as I bagged up the samples.

  Chapter 2

  I hardly remember the walk back down to the Bronco. All I could think about was the rich uranium ore. I pulled my cell phone out of the glove box and checked the signal. Barely two bars. I dialed Will’s cell phone and managed to get through.

  “Will, Trace, here. Are you where you can talk?”

  “Affirmative, old man, what’s up?”

  “I may have found the mother lode, Will. I am going to give you some township and range information. Can you get on the Bureau of Land Management's website and check for current claims?”

  “Can do, amigo. Fire when ready.”

  “Okay, sections sixteen and twenty-one, Township thirty- six north, Range twenty east. Got that?”

  “Got it.”

  “Second thing, Will. Call the county clerk at the Okanogan County courthouse and have them run a claim search on any claims filed in the last ninety days in the sections I just gave you. Also, we need to see if there are any patented claims in those sections.”

  “Can I get in on this, Trace?”

  “You’re already in, pard. Just call me back when you have any claim information.”

  “On it, and thanks, Trace.”

  Back at the W, I started formulating a claim-staking program. This would have to be kept very, very, quiet. There’s no shortage of slime balls and crooks in the mining game.

  I plotted the bearing of the vein and figured about three claims in width and ten claims in length should cover the vein structure. Each lode claim is allowed to be a maximum of fifteen hundred feet in length by six hundred feet wide, equaling a little over 20 acres. In total, I was looking at staking about 619 acres, just less than a full section.

  Rather than stake the claims myself, I wanted a registered surveyor to do the job. And I knew just the fellow, Ken Hodges. Ken’s office was in Chelan, Washington, only a couple of hours from the Sullivan Mine. We’d worked together on a number of claim-staking projects in the past. He ran a first-class operation and documented everything, including photographing the front page of a local newspaper alongside each location monument. So, there’d be no doubt as to when the monument was staked. Ken also used state of the art GPS equipment and could tie each location monument and claim stake to within about two centimeters.

  As an independent third party, Ken would be able to testify to the validity of my claims, should the need arise. I knew of a number of low-life scum suckers who routinely over-staked new claims. They hoped for an out-of-court cash settlement, or, even better, a court-appointed fractional claim interest.

  One of the worst bottom dwellers, Cyrus 'the Virus' McSweeny, immediately came to mind. The Virus operated out of Spokane under the name of Columbia Resources, LLC. It was rumored he also owned interests in offshore holding companies.

  Cyrus’s resume was colorful, to say the least. He wrote the book on pump-and-dump stock scams. And he’d been accused, more than once, of naked short selling, selling shares he didn't own, via his offshore accounts. His favorite scam, however, remained over-staking newly staked mining claims.

  Always on various agencies radars, his only pinch, so far, was for income tax evasion. The judge gave him five years at the federal pen, in Sheridan, Oregon.

  The Virus could smell a new mineral discovery. I figured it was just a matter of time.

  Will called back just before I headed down to the W's dining room for a celebratory steak and a good bottle of Washington State wine.

  “Howdy, Will. What did you find?”

  “Good news, Trace. No current claims in sections sixteen or twenty-one. Sullivan Mining Company staked most of both sections in the late eighteen hundreds, but those claims are all long since closed. No patented ground, either. You’re good to go.”

  “Great news, Will. I’m going to call Ken Hodges in the morning and get him and his crew up here ASAP.”

  “Good plan, Trace. Listen, if you need me to come up, just give me a holler.”

  “Okay, Will, and thanks.”

  The next morning I called Ken’s office in Chelan and filled him in on my staking program. I told him I needed the staking done as quickly and quietly as possible, with a maximum of documentation.

  “Expecting problems, Trace?”

  “Could be, Ken. I always worry about some jerk over-staking me and claiming he was there first.”

  “Cyrus the Virus?”

  “He’s on the top of the list.”

  “Don’t worry, Trace. By the time my crew is done staking, we’ll have the claims documented to where they'll stand up in any court.”

  “Perfect. When can you start?”

  “Send me the proposed claim locations and give me a few days to get all the location forms and claim tags prepared. Today is Wednesday. How does this coming Monday sound?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll head back to my office today and e-mail you the claim data. It will also give me a chance to send some samples off to the lab for assays.”

  “Okay, see you on Monday, Trace.

  The next morning I was back in my office, e-mailing Ken the claim data. I picked up the phone and called Will.

  “Will, it’s Trace. Can you come over for a couple minutes?”

  “I can be there in about fifteen minutes. What’s up?”

  “I want to show you some samples I grabbed at the Sullivan.”

  While I waited for Will, I split the samples from each bag into two equal parts. One for the lab to assay, and one for safe keeping.

  In about fifteen minutes, there was a knock on my door, and Will stepped into my office.

  “Take a look at these, Will.”

  “Holy crap, they look like pure sulfides . . . and man, are they heavy.”

  “Right on both counts, amigo. According to the old production reports, the Sullivan ran about three-quarters of an ounce gold with about one and a half percent copper.”

  “What’s the kind of pitchy-looking black mineral?”

  “That, my friend, is why the samples are so heavy. It’s pitchblende uranium.

  “Damn, are they hot?”

  “About off scale. Best I’ve ever seen.”

  Will quickly put the samples down on my desk and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Hmmm, very interesting,” Will said, looking at his hands. “I’ve been reading commodities reports predicting uranium may take off again.”

  “Yeah, it looks like the beginning of a new cycle. Since Three Mile Island, th
e price of uranium has been in the crapper. But with all the new reactors forecast to come on-line, the commodity traders are back in the uranium market.”

  “A perfect time to bring a new uranium deposit on-line.”

  “Exactly so, pard.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “The plan is to meet Ken Hodges and his survey crew on Monday in Winthrop. His crew will get all the claim location monuments staked. And I’ll file the location notices at the Okanogan County courthouse. Once we do that, the claims are valid. We’ll have thirty days after we file to get the corner posts in.”

  “Sounds good. So what can I do to participate in this fine new venture?”

  “You start looking for a clean Vancouver, B.C., public shell. If this thing pans out like I think it will, I want to vend the claims into a public Canadian company. We’ll start trading on the Vancouver Stock Exchange, and raise some serious developmental capital.”

  Will nodded. “I have an attorney buddy named Wally Wilkins. We went to law school together, and he lives and offices in Vancouver. He does mergers, acquisitions, and securities law. And he always knows of a few good shell companies.”

  “I’ll get you a nice block of shares for your time, and the new company will reimburse your expenses.”

  “Perfect. Thanks, Trace.”

  “Hey, that’s what friends are for. And you never know. We may need a tough, ex-football player turned lawyer, if we run into any trouble.”

  “Cyrus?”

  “Damn, you’re the second guy in two days to mention the Virus.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s always out there, and if he gets wind of a new find, he could be trouble.”

  “Agreed.”

  After my meeting with Will, I sent the split rock-chip samples to a lab in Silver Valley, Idaho. I purposely avoided any local labs. If the assays were as good as I expected, I didn’t want the Virus alerted.

  I drove back to Winthrop on Sunday and checked in to the W. The next morning I was having coffee in the hotel restaurant, when Ken Hodges walked in.

  “Hey, Trace, good to see you again.”

  “Howdy, Ken. Have a seat.”

  Ken was in his forties, dark haired and stout from years of field work. We both ordered steak and eggs, and got down to business.

  “I’ve got all the claims plotted, including lat-long co-ordinates. We’ll be able to put the location monuments and corners in by GPS,” Ken said, handing me a spreadsheet.

  “Perfect. I want to get all the location monuments in as fast as possible.”

  “We’ll get them all in today. All the claim location notices are signed by me as Agent for Reserve E&P, LLC, as you instructed. Everything is ready to record with the Okanogan County clerk.”

  Reserve E&P, LLC was a Nevada corporation I’d set up for claim-staking projects.

  “Good job, Ken. Let me have the location notices after we finish eating. I’ll drive up to Okanogan and get them filed today.”

  “Okay. Once the monuments are in the ground, the claims are valid. We’ll finish staking the corners in a couple of days.”

  After breakfast Ken and his crew headed up to the Sullivan Mine. I jumped in my Bronco and headed to the County Courthouse in Okanogan.

  After a long day, Ken and I met for supper at the W.

  “How’d it go today, Ken?”

  “No problems. The terrain is pretty steep, but thirty claims are not much for my crew. All the location monuments are in, and even some of the corners. We’ll knock it out tomorrow.”

  “Perfect. I filed all the notices with the county clerk and will send copies of the stamped, recorded, notices to the Bureau of Land Management, in a few days.”

  “When the claims get posted on the BLM website, the Virus will likely see them,” Ken said. “I hear he has a file clerk doing nothing but looking for recent claim activity. I also hear she’s damned good-looking.”

  I laughed. “Well, good-looking or not, they’ll have a tough time messing with our claims.”

  Chapter 3

  It had been a couple of weeks since I’d filed the claims with the Bureau of Land Management. The claims were now readily visible to anyone researching the BLM’s website.

  I’d just gotten to my office when the phone rang.

  “Geology office. Trace Brandon, speaking.”

  “Mr. Brandon, Cyrus McSweeny here.”

  Jesus, that didn’t take long, I thought. “Yes, sir, Mr. McSweeny, what can I do for you?”

  “Have we met, Trace?”

  “No sir, not officially. But some of my clients have, well, become acquainted with you.”

  “That’s one way to say it. Listen, Trace, I see where your LLC has staked some claims around the old Sullivan Mine.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “I thought the mine was closed by a big landslide in the forties?”

  “She was, but this spring’s flood exposed the mine portal.”

  “I see. Were you able to get in the old workings and grab some samples?”

  “Yes, I poked around a bit and collected a few samples.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, since you have it pretty well tied up, how’s it look?”

  “Well, I could only sample the first level. The second level is flooded.”

  “Are you sure about water in the second level?”

  “Yep, pretty sure,” I replied, thinking back to my full gainer into the flooded winze.

  “Well, how did level one look to you?”

  “Good enough to plan some core drilling.”

  “I see. Would you be interested in a partner? I have pretty deep pockets, Trace. I could help defray a lot of the exploration expenses, in return for an interest in the claims.”

  “I appreciate the offer Mr. McSweeny, but I think I can handle the initial exploration costs.”

  “Well, what about beyond that? No offense, but I’d be surprised if you have the financial wherewithal to bring a mine into production.”

  “Probably not. But if the lode grades out, I’ll have several financing options.”

  “Reverse merger with a public shell, eh?”

  Damn this guy doesn’t miss a thing, I thought to myself. “Well, it’s one option.”

  “The public market can be a damned rough place, Trace, if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, sir. Fortunately, I have a damned good attorney to keep me out of harm’s way.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll probably need him. Good talking to you, Trace. I’ll be seeing you.”

  Not if I see you first, I thought, as I hung up.

  After his call to Trace, Cyrus made a second call to his right- hand man, Bill Thornton. Thornton, or Thorny as Cyrus called him, was built like a fireplug. Bald with a salt-and-pepper goatee, he stood five feet eight and weighed two hundred pounds. Thorny reminded people of a bulked-up Yul Brynner. Like Cyrus, he’d worked and fought his way out of the mines. He was smart and tough as nails.

  “Thorny, it's Cyrus.”

  “Hey, Cyrus, what can I do for you this fine morning?”

  “I want you to find out everything you can on some new claims staked in sections sixteen and twenty-one, Township thirty-six north, Range twenty east. Look for the REP claims, number one through thirty. The locator is Reserve E&P, LLC. I want to know who did the staking and if they’re duly recorded in Okanogan County.”

  “Yes, sir. Standard routine?”

  “Yeah, standard routine. If they missed any steps in locating or filing these claims, they may have a new partner. Get back to me as soon as you can, Thorny.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  After my conversation with Cyrus, I called Will to fill him in.

  “You’ll never guess who just called me.”

  “The Virus?”

  “Good guess.”

  “What’d the jerk want?”

  “He said he saw our new claims posted on the BLM website and tried to pump me for inform
ation. Hell, he even offered to partner up.”

  “Holy crap, the guy is friggin' unbelievable.”

  “I told him we didn’t need a partner at this stage, and he immediately guessed we were looking to do a reverse merger with a public shell company.”

  “He’s a bottom-feeder, Trace, but he’s nobody’s fool. Don’t underestimate the bastard.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t. But he’ll have a tough time over-staking us. Ken documented and photographed everything, every monument, every corner. I have hard copies and computer files, as does Ken. Cyrus is going to run into a dead end if he tries to mess with our claims.”

  “Agreed, but he may try another tack.”

  “Same thought crossed my mind, amigo. In any case, I think you and I should head up to Winthrop on Wednesday. I want to hire a dozer crew to repair the old mine road and put in three drill pads. I could use your help on the permit side with the Forest Service.”

  “Sounds good. I would love to get out of the office for a little road trip.”

  “We can get some work started, and we’ll be able to keep an eye on the claims. Also, as a precaution, I am going to call Henry Orvis, the Okanogan County sheriff, and give him a heads-up about possible trouble with the Virus.”

  “Do you have a good relationship with the sheriff?”

  “Yeah, pretty good. He’s a cousin, on my dad’s side.”

  Will laughed. “Pretty handy. Got any other surprises up your sleeve?”

  “Maybe one or two. We’ll have to see how this plays out.”

  After Will and I finished, I called Robert Malott, owner of Chewak Construction Company in Winthrop.

  “Bobby, Trace Brandon, down in Ellensburg.”

  “Yeah, Trace, long-time no hear.”