XVII
WILSON AGAIN DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
It was decidedly warm the following Monday noon at Bonepile, and WilsonJennings, his coat off, but wearing the fancy Mexican sombrero that theBar-O cowmen had given him, sat in the open window to catch the breezethat blew through from the rear. From the window Wilson could not see thewagon-trail toward the hills to the west. Thus was it that the low thudof hoofs first told him of someone's hurried approach.
Starting to his feet, he stepped to the end of the platform. At sight ofa horseman coming toward him at full speed, and leading a second horse,saddled, but riderless, Wilson gazed in surprise. Wonder increased whenas the rider drew nearer he recognized Muskoka Jones, the big Bar-Ocowman.
"What is it, Muskoka?" he shouted as the ponies approached.
The cow-puncher pulled up all-standing within a foot of the platform.
"There's been an explosion at the Pine Lode, kid, and ten men are bottledup somewhere in the lower level. Two men got in through a small hole--themouth of the mine is blocked--and one of them is tapping on the ironpump-pipe. Bartlett, the mine boss, thinks it may be telegraphticking--that maybe Young knows something about that. Will you come upand listen?
"You see, if they knew what was what inside, they'd know what they coulddo. They are afraid to blast the big rock that's blocking the mouth forfear of bringing loosened stuff down on the men who have been caught."
Wilson was running for the station door. "I'll explain to thedespatcher," he shouted over his shoulder.
"I, I, X," responded the despatcher.
"There has been an explosion at the Pine Lode mine," sent Wilson rapidly,"and a man has been sent to take me there to try and read some tappingfrom the men inside. Can you give 144 and the Mail clearance from Q andlet me go up?"
"Some tapping? What--Oh, I understand. OK! Go ahead," ticked thedespatcher. "Get back as soon as possible."
"I will."
"All right, Muskoke," cried Wilson, hastening forth, struggling into hiscoat as he ran.
"Get round thar," shouted the cowboy, swinging the spare pony to theplatform. Wilson went into the saddle with a neat bound.
"Say, you've seen a hoss before, kid," observed Muskoka with surprise ashe threw over the reins.
"Sure I have. Used to spend my summer vacations on a farm. Can ride a bitstanding up," said Wilson, with pride.
They swung their animals about together, and were off on the jump. As thetwo ponies stretched out to their full stride the cowboy eyed Wilson'seasy seat with approval. "Well, kid," he observed after a moment'ssilence, "next time I come across a dude I'll git him to do his tricksbefore I brand him. I don't see but what you sit about as good as I do."
Wilson's pleased smile gave place to gravity as he returned to thesubject of the explosion. "When did it happen?" he asked.
"Early this morning. Just after the men went in. They're not sure, butthink it was powder stored at the foot of the shaft down to the lowerlevel. The main lead of the Pine Lode, you know, runs straight into themountain, not down; and the shaft to the lower level is a ways in. Weheard the noise at the Bar-O.
"There's nothing much to see, or do, though," the cowman added as theyraced along neck and neck. "A big rock just over the entrance came down,and when they got the dirt away they found it had bottled the thing uplike a cork. It's that they are afraid to blast until they know how themen are fixed inside. Hoover and Young got in through a small hole at thetop, Hoover about half an hour before Young. He started tapping on thepipe too, then stopped. They don't know what happened to him."
Twenty minutes' hard riding brought them to the foothills. Still at thegallop the ponies were urged up a winding rocky trail, and finally a tallblack chimney and a group of rough buildings came into view.
"There it is," said the cowboy, indicating a ledge just above.
As they went forward, still at full speed, Wilson gazed toward the mineentrance with some astonishment. Mine disasters he had always thought ofas scenes of great excitement--people running to and fro, wringing theirhands, excited crowds held back by ropes, and men calling and shouting.Here, about a spot but little distinguished from the rest of the rocky,sparsely-treed mountain side, was gathered a group of perhaps fifty men,some sitting on beams and rocks, others moving quietly about, allsmoking.
On their being discovered, however, there was a stir, and as Muskoka andthe boy dismounted at the foot of a rough path and ascended there was ageneral movement of the miners and cowmen to meet them.
"I got him," Muskoka announced briefly to a grizzle-haired man who metthem at the top. "This is Bartlett, the mine boss," he said to Wilson byway of introduction. The boss nodded.
"The tapping's going on yet, is it, Joe?"
"No. It's stopped, just like Hoover's did," was the gloomy response. "Andjust when we were getting onto it ourselves."
The speaker held up a small board pencilled with figures and letters."Redding there hit on the idea that maybe Young was knocking out thenumbers of letters in the alphabet, and we made this table, and justfound out we had it right when the tapping stopped. That was twentyminutes ago, and we haven't had another knock since."
"Let's see it. What did you get?"
"There--'20, 7, 5, 20, 21, 16'--'T G E T U P.' Something about 'can't getup,' we figured it. But it's not enough to be of any use.
"And there's not another man here can wriggle in through the hole," wenton the boss, turning toward the great rock which sealed the mouth of themine. "A dozen of 'em tried it, and Redding got stuck so we had to get arope on him. Nearly pulled his legs off."
Wilson made his way forward and examined the strangely blocked entrance.The small hole referred to was a triangular-shaped opening about a footin height and some sixteen inches in width, apparently just at the roofof the gallery. Some minutes Wilson stood studying it, pondering. Finallyhe turned about with an air of decision and returned to Muskoka and themine boss.
"I have a plan," he announced. "If you will go back to the station again,Muskoke, I'll send for another operator, and go in the mine myself. Twooperators could talk backwards and forwards easily on the piping. And--"
"But whar's the other operator?" interrupted the cowboy.
"There is a freight due at the station in about twenty-five minutes. Ican give you a message to hand the engineer for the operator at Ledges,the next station--a message asking the despatcher to send the Ledgesoperator down on the Mail. Someone could wait for him, and if there is nohitch he'd be here inside of an hour and a half."
"That'll work!" exclaimed the boss. "That's it! You'll go, Muskoke?"
"Sartenly. I'll get a fresh hoss, and wait fer him myself." Wilson,finding an envelope in his pocket, dropped to a boulder and beganwriting.
* * * * *
"W. B. J., Exeter," he scribbled. "Am at the mine. The tapping hasstopped. No one else can go in, so I am going myself. Please send downoperator from Ledges to read my tapping if I am unable to return.
"Jennings."
* * * * *
"Redding! Whar's Red?" shouted Muskoka as he folded the message.
"Here. What?"
"I'm going back to the station for another operator. I'm going to takeyour Johnny hoss. Mine's blowed."
"Sure yes," agreed the owner, and with a "Good luck, kid," Muskoka wasclattering down the path.
"Now, Mr. Bartlett, will you please explain the plan of things inside;just how the tunnel runs?" requested Wilson.
"Have a seat and I'll draw it," said the boss, setting the example. Heturned the board bearing the fragmentary message, and Wilson dropped downbeside him.
"The main gallery, the old lead, runs straight in, at about this dipdown," he said, drawing as he spoke. "Runs back 550 feet, and ends. Thatwas where the old lead petered out.
"Here, about 200 feet from the entrance, is a vertical shaft, 90 feet,that we put down to pick up the old Pine-Knot lead. It's from
the foot ofthat the new gallery, the lower level, starts. It slopes off just underthe old lead--so--330 feet, there's a fault, and it cants up 12feet--so--then on down again at a bit sharper dip, nearly 600 feet; thenanother fault and a drop, and about 50 feet more.
"It's down there at the end we think most of the men have been caught,but some may have been near the shaft. The pumping-pipe where Hoover andYoung must have been tapping is here, half way between the first andsecond faults, where it comes down through a boring from the old gallery.It must have been at that point, because we had disconnected two leakingsections just below there only this morning."
"How do you get down the shaft to the lower level?" Wilson asked.
"There was a ladder, but it was smashed by the explosion. Hoover, thefirst man in, came out for a rope, so I suppose that's there now. Youngmust have gone down by it.
"Hoover also reported that the roof of the old gallery was in bad shapejust over the shaft. That's the particular reason we are afraid to blastthe rock here until we know whether any of the men were caught at thebottom of the pit."
Wilson arose and began removing his collar. "How about water, Mr.Bartlett, since the pump is not working?" he inquired.
"Unless the explosion tapped new water, there'll be no danger fortwenty-four hours at least. But if the drain channel of the lower galleryhas been filled the floor will be very slippery," the mine boss added."It's slate, and we left it smooth, as a runway for the ore boxes."
As the young operator removed his spotless collar--one similar to thatwhich had so aroused the cowmen's derision on his first day atBonepile--without a smile one of the very men who had formed the"welcoming committee" that day rubbed his hands on his shirt, took itcarefully, and placed it on a clean plank.
"You'll want a lamp. Somebody give the boy a cap and lamp," the bossdirected. A dozen of the miners whipped off caps with attached lamps, andtrying several, Wilson found one to fit. Then, buttoning his coat andturning up the collar, he made his way to the rock-sealed entrance, andclimbed up to the narrow opening.
"I'll tap as soon as I reach the pipe," he said. "So long!" and withoutmore ado crawled head first within and disappeared.
The lamp on his cap lighting up the narrow trough-like tunnel, Wilsoneasily wormed his way forward ten or twelve feet. Then the passagecontracted and became broken and twisted. However, given confidence bythe knowledge that others had passed through, Wilson squeezed on, therepresently came a widening of the hole, then a black opening, and with afinal effort he found himself projecting into the black depths of theempty gallery.
Below him the debris sloped to the floor. Pulling himself free, he slidand scrambled down, and quickly was on his feet, breathing with relief.Only pausing to brush some of the dust from his clothes, Wilson hastenedforward.
Two hundred feet distant a windlass took shape in the obscurity. Hereached it, and the black opening of the shaft to the lower level was athis feet. Looking, he found the rope the mine boss had spoken of. It wassecured to one of the windlass supports, and disappeared into the depthson the opposite side of the pit. Directly below was the shattered wreckof the ladder.
Leaning over, Wilson shouted, "Hello! Hello!" The words crashed andechoed in the shaft and about him, but there was no reply. Once more heshouted, then resolutely suppressing his instinctive shrinking, he madehis way about to the rope, carefully lowered himself, and begandescending hand under hand.
Wilson had not gone far when with apprehension he found the rope becomingwet and slippery with drip from the rocks above. Despite a tightened griphis hands began to slip. In alarm he wound his feet about the rope. Stillhe slipped. To dry a hand on his sleeve, he freed it. Instantly with acry he found himself shooting downward. He clutched with hands, feet andknees, but onward he plunged. In the light of his lamp the jagged brokentimbers of the shoring shot up by him. He would be dashed to pieces.
But desperately he fought, and at last got the rope clamped against thecorner of a heel, and the speed was retarded. A moment after he landedwith an impact that broke his hold on the rope and sent him in a heap onhis back.
Rising, Wilson thankfully discovered he had escaped injury other than afew bruises, and gazed about him. At first sight he appeared to be in thebottom of a well filled with broken water-soaked timbers and gray,dripping rock. He knew there must be an exit, however, and set aboutlooking for it, at the same time listening and watching shrinkingly forsigns of anyone buried in the heap of stone and timber. Not a sound savethe monotonous drip of seeping water was to be heard, however, andpresently behind a shield of planking he located the black mouth of asmall opening.
Dropping to his knees, he crawled through, and stood upright in adownward sloping gallery similar to that above--the "lower level."
Once more he shouted. "Hello! Hello!" The clashing echoes died awaywithout response, and he started forward.
Scarcely had he taken a half dozen steps when without warning his feetshot from under him and he went down on his back with a crash, barelysaving his head with his hands. The smooth hard rock was as slippery asice from the water flowing over it. Wondering if this icy declivity hadanything to do with the failure of Hoover and Young to return, Wilsonarose and went on more cautiously.
As he proceeded the walking became more and more treacherous. Severaltimes he again went down, saving himself by sinking onto his outstretchedhands.
On rising from one of these falls Wilson discovered something which senthim ahead with new concern. A few yards farther he halted with anexclamation on the brink of a yellow stretch of water that met thegallery roof twenty feet beyond him.
Blankly he gazed at it. Then he recalled the "fault" the mine boss hadspoken of--an abrupt rise of the gallery twelve feet. This must be it.Its drain had choked, and filled it with water.
But both Hoover and Young had passed it! The pipe they had tapped uponwas beyond. They must have waded boldly in, dove or ducked down, and comeup on the other side. At the thought of following them in this Wilsondrew back. Had he not better return?
Could he, though? Could he ascend a rope down which he had been unable toprevent himself sliding? The answer was obvious.
Desperately Wilson decided to venture the water, to reach those he nowknew were on the other side, and the pumping-pipe. In preparation hefirst securely wrapped the matches he carried in notepaper taken from anenvelope, and placed them in the top of the miner's hat. Then removinghis shoes, to give him firmer footing, he stepped into the yellow pooland carefully made his way forward. Six feet from the point at which thewater met the top of the gallery the water was up to his chin, and he sawhe must swim for it, and dive. Without pause, lest he should lose hisnerve, he struck out, reached the roof, took a deep breath, and duckeddown.
Three quick, hard strokes, and he arose, and with a gasp found himself atthe surface again. A few strokes onward in the darkness, and his handsmet a rough wall, over which the water was draining as over the brink ofa dam.
At the same moment a sound of dull blows reached his ears. Splutteringand blinking, Wilson drew himself up. A shout broke from him. Far distantand below was a point of light.
"Hello!" he cried. Immediately came a chorus of response, as though manywere excitedly shouting at once. Unable to distinguish anything from thejangle of echoes, Wilson cried back, "Are you all safe?"
Again came the clashing, incomprehensible shout.
"I'm coming down," he called, though not sure that they heard him.Producing the matches from the crown of the hat, he found they had comethrough dry, and after some difficulty lighting one against the side ofanother, he re-lit the lamp. While at this, voices continued to come upto him, evidently shouting something. But try as he could he was unableto make out what was said. It was all a reverberating clamor, as though ahundred people were talking at once.
As the lamp spluttered up, after the ducking which had extinguished it,Wilson gazed down the gallery before him with a touch of new dismay. Thewater was flowing over it in a thin, glossy coat, an
d it was considerablysteeper than on the outer side of the fault. Apparently the only thing todo was to slide.
Working about into a sitting position, facing down the slope, with feetspread out, as though steering a sleigh, Wilson allowed himself to go.The rapidity with which he gained momentum startled him. Soon the graydamp walls were passing upward like a glistening mist. With difficulty hekept his feet foremost.
Meantime the voices from below had continued shouting. Onward he slid,and the sounds became clearer. At last the words came to him. They were,"The pipe! The pipe! Catch the pump-pipe!" Then Wilson suddenlyrecollected that the pipe was but half way down the slope.
Digging with his heels he sought to slow up, gazing first at one flittingwall, then the other. On the right a vertical streak of black appeared.He clutched with heels and hands, and sought to steer toward it. He sweptnearer, and reached with outstretched hand. The effort swung himsideways, his fingers just grazed the iron, and twisting about, he shotdownward head first at greater speed than ever. A moment after there wasa chorus of shouts, a sharp cry in his ears, an impact, a rolling andtumbling, a second crash, and Wilson felt himself dragged to his feet.
About him, in a single flickering light, was a group of strange faces.While he gazed, dazed, rubbing a bruised head, all talked excitedly, evenangrily.
"Why didn't you hang on, you idiot?" demanded a voice.
"Who is it, anyway? It's a stranger!"
"And a boy!" said another.
Wilson recovered his scattered wits, and quickly explained who he was andwhat he had come for. Immediately there was a joyful shout. "We'll be outinside of an hour!" cried one.
"But how am I going to get up to the pipe?" demanded Wilson.
"We are cutting footholds up the incline.
"White, get back on the job," directed the speaker, who Wilson laterlearned was the fire-boss.
"You brought him down with you," he added, to the boy.
The man spoken to began creeping up the water-covered slope dragging apick, and Wilson turned to look about him. The eleven men in the party,not including the man on the slope, were crowded together on the levelfloor of what evidently was the lower fault of the lead. From thedarkness beyond came the sound of water trickling to a lower level.
"Are all here, and no one hurt?" he asked.
"Hoover and Young, and everybody, and not one scratched," responded thefire-boss. "You were the one nearest hurt.
"You were a mighty plucky youngster," he added, "to come through thatwater up there."
Wilson interrupted a chorus of hearty assent. "What happened to Hooverand Young at the pipe?" he inquired. "That mystified everybody outside."
"They both caught it coming down, but Hoover lost his hold trying tochange hands for tapping, and Young dropped the knife he was knockingwith, and slipped fishing for it," the fire-boss explained.
Meantime at the entrance to the mine, a half hour having passed without aknocking on the pipe to announce the arrival inside of the youngoperator, anxiety began to be felt for his safety also. When another halfhour had passed, and there was still no response to frequent tappings ofinquiry, the mine-boss, Bartlett, began to stride up and down before theblocked entrance. "I shouldn't have allowed him to go in," he mutteredrepeatedly. "He was only a boy."
When at length Muskoka Jones reappeared on the scene, and with him theoperator from Ledges, Bartlett met them with a gloomy face. At that verymoment, however, there was a shout from the men gathered about thepumping-pipe. "He's knocking!" cried a voice.
Bartlett, Muskoka and the Ledges operator went forward on the run. Thelatter dropped to his knees and placed his ear to the pipe. At the quicksmile of comprehension which came into his face a great cheer went up. Itwas immediately stilled by a gesture from the operator, and in tensesilence he caught up a stone, tapped back a signal, then read aloudWilson's strangely telegraphed words of the safety of the men below,their situation, and the means to be taken to reach them.
And just at sunset the bedraggled but joyful, cheering party of rescuersand rescued emerged from the entrance--Wilson to a reception he willremember as long as he lives.
The most important result of Wilson's courage and resourcefulness,however, was an interview Alex Ward had that evening at Exeter with thedivision superintendent. Following a recital of Wilson's feat at themine, Alex added: "You said last week, Mr. Cameron, that I might suggesta third operator for the Yellow Creek construction 'advance guard' ofoperators. I'd like to suggest Jennings, sir."
"He is appointed, then," said the superintendent. "Go and tell himyourself."