"Here, lad, lead this mule down the rest of the way, will ye?"
"Here, lad, lead this mule down the rest of the way, will ye?"
In another instant he had gone, leaping with immense strides down the precipitous steps, and Derrick found himself staring into the comical face of a large mule which, with his fore-feet on one step and his hind ones on that above, looked as though he were about to stand on his head.
"Go on, can't yer!" called out an impatient voice from behind the mule. "Do ye think I can hang onto this 'ere blessed tail all day? A mule's no feather-weight, let me tell yer."
Then Derrick realized that another man held the mule by the tail, and was exerting all his strength to prevent him from going down too fast. Accepting the situation, he started ahead, encouraging the mule to follow; but this arrangement did not seem to suit the animal, for he refused to budge a step from where he stood, nor could the man in the rear push him along.
"Here, you!" the man called out to Derrick, "come back here and steer him while I take his head. When he gets started, hang on to his tail with all your might, and hold back all yer can."
So they changed places, and the mule was so greatly pleased at having got his own way that he began to plunge down the stairs with great rapidity. Derrick felt almost as though he were being rushed through space on the tail of a comet, and shuddered to think of the broken limbs and general destruction that must inevitably follow such reckless travelling. The mule, however, seemed to know what he was about as well as the man who led him, and took such good care of himself that Derrick soon plucked up courage, and even began to enjoy the situation.
As he was thinking that they must be somewhere near the centre of the earth, the mule gave an unusually violent plunge forward, and then stopped so suddenly that poor Derrick found himself sprawling on the animal's back, with both arms clasped tightly about his neck. With this the mule began to caper and shake himself so violently that the boy was forced to loose his hold and fall to the ground, amid roars of laughter from a score of miners who witnessed the scene.
Greatly confused, Derrick scrambled to his feet, gave a reproachful glance at the mule, which was calmly gazing at him with a wondering look in his wide-open eyes, and turned to see in what sort of a place he had been so unceremoniously landed. At the same moment Mr. Jones, dressed in miner's costume, and looking as grimy as any of the others, stepped from the laughing group and said,
"My boy, I congratulate you on being the first person who ever rode into this mine on mule-back, I am glad you found the travelling-road so good. Came on your own mule too. How did you know this was the bumping-mule you were to drive?"
"I didn't know what sort of a mule he was until just as we got here and he bumped me off his back," replied Derrick; "and I begin to think that he knows more about driving than I do."
"Well, you have made a notable beginning," said the mine boss, "and I am sure you two will get along capitally together. Harry Mule, this is Derrick Sterling, who is to be your new driver, and I want you to behave yourself with him." Then to Derrick he said, "Harry has the reputation of being the most knowing, and at the same time the most perverse, mule in the mine. I believe though he only shows bad temper to those who abuse him, and I have selected you to be his driver because I know you will treat him kindly, and give him a chance to recover his lost reputation. If he does not behave himself with you, I shall put him in the tread-mill. Now stand there out of the way for a few minutes, and then I will show you where you are to work."
Derrick did as he was directed, and quickly found himself intensely interested in the strange and busy scene before him. The travelling-road entered the mine in a large chamber close beside the foot of the slope that led upward to the new breaker. From this chamber branched several galleries, or "gangways," in which were laid railway-tracks. Over these, trains of loaded and empty coal-cars drawn by mules were constantly coming and going. By the side of the track in each gangway was a ditch containing a stream of ink-black water, flowing towards a central well in one corner of the chamber, from which it was pumped to the surface. Opposite to where he stood, Derrick saw the black, yawning mouth of another slope, which, as he afterwards learned, led down into still lower depths of the mine. The men around him were handling long bars of railroad iron, which they were loading with a great racket on cars, and despatching to distant gangways in which new tracks were needed. Two large reflector lamps in addition to the miners' lamps made the chamber quite bright, and with all its noise and bustle it seemed to Derrick the most interesting place he had ever been in. He was sorry when the mine boss called and told him to bring along his mule and follow him.
They entered one of the gangways, leading from the central chamber, which the mine boss said was known as Gangway No. 1. He also told Derrick something about his mule, and said that by its last driver, Bill Tooley, the poor animal had been so cruelly abused that he had sent it to the surface for a few days to recover from the effects.
"I guess he has recovered," said Derrick, "judging from the way he brought me into the mine."
They had not gone very far before they came to a closed door on one side of the gangway beyond which the mule absolutely refused to go, in spite of all Derrick's coaxings and commands.
"It is the door of his stable," said the mine boss, who stood quietly looking on, without offering any assistance or advice, waiting to see what the boy would do.
Tying the end of the halter to one of the rails of the track on which they were walking, Derrick started into the stable, where he quickly found what he wanted. Coming out with a handful of oats, he let the mule have a little taste of them; and then, loosening the halter, tried to tempt him forward with them. This plan failed, for Harry declined to yield to temptation, and remained immovable. Then Derrick turned a questioning glance upon the mine boss, who said,
"Never again hitch an animal to a track along which cars are liable to come at any moment. Now, why don't you beat the mule?"
"Oh no, sir!" exclaimed Derrick, in distress. "I don't want to do that."
"Neither do I want you to," laughed the other. "I only asked why you didn't?"
"Because," said Derrick, "I want him to become fond of me, and my mother says the most stubborn animals can be conquered by kindness, while beatings only make them worse."
"Which is as true as gospel," said the mine boss. "Well, the only other thing I can suggest is for you to go into the stable, get the harness that hangs on the peg nearest the door, and put it on him."
Acting upon this hint, Derrick had hardly finished buckling the last strap of the harness when the mule began to move steadily forward of his own accord.
"That's his way," said the mine boss. "In harness he knows that he is expected to work, but without it he thinks he may do as he pleases."
Presently the mule stumbled slightly, and again he stopped and refused to go ahead.
"Do you know what is the matter now, sir?" asked Derrick.
"I think perhaps he wants his lamp lighted," replied the mine boss.
A miner's lamp, attached to a broad piece of leather, hung down in front of the mule from his collar.
The boy lighted this lamp, and immediately the mule began to move on, showing that this was exactly what he had wanted.
"Seems to me he knows almost as much as folks," cried Derrick, highly delighted at this new proof of his mule's intelligence.
"Quite as much as most folks, and more than some," answered his companion, dryly.
During their long walk they passed through several doors which, as Derrick was told, served to regulate the currents of air constantly flowing in and out of the mine, and kept in motion by the great fan at its mouth. Whenever they approached one of these the mine boss called, loudly, "Door," and it was immediately opened by a boy who sat behind it and closed it again as soon as they had passed. Each of these boys had besides his little flaring lamp, such as everybody in the mine carried, a can of oil for refilling it, a lunch-pail and a tin water-bottle, and each of them spent from eight to ten hours at his post without leaving it.
Finally Derrick and the mine boss came to a junction of several galleries, a sort of mine cross-roads, and the former was told that this was to be his headquarters, for here was where the trains were made up, and from here the empty cars were distributed. At the farther end of each of the headings leading from this junction two or more miners were at work drilling, blasting, and picking tons of coal from between its enclosing walls of slate. They were all doing their best to fill the cars which it was Derrick's business to haul to the junction and replace with empty ones. There were also a number of miners at work in breasts, or openings at the sides of the gangways that followed the slant of the coal vein, who expected to be supplied with empty cars and have their loaded ones taken away by Derrick. These breast miners filled their cars very quickly, as the moment they loosened the coal it slid down the slaty incline, above which it had been bedded, to a wooden chute on the edge of the gangway that discharged it directly into them.
As Derrick was told of all this, he realized that he and Harry Mule would have to get around pretty fast to attend to these duties, and supply empty cars as they were needed.
What interested him most in this part of the mine was an alcove hewn from solid rock near the junction, in which was a complete smithy. It had forge, anvil, and bellows, and was presided over by a blacksmith named Job Taskar, as ugly a looking fellow, Derrick thought, as he had ever seen. Here the mules were shod, tools were sharpened, and broken iron-work was repaired. It was a busy place, and its glowing forge, together with the showers of sparks with which Job Taskar's lusty blows almost constantly surrounded the anvil, made it appear particularly cheerful and bright amid the all-pervading darkness. Nearly every man and boy in that section of the mine was obliged to visit the smithy at least once during working hours. Thus it became a great news centre, and offered temptations to many of its visitors to linger long after their business was finished.
After pointing out to Derrick the several places at which his services would be required, the mine boss left him, and the boy found himself fully launched on his new career.
He soon discovered that Harry Mule knew much more of the business than he did, and by allowing him to have his own way, and go where he thought best, Derrick got along with very few mistakes. Among the miners upon whom he had to attend he found brawny Tom Evert, stripped to the waist, lying on his side, and working above his head, but bringing down the coal in glistening showers with each sturdy blow of his pick. When he saw Derrick he paused in his work long enough to exchange a cheery greeting with him and to dash the perspiration from his eyes with the back of his grimy hand; then at it he went again with redoubled energy.
At the end of one of the headings Derrick found another acquaintance in the person of Monk Tooley. He scowled when he saw the new driver, and growled out that he'd better look sharp and see to it he was never kept waiting for cars, or it would be the worse for him.
Twice Derrick started to leave this place, and each time the miner called him back on some trivial pretext. The boy could not see, nor did he suspect, what the man was doing, but as he turned away for the third time, Monk Tooley sprang past him with a shout, and ran down the heading. Derrick did not hear what he said, but turning to look behind him, he saw a flash of fire, and had barely time to throw himself face downward, behind his car, when he was stunned by a tremendous explosion. Directly afterwards he was nearly buried beneath an avalanche of rock and coal.
Although Derrick was terribly frightened by the explosion, and considerably bruised by the shower of rocks and coal that followed it, the car had so protected him that he was not seriously hurt. Had his mule started forward the heavily loaded car must have run over and killed him. Fortunately Harry was too experienced a miner to allow such a trifling thing as a blast to disturb his equanimity, especially as the two false starts already made had placed him at some little distance from it. To be sure, he had shaken his head at the flying bits of coal, and had even kicked out viciously at one large piece that fell near his heels. The iron-shod hoof had shattered the big lump, and sent its fragments flying over Derrick, but in the darkness and confusion the boy thought it was only part of the explosion, and was thankful that matters were no worse.
As Derrick cleared himself from the mass of rubbish that had fallen on him, and staggered to his feet, he was nearly suffocated by the dense clouds of powder-smoke from the blast. He was also in utter darkness, both his lamp and that of Harry Mule having been blown out. In his inexperience he had not thought to provide matches before entering the mine, and now he found himself in a darkness more dense than any he had ever dreamed of, without any means of procuring a light. His heart grew heavy within him as he realized his situation, for he had no idea whether the miner who had played so cruel and dangerous a trick upon him would return or not.
An impatient movement on the part of Harry Mule suggested a plan to him. Casting off the chain by which the mule was attached to the car, and holding the end in his hand, he said, "Go on, Harry, and take me out of this place." At this command the intelligent animal started off towards the junction as unhesitatingly as though surrounded by brightest daylight, and Derrick followed.
They had not gone far before they met Monk Tooley, leisurely returning to the scene of his labors.
"Hello! Mr. Mule-driver," he shouted, "what are you a-doing here in de dark, an' how do yer like mining far as ye've got? Been studying de effect of blarsts, and a-testing of 'em by pussunal experience?"
Derrick felt a great lump rising in his throat, and bitter thoughts and words crowded each other closely in his mind. He knew, however, that the man before him was as greatly his superior in wordy strife as in bodily strength, so he simply said,
"The next time you try to kill me you'd better take some surer means of doing it."
"Kill you! Who says I wanted to kill you?" demanded the miner, fiercely, as he stopped and glared at the boy. "Didn't I holler to ye to run? Didn't I give yer fair warnin' that I was shootin' a blarst? Didn't I? Course I did and yer didn't pay no 'tention to it. Oh no, sonny! 'twon't do. Ye mustn't talk 'bout killin' down in dese workin's, cause 'twon't be 'lowed. Come back now, an' git my wagon. Here's a light for yer, but don't let me hear no more talk 'bout killin', or ye may have a chance to wish yer was dead long before yer really is."
Derrick made no reply to this, but turning Harry Mule about, they went back after the car. He was convinced that this man was his bitter and unscrupulous enemy, and made up his mind that he must be constantly on his guard against him. He did not tell anybody of this startling incident of his first day's experience in the mine for a long time afterwards; as, upon thinking it over, he realized that the peril, which he had so happily escaped might readily be charged to his own carelessness.
At lunch time he let Harry Mule make his own way back to the mine stable for oats and water. He had been told by the mine boss that the knowing animal would not only do this, but would afterwards return to his place of duty when started towards it by one of the stable-boys. While the mule was gone, his young driver went into the blacksmith's shop to eat his own lunch in company with Job Taskar, who had invited him to do so. Job questioned Derrick closely as to his acquaintance among the men and boys of the colliery, and asked particularly in regard to his likings or dislikings of the several overseers.
"I hear thee's a great friend o' t' mine boss," said Job.
"Not at all," answered Derrick. "Mr. Jones was a friend of my father's, but I hardly know him."
"All says thee's boss's favorite."
"I'm sure I don't know why they should. Of course it was good of him to give me a job; but he had to get somebody to drive the mule. It doesn't seem to me that I've got any easier place than anybody else."
Here Derrick put one hand up to his badly aching head, which had been bruised by a flying chunk from Monk Tooley's blast.
Noting the movement, Job asked what was the matter, for although he had heard about the blast from Monk Tooley, he wanted to learn what the boy thought of it.
"I got hit by a falling chunk," replied Derrick, guardedly.
"Humph!" growled Job; "better keep clear o' they chunks. One on 'em might hit ye once too often some time."
Job held no more conversation with the boy, but lighted his pipe, and sat at one side of the forge, scowling and smoking. Derrick also kept silence, as he sat on the opposite side of the forge, rubbing his aching head with a grimy hand.
While they sat thus, several miners dropped in for a smoke and a chat. They all looked curiously at Derrick, but none of them spoke to him. Thus neglected, he felt very unhappy and uncomfortable, and was glad when the jingling of Harry Mule's harness outside gave notice that it was again time to go to work.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and monotonously, for, with the exception of burly Tom Evert, who gave the lad a cheery word whenever he passed him, nobody spoke to him. Even Harry Mule seemed to realize that his young driver was not having a very pleasant time, and rubbed his nose sympathetically against his shoulder, as much as to say, "I'm sorry for you, and I'll stand by you even if nobody else does."
At last, in some mysterious way, everybody seemed to know all at once, that it was time to quit work, and Harry Mule knew it as quickly as anybody. Before Derrick noticed that the miners had stopped work, this remarkable animal, having just been unhitched from a car, threw up his head, uttered a prolonged and ear-rasping bray, and started off on a brisk trot, with a tremendous clatter and jingling of chains, towards his stable.
The door-boys heard him coming, opened their doors to let him pass, closed them after him, and started on a run for the foot of the slope.
Of course Derrick followed his charge as fast as possible, calling, as he ran, "Whoa, Harry! Whoa! Stop that mule, he's running away!" Neither Harry nor anybody else paid the slightest attention to him, and when he finally reached the stable he found his mule already there, exchanging squeals and kicks with several other bumping-mules that had come in from other parts of the mine.
Then he knew that it was really quitting-time, and went to work, as quickly as his inexperience would allow, to rub Harry down, water and feed him, and make him comfortable for the night. Everybody else who had stable-work to do finished it before he, and when at last he felt at liberty to leave the mine and start towards the upper world and the fresh air he longed so ardently to breathe again, he was alone.
Derrick found his way without difficulty to the large chamber at the foot of the slope. There, as he did not see any cars ready to go up, he turned towards the travelling-road, with the intention of climbing the steep stairway he had descended that morning.
Suddenly there arose cries of "There he is! There he is! Head him off!"
Before the startled lad knew what was about to happen, he was surrounded by a score of sooty-faced boys. Cutting him off from the travelling-road, these boys pushed him, in spite of his opposition and protests, into a far corner of the chamber, where, with his back against the wall, he made a stand and demanded what they wanted of him.
"A treat! a treat!" shouted several.
Then room was made for one who seemed to exercise authority over them, and who, as he stepped forward, Derrick recognized with surprise as Bill Tooley, ex-mule driver, and now breaker boy.
"What are you down here for, and what does all this mean, Bill?" asked Derrick, as calmly as he could.
"It means," answered Bill, putting his disagreeable face very close to Derrick's, "dat yer've got ter pay fer comin' down inter de mine, an' fer takin' my mule, when I told yer not ter; dat's what it means. An' it means dat we're goin' ter initerate yer inter de order of 'Young Sleepers,' what every boy in de mine has got ter belong ter."
Derrick had heard of this order of "Young Sleepers," and knew it to be composed of the very worst young rascals in the coal region. He knew that they were up to all kinds of wickedness, and that most of the petty crimes of the community were charged to them. In an instant he made up his mind that he would rather suffer almost anything than become a member of such a gang.
While these thoughts were passing through his mind the cry of "A treat! a treat!" was again raised, and Bill Tooley again addressed Derrick, saying,
"Ter pay yer way inter de mine, de fellers says yer must set up a kag er beer. Ter pay fer drivin' my mule, I say yer got ter take a lickin', an' after that we'll initerate yer."
Now, both Derrick's father and mother had taught him to abhor liquor in every form; so to the boy's first proposition he promptly answered,
"I haven't got any money, and couldn't afford to buy a keg of beer, even if I wanted to. I don't want to, because I'm a blue ribbon, and wouldn't buy even a glass of beer if I had all the money in the world. I won't join your society either, and I don't see how you can initiate me when I don't choose to become a member. As for a licking, it'll take more than you to give it to me, Bill Tooley!"
With these bold words the young mule-driver made a spring at his chief tormenter, in a desperate effort to break through the surrounding group of boys. In the distance he saw the twinkling lights of some miners, and thought if he could only reach them they would afford him protection.
Derrick's defiant speech for an instant paralyzed his hearers with its very boldness; but as he sprang at Bill Tooley they also made a rush at him with howls of anger. He succeeded in hitting their leader one staggering blow, but was quickly overpowered by numbers and flung to the ground, where the young savages beat and kicked him so cruelly that he thought they were about to kill him.
He tried to scream for help, but could not utter a sound, and the miners who passed on their way to the slope thought the fracas was only a quarrel among some of the boys and paid no attention to it.
At length Bill Tooley ordered the boys to cease from pummelling their victim, and stooping over him, tied a dirty cloth over his eyes; then he gave a whispered order, and several of the boys, lifting the helpless lad by his head and feet, bore him away.
After carrying him what seemed to Derrick an interminable distance, and passing through a number of doors, as he could tell by hearing them loudly opened and closed, his bearers suddenly dropped him on the hard ground. Then Bill Tooley's voice said,
"Yer'll lie dere now till yer make up yer mind ter jine de Young Sleepers. Den yer can come an' let me know, an' I'll attend ter yer initeration. Till then yer'll stay where yer are, if it's a thousand years; fer no one'll come a-nigh yer an' yer can't find de way out."
While Bill was thus talking the other boys quietly slipped away. As he finished he also moved off, so softly that Derrick did not hear the sound of his retreating footsteps. It was not until some minutes had passed that he realized that he had been left, and was alone.
Meantime those who had thus abandoned their victim to the horrors of black solitude, in what to him was an unknown part of the mine, were gathered together at no great distance from him. There they waited to gloat over the cries that they hoped he would utter as soon as he realized that he was abandoned. In this they were disappointed, for though they lingered half an hour not a sound did they hear; then two of the boldest among them decided to take a look at their prisoner. Shielding the single lamp that lighted their steps so that its rays should not be seen at any great distance, they crept cautiously to where they had left him.
He was gone!
This had not been expected, and with an ill-defined feeling of dread they hurried back to the others and made their report.
"Oh, well, let him go!" exclaimed Bill Tooley, brutally. "'Twon't hurt him to spend a while in de gangway. Let's go up to supper, and afterwards come down an' hunt him."
As none of them dared to object to any proposal made by the bully, the whole gang of begrimed and evil-minded young savages hurried to the foot of the slope. Here they tumbled into a car, and in a few minutes were drawn up to the surface, where they scattered towards their respective homes and waiting suppers.
Paul Evert, who ever since work had ceased in the breaker, more than an hour before, had lingered near the mouth of the slope, waiting for the appearance of his friend, ventured to ask one of them if he had seen Derrick.
"Don't know nothing about him," was the reply, as, greatly alarmed to find the lad whom he had helped to persecute already made an object of inquiry, the Young Sleeper hurried away.
Bill Tooley had overheard Paul's question, and stepping up to him, he said, "Look a-here, young feller, yer ain't got no call as I knows on to be a meddling wid what goes on in de mine and don't concern you. I don't mind tellin' yer, though, that yer butty's doin' overwork, and mebbe won't come up all night. I heerd one of de bosses orderin' him to it."
Although Paul thought this somewhat strange, he knew that the miners frequently stayed down to do overwork, and was much relieved at such a plausible explanation of his friend's non-appearance. On his way home he stopped to tell Mrs. Sterling what he had heard. He found her very anxious, and just about to go out and make inquiries concerning her boy. The information that Paul brought relieved her mind somewhat, and thanking him for it, she turned back into the house with a sigh, and gave little Helen her supper, at the same time setting aside a liberal portion for Derrick when he should come.
Until nearly ten o'clock she waited, frequently going to the door to look and listen; then she could bear the suspense no longer. Throwing a shawl over her head, and bidding Helen remain where she was for a few minutes, the anxious mother started to go to the house of the mine boss to gain certain information of her boy. As she opened her own front door, something that she saw caused her to utter a cry and stand trembling on the threshold.
What Mrs. Sterling saw was her own son Derrick, who was just about to enter the house. As the light from behind her shone full upon him, he presented a sorry spectacle, and one well calculated to draw forth an exclamation from an anxious mother. Hatless and coatless, his face bruised, swollen, and so covered with blood and coal-dust that its features were almost unrecognizable, he could not well have presented a more striking contrast to the clean, cheerful lad whom she had sent down into the mine with a kiss and a blessing that very morning.
"Why, Derrick!" she exclaimed, the moment she made sure that it was really he. "What has happened to you? has there been an accident? They said you were kept down for overwork. Tell me the worst at once, dear! Are you badly hurt?"
"No, indeed, mother," answered the boy in as cheerful a tone as he could command. "I am not much hurt, only bruised and banged a little by a blast that I carelessly stayed too close to. A little hot water and soap will put me all right again after I've had some supper; but, if you love me, mother, give me something to eat quickly, for I'm most starved."
By this time they were within the house, and as Mrs. Sterling hastened to make ready the supper she had saved for Derrick, he dropped into a chair utterly exhausted. He might well be exhausted, for what he had passed through and suffered since leaving home that morning could not have been borne by a boy of weaker constitution or less strength of will. He was greatly revived by two cups of strong tea and the food set before him. After satisfying his hunger he went to his own room, and took a bath in water as hot as he could bear it, and washed his cuts and bruises with white castile-soap, a piece of which Mrs. Sterling always managed to keep on hand for such emergencies. It was fortunate for her peace of mind that the fond mother did not see the cruel bruises that covered her boy's body from head to foot.
The bath refreshed him so much, and so loosened the joints that were beginning to feel very stiff and painful, that Derrick believed he was able, before going to bed, to perform the one duty still remaining to be done. Mrs. Sterling thought he had gone to bed, and was greatly surprised to see him come from his room fully dressed. When he told her that he must go out again to deliver an important message to the mine boss, she begged him to wait until morning, or at least to let her carry it for him. Assuring her that it was absolutely necessary that he should deliver the message himself that very night, and saying that he would be back within an hour, Derrick kissed his mother and went out.
On the street he met with but one person, a miner hurrying towards the slope, to whom he did not speak, and who he thought did not recognize him.
Mr. Jones had closed his house for the night, and was about to retire, when he was startled by a knock at the outer door. Recent events had rendered him so suspicious and cautious that he stepped to his desk and took from it a revolver, which he held in his hand as he stood near the door, and without opening it, called out,
"Who's there? and what do you want at this time of night?"
As softly as he could, and yet make himself heard, Derrick answered,
"It is I, sir, Derrick Sterling, and I have got something important to tell you."
At this answer a man who had stolen up behind Derrick, unperceived by him in the darkness, slipped away with noiseless but hurried footsteps.
"Is anybody with you?" demanded the mine boss, without opening the door.
"No, sir; I am all alone."
Then the door was cautiously opened, Derrick was bidden to step inside quickly, and it was immediately closed again and bolted. Leading the way into the library, the mine boss said, not unkindly, but somewhat impatiently,
"Well, Sterling, what brings you here at this time of night? working boys should be in bed and asleep before this."
While Derrick is explaining to the mine boss why he is not abed and asleep, and giving his reasons for disturbing him at that late hour, we will return to the mine, and see for ourselves what befell him there, after the events narrated in the last chapter.
The Young Sleepers had left him blindfolded, alone, and in total darkness, lying on the floor of an unfamiliar gangway. The boy's first impulse, when he realized that his persecutors had departed and left him alone, was to tear the bandage from his eyes and fling it far from him. Of course this did not enable him to see anything, but he felt more free now that the cloth was removed, and was thankful they had not bound his wrists so that he could not have reached it.
His next impulse was to shout for help, but an instant's reflection decided him not to do so. It was not at all probable that anybody except his tormentors would hear him, and they would only rejoice at this evidence of his distress. He knew that all his shoutings would not bring them to him until they were ready to come, and he felt that he had too little strength left to waste it thus uselessly.
He could not bear to remain where he was without at least making an attempt to help himself; so he rose to his feet, and feeling his way very cautiously, began to walk along the gangway. Although he did not know it, he involuntarily turned in the opposite direction from the place where Bill Tooley and his companions were waiting and listening to hear from him.
For some time Derrick expected to reach a door, behind which he should find a boy, or to meet a train of mule-cars, or a miner who would lead him to the foot of the slope. At length, however, when he had walked a long distance, and yet found none of these, his courage began to leave him and a wild terror to take its place.
Suddenly, like a flash, it occurred to him that he had not struck any rails in walking, nor felt any indications of a car-track. Filled with a new dread, he stooped down, and with trembling hands felt every inch of the wet floor from one side of the gangway to the other. There was no sign of a track, and he knew, what he had already suspected, that it had been torn up, and that he was in an abandoned gangway, which another human being might not enter for years.
This revelation of the full horror of his situation was too much for the overstrained nerves of the poor lad. He uttered a loud cry, which was echoed and re-echoed with startling distinctness through the silent, rock-walled gallery, flung himself on the wet floor, and burst into bitter sobbings.
How long he lay there, in a sort of semi-stupor after this first outburst of his despair, he had no means of knowing, but he was finally roused into an attitude of eager attention by what sounded like a distant murmur of voices. He sat up, and then sprang to his feet, rubbing his eyes and staring in a bewildered manner into the darkness of the gangway ahead of him. Did he see a light only a few paces before him? It seemed so. Yet he was not sure, for it was not a direct ray, as from a lamp, but a sort of dim, flickering radiance that appeared to rise from the very floor almost at his feet.
For several minutes Derrick stared at it incredulously, unable to fathom the mystery of its appearance. Was it a light produced by human agency, or was it one of those weird illuminations that sometimes arise from the dampness and foul air of old mines? He stepped towards it to satisfy himself of its true character, and as he did so was confronted by a danger so terrible that, although he had escaped it, his heart almost stopped beating as he realized its full extent.
By the vague light proceeding from it he saw a pit-hole occupying the entire width of the gangway, and apparently of great depth. Around its edge had been built a barrier of logs breast-high. Through age these had so decayed and fallen that, had Derrick continued a few steps further on his way, instead of stopping to indulge his grief, he must have walked into the pit and fallen to the bottom.
The sound of voices that he had heard came up through this opening, and he was just about to call for help, to whoever was down there, when his attention was arrested by one voice louder and harsher than the others. It sounded like that of Job Taskar, the blacksmith, and it said, as though in settlement of some dispute,
"I don't care a rap who does it, or how it is done, Jones must be put out of the way somehow or other."
Another voice, which was hardly audible, asked, "What about the kid?"
To this came answer in a voice which there was no mistaking for other than Monk Tooley's,
"De Young Sleepers is lookin' arter him. Dey're givin' him a big scare. Blinded him, and toted him back and for'ard, going in and out t'old gangway door between whiles to make him think he was a long ways off. Den dey left him just inside t'old gangway, nigh de slope. He thinks he's at de far end of nowhere by dis time. Dey'll soon drive him from de mine."
"If they don't, others will," said Job Taskar's voice. "We don't want no boss's pets spying round this mine. Now, lads, we'll get out of this. Remember, next regular meeting's on the 27th. We'll fix then how all's to be done."
There was a confused murmuring after this, but Derrick could make nothing out of it, and in a few minutes a strong draught of air sucked down the hole over which he hung, and the dim light disappeared. As it did so, the poor lad gave one wild cry for help. It only reached the ears of the last of those below as he was leaving the chamber in which they had held their meeting. To him it sounded so awful and supernatural that he was greatly frightened, and hurried on after the others, leaving the door open behind him, whereby the strong draught down the air-shaft was continued.
For a few minutes Derrick thought he was indeed lost, and gave himself up to despair. Then he gradually recalled the words of Monk Tooley that referred to himself, and received a gleam of hope from them. If indeed he had been left just inside the door of an old gangway, near the foot of the slope, might he not find his way back to it and escape? He shuddered as he thought of the long walk through the awful darkness, but he was no better off where he was. So, with much thinking and hesitation, he finally started back on the road he had come, carefully feeling his way and making but slow progress.
He thought he should never reach the end; but at last he came to a door, beyond which he heard the sound of human voices, and through the crevices of which air was rushing outward. Cautiously he pulled it open, fearing lest some of his late persecutors might be waiting to seize him. The way was clear, and though he saw several lights in the distance, none was near him. Gently closing the door, he darted towards the travelling-road down which he had come that morning, and entered it without having been observed.
The climb up the gigantic stairway was a tedious one for the weary lad, and called for such frequent rests that it occupied him nearly an hour. When he finally reached the top he had barely strength enough left to drag himself home.
This was the story that Derrick Sterling told the assistant superintendent in the library of the latter's house that night.
Mr. Jones listened to it with the gravest and most earnest attention, only interrupting now and then to ask a question concerning some point that was not made quite clear, or to give utterance to an expression of sympathy as Derrick related some of his sufferings.
The brave lad had not intended to say anything regarding his treatment by the Young Sleepers, but was obliged to do so in answer to questions as to how he happened to be left in the old gangway.
When he had finished, the mine boss grasped him warmly by the hand, and said,
"My boy, by this timely information, so miraculously obtained, you have doubtless given me a chance for my life which I should not otherwise have had. Your adventures have been most thrilling, and your deliverance wonderful. Now go home and to bed; you must not think of going to work again until I give you permission to do so."
Once more Derrick found his mother anxiously awaiting his return. He told her that the mine boss had been very kind to him, and that as he was not going to work the next day she need not waken him in the morning. Then he threw himself, all dressed as he was, upon his bed, and while trying to relate to her some of the events of his first day in the mine, fell into a profound sleep.
Meantime other events, equally thrilling with those just related, were taking place in the mine.
Bill Tooley's brutal disposition was mainly the result of his home training and influences, for he could not remember having had a single gentle or kind word spoken to him in all his stormy life. In spite of it he was troubled with some prickings of conscience, and a sort of pity that evening, as he reflected upon the unhappy condition of the lad whom he had left to wander alone amid the awful blackness of the abandoned gangway. He had not intended to do anything so cruel as this when he first left Derrick where he did. He thought the boy would certainly cry out for help, and after allowing him to suffer thus for a short time he meant to go to him and offer to release him upon condition of his joining the Young Sleepers. This plan had been upset by Derrick's disappearance, and then it was more to assert his authority over his companions than with the idea of inflicting further cruelty upon their victim that he had ordered him to be left for a while. Now he began to feel anxious concerning the fate of the lad, and eager to effect his release.
Feeling thus, as soon as he had finished an uncomfortable supper in his wretched home, filled with quarrelling children, and ruled by a slatternly, shrill-voiced mother, he hurried out to try and induce some of his companions to accompany him down into the mine in a search for Derrick. He had some difficulty in doing this, for the other boys were badly frightened by what had taken place, and dreaded to return into the mine. It was more than an hour after he started out before he had persuaded four of the boldest among them to join him in the proposed search.
As this little party gathered at the mouth of the slope, and prepared to descend in a car that was about to start down with some timbers for props, a timid voice said,
"Can't I go too, Bill? Please let me! I know you are going to look for Derrick. Please, Bill!"
It was Paul Evert, who, with an undefined feeling of dread and fear for the safety of his friend, had hung on the outskirts of various groups of boys in the village street until from their conversations he had learned the whole story. With senses sharpened by anxiety and love, he had discovered that Bill Tooley and his companions were going in search of the missing lad. Now, with his father's mine cap bearing its tiny lamp on his head, he begged to be allowed to go with them.
Bill hesitated for a moment, and then, for fear lest if he refused Paul would spread the story of what he had discovered, or perhaps, moved by some better feeling, he said, "Yes, pile in if yer want to, dough I don't see what good you can do."
Overjoyed to receive this permission, Paul hastily scrambled into the car just as it began to move, and in a few minutes was landed with the rest at the foot of the slope.
Some time before this Derrick had emerged from the old gangway, and turned into the travelling-road, up which he was now laboriously making his way.
There did not happen to be an overseer at the bottom of the slope just then, and to the one or two men who observed them the presence of boys in the mine at all hours of the day and night was too common to attract comment; so the little party had no difficulty in entering the old gangway without being noticed or questioned.
For some reason which he could not explain Paul had brought with him a new clothes-line, which he now carried, coiled and hung about his neck. Bill Tooley took the lead, and Paul, with the aid of his crutch, hobbled along close after him, while the others walked fearfully in a bunch at some little distance behind.
They had not gone far when Bill stopped and picked up a piece of cloth from the ground.
"Here's what was over his eyes," he said, "an' as it's a bit furder dan where we left 'im, it shows he's gone furder in."
The boys gazed at the cloth in awe-struck silence, as though it were something to be dreaded; and, when Bill called out, "Come on, fellers, yer won't never find nothing a-standin' dere like a lot o' balky mules," they followed him even more reluctantly than before.
Lighted by their lamps, they made far more rapid progress than poor Derrick had in the darkness, and soon approached the place where he had discovered the dim, reflected light above the mouth of the old air-shaft. Just here the oil in their leader's lamp began to give out, and its flame to burn with a waning and uncertain light.
All at once a strong draught of air extinguished it entirely. He took a step forward in the darkness towards a log which he had barely seen, and thought might be Derrick Sterling lying down. Then came a terrible cry, and Paul's light showed nothing in front of him save the yawning mouth of the shaft down which Bill Tooley had pitched headlong!
As Bill Tooley thus met the fate Derrick had so narrowly escaped, and the Young Sleepers who followed him were left without a leader, they were thrown into a sad state of confusion. Two of them started to run back, another threw himself on the floor and burst into loud lamentations, while the fourth stood motionless and silent from fear. Of them all, only Paul Evert, the crippled lad, retained his presence of mind.
As upon all such occasions he who retains full command of his faculties and remains calm at once assumes the position of a leader, so it was now.
In a voice that sounded loud and stern as compared with his ordinary gentle tone, Paul commanded the runaways to stop and return at once. They hesitated a moment and then obeyed him. He ordered the boy who lay upon the floor to cease his outcries and get up. Then the little fellow approached as close to the air-shaft as he dared, and lying down, with his head beyond its edge, he listened. In a moment he was rewarded for his pains, for he heard a faint moan. There came another more distinctly, and he knew that wherever Bill Tooley was he was still alive, and might possibly be saved.
Taking the lamp from his cap, and the coil of line from about his neck, where it seemed to have been placed for this very emergency, he tied the one to an end of the other and gently lowered it into the shaft. Before doing this he ordered two of the boys to hold him tightly by the legs, and thus prevent him from slipping over the edge. Quieted, and with some of their courage restored by his coolness, they did as he directed, and held him with so firm a grip that for many days afterwards his legs bore black and blue imprints of their fingers.
As the little lamp swung downward the draught of air caused it to flare and flicker as though it were about to be extinguished, but it was nearly full of oil, and the wick had just been pricked up, so it continued to burn and throw an uncertain light upon the glistening masses of coal that formed the sides of the shaft. It had not been lowered more than ten feet when its feeble rays disclosed a dark object, apparently suspended in mid-air, in the centre of the shaft. It was Bill Tooley, and Paul saw that by some means his downward plunge had been arrested, and that he was now clinging to an invisible support.
Hastily pulling up the lamp, Paul replaced it on his cap, and doubling his line, made one end of it fast to an old timber prop or support of the gangway roof that stood a short distance from the shaft. Knotting the loose end about his body, and bidding the boys place one of the old logs close to the edge of the shaft and hold it there to prevent the rope from being chafed or cut, the brave little hump-backed lad, who, like most of those in his condition, was unusually strong in his arms, swung himself into the dark hole. Down he slid into the blackness, slowly and cautiously, until he came to the object of his search. It was Bill Tooley's limp body hanging across a stout timber brace, which, extending from side to side of the shaft and firmly bedded in its walls at each end, had been left there by the miners who cut this air-channel.
As Paul's withered leg was of no assistance to him in clinging to the timber, he lashed himself securely to it before attempting to do anything for the boy who had so recently been his enemy and tormentor, and was now dependent upon his efforts for even a chance for life. Bill was not unconscious, though so weak from pain and fright as to be nearly helpless. Under the influence of Paul's cheering words, and after the line had been securely fastened about his body, he was induced to let go his desperate hold of the timber and grasp the rope. Then Paul called out to the boys above to pull up very slowly and carefully, as the least carelessness might result in dashing both Bill and him to the bottom of the shaft.
Bill Tooley was a heavy weight for the frightened boys at the top to manage, and several times, even in the short distance of ten feet, his upward progress was arrested, and Paul feared that they were about to let him slip back. Obeying his instructions, two of the boys walked away with the rope, instead of trying to pull up hand-over-hand, while the other two held the log at the edge in place, and made ready to catch hold of Bill's arm as soon as he should come within reach.
Finally his head appeared above the surface, and he was dragged, screaming with pain, over the edge, and laid groaning on the floor of the gangway. Then the rope was again lowered to the brave little fellow who was clinging in perfect darkness—for his light had at length blown out—to the timber brace in the shaft. He was drawn to the surface much more quickly and easily than Bill Tooley had been; but when he found himself once more in safety, a reaction from the nervous strain of the past half-hour set in. Throwing himself down beside Bill, he began to sob so violently as to greatly astonish the boys, who beheld but could not comprehend this weakness in one whose strong will had but a minute before so completely mastered theirs.
In a few moments Paul recovered his composure sufficiently to ask two of the boys to go to the chamber at the foot of the slope and procure assistance to carry Bill Tooley, who was evidently unable to walk. After a long delay these two returned, in company with several miners, who brought a stretcher such as is often kept in coal mines in readiness for the accidents that are so common to them.
From what the messenger boys had told them, these men knew most of the facts connected with the accident. They were so loud in their praise of Paul for his brave deed that he became greatly confused, though it must be confessed that praise from these great strong men, any one of whom would be proud to have done what he had, sounded very pleasantly to the crippled lad. In order to have a little time to think it all over, he hobbled on ahead of the others, who moved but slowly with their burden.
When he was thus alone with his thoughts, Paul suddenly remembered the object for which he had entered the mine. It had been completely lost sight of in the excitement of the past hour, but now he realized that they had discovered nothing concerning Derrick's fate. He grew faint and cold at the remembrance of the air-shaft. Did his dear friend's body lie at the bottom of it? He trembled as he thought how very possibly this might be the case, and waiting for the men to overtake him, he asked if they knew anything of Derrick Sterling.
"Yes," answered one of them, "I saw him come out of his mother's house as I was passing on my way to the slope, more'n half an hour ago."
"Are you sure?" asked Paul, in great surprise.
"Certainly I am. Why not? was there anything strange in that?"
"Yes, we thought he was lost in the mine, and have been hunting for him."
"Well, you were mistaken, that's all, and you've had your hunt for nothing."
Paul was made very happy by this news, though it greatly puzzled him. The other boys were relieved to hear that Derrick was safe, but greatly alarmed as to what fate was in store for them as a punishment for the injuries they had inflicted upon him. Judging from what they would have done under similar circumstances, they did not doubt that Derrick had already spread the story of his wrongs through the village, together with the names of all those who had persecuted him.
At length the party reached the foot of the slope, and Bill Tooley, with his head resting in Paul Evert's lap, and moaning with pain, was sent in an empty car to the surface. The bully had made himself so unpopular by his cruelty, and by his overbearing ways, that nobody except Paul felt very sorry for him. When it was learned that he had received his injuries in consequence of his persecution of Derrick Sterling, the general verdict was that he was rightly served.
The injured boy was carried to his home, whither Paul accompanied him; but the latter was so frightened by the outcries of Mrs. Tooley when she learned what had happened that he hurried away without entering the house. On his way home he stopped at the Sterlings' to inquire if Derrick were really safe, and was much comforted to learn that he had just come in and gone to bed—"Where you should be yourself, Paul," said Mrs. Sterling, kindly, as she bade him good-night.
As the tired but light-hearted boy hobbled into his own home, his father, who had sat up waiting for him, without knowing where he had been, roughly ordered him to bed, saying it was no time of night for lads like him to be prowling about the street.
The sensitive little fellow went up-stairs without a word, all his light-heartedness dispelled by this harsh reception, and the tears starting to his eyes. His back ached so from his unwonted exertions that even after he got to bed he tossed and tumbled feverishly for several hours before falling into a troubled sleep.
Tom Evert left his house earlier than usual the next morning, and went to the mouth of the slope, where he found a number of his friends assembled. They began to congratulate him, and continued to do so until in great bewilderment he exclaimed,
"What's it for, mates? Is it a joke?"
"For thy son, man."
"For my son? which of 'em?"
"Thy crippled lad, Paul, of course. Is the man daft?"
"No; but I think ye must be, to be running on in such a fashion about a lad that's not only a wellnigh helpless cripple, but I'm afeared is going bad ways. 'Twas nearer midnight nor sundown before he came in frae t' street last night, and I sent him to bed wi' a flea in his ear."
A perfect roar of laughter greeted this speech.
"Wellnigh helpless, is he?" cried one. "Well, if he's helpless I'd like to know what you'd name helpful?"
"Going to the bad, is he?"
"Out late o' nights! That's a good one."
"An' yez sint him to bed wid a flea in his ear, an' him just afther doin' the dade should mak' ye the proudest fayther in de place! Did iver I moind de likes of that?"
These and many similar expressions greeted the ear of the astonished miner, and from them he began to comprehend that his son Paul had done something wonderful, and had thereby become a famous character in the village. At length, after much effort, for they would not believe but that he knew the whole story, he learned of his boy's brave deed of the night before. Instead of going down the slope the miner hurried home, where he found Paul, looking very pale and languid, just sitting down to his breakfast.
Picking up the frail boy, and holding him in his strong arms as he used to when he was a baby, the delighted father exclaimed,
"Paul, lad, forgie me this time, and I'll never speak thee rough again. Thee's made me, I think, the proudest man in the state this day. Crippled and all, thee's proved thyself worth a score of straight lads, and to thy fayther thee's worth all the lads in the world. Mither, our Paul's done that any man in t' mine might be proud of, an' he's the talk of the colliery."
Thus was Paul more than repaid for all his suffering of the night before, and as he hobbled to his work in the new breaker that morning he was once more happy and light-hearted.
The evening before, Job Taskar had called Monk Tooley from his house, and as they walked away together he said, in a low but significant tone,
"That Sterling lad's not down in the mine, Monk."
"He must be dere, fer de Sleepers left him where he'd be safe, an' I know he's not come up de slope since."
"He's not there, I tell you; for I just now saw him going into Jones's house, and heard him say he had something important to tell him."
"If yer saw him and heerd him of course he must be up; but I don't see how he did it. If he's told de boss anything it must be a blab on de Sleepers, fer he can't know anything else."
"Whatever it is, he's dangerous to have round, and we must look out for him."
"All right! just leave him to me. I'll have de Sleepers fix him. Dey'll do anything my boy Bill tells 'em; he's got 'em under his thumb."
"Look sharp about it, then."
"Ay, ay, mate, I'll give Bill de word to-night soon as he comes in."
Then the two separated, and Monk Tooley went home, thinking over a plan by which the Young Sleepers, under his son Bill's direction, could effectually drive Derrick Sterling from the mine. As he opened his own door he called out in his loud, rough voice,
"Bill come in yet?"
Stepping into the front room, he stood still in amazement. The wife of a neighbor was holding up a warning finger towards him, and saying, "Sh—h!"
His own wife and two other women were bending over a bed in one corner, and the children, whom he had never before known to be quiet when awake, were standing or sitting silently in various frightened attitudes about the room.
"Who is it?" he asked, hoarsely, with an attempt at a whisper.
"It's Bill," answered one of the women. "He's badly hurted, falling down a shaft in the mine, and is like to die. They say Paul the cripple saved him."
"Bill! my Bill! You're lying!" cried the miner, fiercely. "Bill came out of de mine wid de day shift. I seen him."
Rough and cruel as he was, the man had, hidden somewhere in his being, a deep-seated affection for his son Bill. Although he had never been heard to speak other than harshly to him, Bill was the pride and joy of his hard life. A blow aimed at Bill struck him with redoubled force. His hatred of Derrick Sterling arose from the fact that the lad had thrashed his boy. Now to tell him that his boy Bill was so badly hurt that he was likely to die was like wrenching from him all that he held worth living for.
The women made way for the rough miner as he strode to where his son lay on a heap of soiled bedclothing, tossing and moaning, but unconscious, and in a high fever. One look was enough, and then Monk Tooley left the house, and set forth on a ten-mile walk through the night to fetch the nearest doctor.
By sunrise the doctor had come and gone again, having done what he could. He said the boy would live if he were kept quiet and had careful nursing, but that he was injured in such a way that he might be lame for the rest of his life.
When Monk Tooley went down into the mine that day—for he must now work harder and more steadily than ever to support this added burden—he was a silent, heart-broken man.
It was nearly noon before Derrick Sterling awoke after his first day of bitter experience in the mine. Though he was still sore and lame, hot water and sleep, two of nature's most powerful remedies in cases of his kind, had worked such wonders for him that he felt quite ready to enter the mine again, and face whatever new trials it might have in store for him.
After dinner the mine boss came to see him, and was amazed to find him looking so well and cheerful.
"You seem to come up smiling after every knock down, Derrick," he said. "I shouldn't wonder if you would even be ready to go down into the mine again to-morrow."
"Indeed I think I must, sir," said Derrick, earnestly. "I don't believe any one else can get along with Harry Mule as well as I can."
"Let me see. How many years have you been driving him?" asked Mr. Jones, gravely.
"Only one day, sir," replied Derrick laughing, "but I think he's very fond of me, and I know I am of him."
"All right; if you insist upon it, you shall go down again to-morrow to your bumping-mule. Now I want to talk to you seriously."
The conversation that followed was long and earnest, and it was ended by Mr. Jones saying, just before he left, "I must manage somehow or other to be there on the 27th, and I want you to go with me, for I don't know anybody else whom I dare trust. It only remains for us to discover a way."
The new breaker, in which Paul Evert now worked as a slate-picker, was in general appearance very much like the old one, but its interior arrangement was different, and of such a nature as to make life much easier for those who worked in it. The greatest improvement was the introduction of a set of machines called "jigs." The coal from the mine, after being drawn to the very top of the breaker, first passed between great spiked rollers, or "crushers;" then through a series of "screens," provided with holes of different sizes, that separated it into several grades of egg, stove, nut, pea, buckwheat, etc. From the screens it was led into the jigs. These are perforated iron cylinders set in tubs of water, and fitted with movable iron bottoms placed at a slight angle. A small steam-engine attached to each machine raises and lowers or "jigs" this iron bottom a few inches each way very rapidly. The contents of the cylinders are thus constantly shaken in water, and as the slate is heavier than the coal, most of it settles to the bottom, and is carried off through a waste chute. The wet coal runs out through other chutes placed a little higher than that for slate, and extending down through the length of the breaker to the storage bins at its bottom. Along these chutes in the new breaker, as in the old one, sat rows of boys picking out the bits of slate that had escaped the jigs, and among them was Paul Evert.
When Derrick Sterling entered the new breaker on the afternoon of the day following that which had brought such memorable adventures, he was surprised at the comparative absence of coal-dust. It still rose in clouds from the crushers and screens, but there was none above the chutes. He understood the theory of jigs, but had never seen them at work, and now he was so greatly interested in watching them as almost to forget the errand on which he had come. It was only when Mr. Guffy spoke to him that he thought of it, and handed the breaker boss the note he had come to give him.
"All right," said the boss reading it. "I'm sorry to lose him, for he is a quiet, steady lad, and, could in time be made very useful as a picker. I doubt, though, if his back would hold out long at the work. Yes, you may take him along now if you want to."
Stepping over to where his friend sat, Derrick said, "Come, Paul, you're not to work any more to-day; I want to have a talk with you outside."
When they had left the breaker, Derrick said, "How would you like to go down into the mine, Paul, and be a door-tender, very near where I work, and get twice as much money as you can make in the breaker?"
"Of course I should like it," answered Paul, gravely; "but I don't think they want a cripple like me down there."
"Yes, they do want just exactly such a fellow as you are; they found out last night what you could do in a mine. Mr. Jones says that if you want to you can go down with me to-morrow morning, and begin at once without waiting for the end of the month. You are to go with me to the store this evening for your mine cap, lamp, and boots. See, here's the order for them."
Paul stared at the order for a moment as though he could not believe it was real. Then exclaiming, "Oh goody, Derrick! I'm so glad to get out of that hateful, back-aching breaker," he gave a funny little twirl of his body around his crutch, which was his way of expressing great joy.
Derrick shared this joy equally with Paul, and to see them one would have supposed they had just come into fortunes at least. To a stranger such rejoicings over an offer of monotonous work down in the blackness of a coal mine would have seemed absurd, but if he had ever been a breaker boy he could have fully sympathized with them.
The two boys were standing beside the check-board, near the mouth of the slope, and after their rejoicings had somewhat subsided Derrick said, "Let's see who's sent up the most to-day."
The check-board was something like the small black-board that hangs behind the teacher's desk in a school-room. It was provided with several rows of pegs, on which hung a number of wooden tags. Each of these tags, or checks, had cut into it the initials or private mark of the miner to whom it belonged. When a miner working in the underground breasts or chambers filled a car with coal and started it on its way to the slope, he hung on it one of his checks. When the same car reached the top of the slope the "check boss" stationed there took the check from it and hung it in its proper place on the check-board. At the end of working-hours the number of checks thus hung up for each miner was counted, and the same number of car-loads of coal credited to him.
Acting on Derrick's suggestion, the boys turned to the check-board, and quickly saw that there were more checks marked M. T. than anything else.
"Why, Monk Tooley has got the most by three loads!" exclaimed Derrick, counting them.
"He must have worked all through lunch-hour, and like a mule at that. I wonder what's got into him?"
"Perhaps he's trying to make up for what Bill won't earn now," suggested Paul, quietly.
"That's so," said Derrick. "I never thought of that, Polly; and I haven't thanked you yet for going down into the mine to look for me last night, or told you what a splendid fellow I think you are."
"Please don't, Derrick," interrupted Paul, with a troubled expression; "you mustn't thank me for anything I tried to do for you. Don't I owe you more than anything I can ever do will pay for? Didn't you bring me out of the burning breaker? and don't I love you more than most anybody on earth?"
"Well, you're a plucky fellow anyway," said Derrick, "and I'd rather have you down in the mine if there was any trouble than half of the men who are there. Let's stop and see how Bill Tooley's getting along on our way home."
"All right," assented Paul; "only if his mother's there I shall be almost afraid to go in."
As the boys walked away from the vicinity of the check-board, a man who had come up the slope but a few minutes before, and had been watching them unobserved, stepped up to it. He was Job Taskar the blacksmith, known to the men who met in the chamber at the bottom of the air-shaft, in the old workings, as Body-master of Raven Brook. The check boss had asked him to stop there a minute, and look out for any cars that might come up, while he stepped inside the breaker.
Casting a hurried glance around to see that no one was looking, Job Taskar slipped three of Monk Tooley's checks from their peg, thrust them into his pocket, altered the chalked figure above the peg, and resumed his place.
When Derrick and Paul reached the Tooleys' house it seemed to them even more noisy than usual. Several women sat gossiping with Mrs. Tooley in the door-way, while a dozen children and several dogs ran screaming or barking and quarrelling in and out of the room where the sick boy lay.
They asked his mother how he was, and what the doctor had said of his condition.
"Ye can go in and see for yourselves how he is," was the reply, "there's naught to hinder. Doctor said he was to be kept perfectly quiet and have nussin', but how he's going to get either with them brats rampaging and howling, and me the only one to look after them, is more than I know."
Accepting this invitation, the boys stepped inside, and picking their way among the children and dogs to the untidy bed on which Bill lay, spoke to him and asked him if there was anything they could do for him.
He was conscious, though very weak and in great pain, and on opening his eyes he whispered, "Water."
For more than an hour he had longed for it, until his parched tongue was ready to cleave to the roof of his mouth, but nobody had come near him, and he could not make himself heard above the noise of the children.
Taking the tin dipper that lay on a chair beside the bed Derrick went out to the hydrant to fill it with the cool mountain water that flowed there.
Paul drew a tattered window-shade so that the hot western sun should not shine full in the sick boy's face, loosened his shirt at the neck, smoothed back the matted hair from his forehead, and with a threatening shake of his crutch, drove a howling dog and several screaming children from the room.
These little attentions soothed the sufferer, and he looked up gratefully and wonderingly at Paul. When Derrick returned with the water he lifted his head, and stretched out his hand eagerly for it. At that moment Mrs. Tooley came bustling to the bedside to see what the boys were doing. Catching sight of the dipper she snatched it from Derrick's hand, crying out that it would kill the boy to give him cold water, "and him ragin' wid a fever." This so frightened the boys that they hurriedly took their departure, and poor Bill cast such a wistful, despairing glance after them as they left the house that their hearts were filled with pity for him.
At the supper-table that evening Derrick asked:
"Does it hurt people who have a fever to give them water, mother?"
"No, dear; I do not think it does. My experience teaches me to give feverish patients all the cooling drinks they want."
Then Derrick told her what he had seen and learned of Bill Tooley's condition that afternoon. He so excited her pity by his description of the dirt, noise, and neglect from which the sick lad was suffering that she finally exclaimed, "Poor fellow! I wish we had room to take care of him here!"
"Do you, mother, really? I wanted to ask you, but was almost afraid to, if he couldn't come here and have my room till he gets well. You see he's always treated Polly worse than he has me, and yet Polly risked his life for him. It isn't anywhere near so much to do as that, of course; but I'd like to give up my room to him, and nurse him when I was home, if you could look after him a little when I wasn't. I can sleep on the floor close to the bed, and be ready to wait on him nights. You know I always liked the floor better than a bed, anyway, and I believe he'll die if he stays where he is."