THE "MISSED HOLE"
ON the seventeenth sub-level of the Cousin Jack Mine the Spooner contract gang was working at high pressure. Two diamond drills were banging away like a battery of Gatling guns; men were rushing here and there, some were pushing small cars of red ore out through the drift to the level, where the electric trams would pick up the cars and rush them to the ore chutes. The pick men were breaking off the loosened pieces of ore dislodged by the last blast, while others were shoveling the ore into cars as if their very existence depended upon keeping up the pace.
Spooner himself, clad in a suit of oilskins, was shouting at his men, nagging, urging, threatening and directing in a perfect volley of explosive words.
A car had just been pushed out from the end of the drift where the drillers were working. It had reached a point directly underneath the rise and there it stuck, held fast by a piece of rock that had dropped to the track.
Spooner leaped forward with an angry roar.
"Out with it! I'll fire you both, you lazy,good for nothings!" he bellowed. "You ain't fit even to be swampers behind a pair of lazy mules. Push, I tell you! Push! Something will be doing here in a jiffy if you don't get that car out of the way!"
His words were prophetic in a measure, for something did happen a few seconds later, though Spooner was not the author of it. Rather was he the victim.
With a crash the trap door at the bottom of the rise burst open with a sound like a dynamite explosion in a new drift. A dark object was hurled out into the level, landing squirming on the soft ore in the car.
"What—what——"
Spooner did not finish what he was about to say. The dark object bounded from the ore car, landing with great force against the angry contractor. Spooner toppled over backwards, the breath pretty well knocked out of him, collapsing in the gutter at the side of the track.
Steve Rush had found the Spooner contract at last. The lad was not much the worse for his exciting slide, though he had been somewhat bruised when he burst through the wooden trap door at the lower end of the rise.
Steve was up in a twinkling. He looked about him and in a half laughing voice demanded:
"Where am I?"
"I reckon you're on seventeen," answered one of the miners.
"Where's the boss?"
"He's down there under you somewhere. I guess you knocked the daylight out of him. I hope you did. If it wasn't for my wife and family I'd a done it long time ago."
"Yes; I'd give a year's wages for the privilege of turning the diamond drill on him," added the head driller.
"Did I hit a man?" asked Steve anxiously.
"No; you hit an apology for a man," was the quick reply.
By this time young Rush was bending over, looking down into the shadows that hung over the gutter along the side of the track. He made out the figure of a man lying there.
"Help me get him up, men," he cried. "Don't you see that he is hurt?"
"Serve him right if he is," growled the trammer, the workman who pushed the cars of ore out into the main level.
"I tell you he is hurt. Lend a hand here!" commanded the boy sternly.
Something in his tone led the others to obey his order promptly. They gathered up Contractor Spooner and carried him over to where the light from the candles could be thrown on his face.
"Douse him with a pail of water," suggested the drill-man.
Someone quickly adopted the suggestion, with the result that Spooner sat up almost at once, choking, roaring and threatening between his gasps for breath.
"Who—who did it? Who did it?" snarled the contractor, struggling to his feet. "Who hit me?"
The man's hat had fallen from his head, and for the moment Steve did not answer. He was too fully absorbed in gazing at the harsh face of the man before him.
Balanced on Spooner's tall, angular body was a round, bullet-like head, with a rim of reddish-gray hair. His lips were protruding, sagging at each corner, while the lids over his prominent eyes blinked as though trying to run a race with each other.
"Who did it, I say?" roared the contractor, fixing his angry eyes upon the face of Steve Rush.
"I am afraid I am the guilty one, sir. But it was an accident. I will tell you how it occurred. I——"
Spooner gave the lad no opportunity to explain. Instead, the contractor, with an angry imprecation, started for Rush.
Steve's mind worked quickly. He was notafraid; he was considering whether it were best to run or to stand his ground, and he decided upon the latter.
"Stand back! Don't you touch me! I tell you it was an accident!" shouted the boy.
The contractor was too enraged to listen to reason, and as he sprang for Rush he thrust forth his long arms to grab the boy.
Spooner got a blow on the nose that sent him staggering backward, but Steve did not follow up the advantage he had gained. He could not expect to prove a match for the powerful miner, and perhaps he would not have been able to hit the latter as he did had the other been looking for anything of the sort. Spooner was more surprised than hurt.
"If you will wait, sir, I will explain. I am sorry I fell on you and sorry I had to hit you, but you mustn't lay your hands on me. You must——"
All work in drift seventeen had been suspended for the moment, and even the diamond drills had ceased their bang, bang, bang. Every man in the drift, save Spooner himself, had uttered a yell of delight when he saw the young miner's sturdy punch.
"Look out, lad; he's coming for you again. Spooner, remember he's a boy; don't do anything you'll be sorry for. You'll be——"
The contractor had started for young Rush again.
"Get out of here!" roared the man. "Out of here before I wring your miserable neck!"
Steve snatched up an iron bar that the trammers used to fasten the catches on the cars. He raised the bar over his shoulder.
"If you try to touch me I'll hit you, sir," said the lad in a tone so polite and pleasant that Spooner paused in amazement, then uttered a hoarse guffaw. Nevertheless he halted where he was, for he saw an expression in the eyes of the boy before him which spelled trouble. Furthermore, Spooner knew how strict the rules of the mine were, and now that he had had an opportunity to get control of himself he decided not to throw the young man out bodily.
"Get out of here before I help you, then. I can't stand everything. Go to work, you lazy louts! What do you mean by standing around on my time? I'll dock every man of you an hour's pay. Start those drills. Trammers, off with you. Are you going, boy?"
"No, sir."
"You're not going?"
"No, sir; I am going to work here."
"Oh, you are, eh? Well, I think I shall have something to say about that. You're not going to work here, and I should like to know whatyou are doing down in this mine, anyway. I'll have the mine captain put you out. It's my opinion that you are not here for any good, and you're lucky if he doesn't turn you over to the mine police."
"I have been assigned to work in this drift. The superintendent ordered me to report to you, sir. I am ready to go to work."
The contractor gazed at the boy with a puzzled expression on his face.
"You, a boy like you, work here? Pooh! What do you think this is, a kindergarten?"
"I am able to do a day's work; besides, it is the superintendent's orders, sir."
Spooner knew the boy had the best of him there. The superintendent's orders were to be obeyed, no matter if Spooner was mining on a contract agreement.
"Very well; if you want to work you shall have all the work you can do. I'll see the superintendent about your case when I go up to-day noon."
"What shall I do?"
"Do? Don't you see anything to do?"
"I see some things I should like to do," answered Steve Rush in a significant tone, eyeing the contractor steadily.
"Get hold of that shovel. I can't break your head as I ought to do, but the shovel will breakyour back before you get through with this day's work."
Steve grasped the shovel and began throwing the ore into the waiting car.
Spooner eyed the lad narrowly for a few moments. He was obliged to admit that Rush handled the shovel as well as any man he had ever had in his gang.
"You ought to be in the bull gang," jeered the contractor. "Yes, sir, you are wasting your talents working in an ore drift."
"What is a bull gang?" questioned the lad between shovels.
"That is the gang that shifts the timber down into the mine," answered the man shoveling by Steve's side. "The timber-men below take the stuff and build the supports and the lagging to keep the levels from caving in, you know."
"Where's your candle?" demanded Spooner. "You're a nice sort of a miner to come to work without a candle in your stick!"
"I lost it. You see, I lost my way and had a time getting here," explained Steve.
"Get one when you go up to-day noon. And remember you get only two hours' pay for the forenoon. If you're ever late like this again you are through right then and there."
Steve did not answer. He shoveled with all his might.
"Ready for the powder," called the head drill-man.
All the men save Steve and the powder-man laid down their tools and moved off. The boy continued at his work, his shovel making a steady scrape, scrape as he threw the ore up into the car.
In the meantime the powder-man was adjusting a charge of dynamite in each of the holes in the ore made by the drills.
"Well, boy?" called Mr. Spooner.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you going to stay there and have your fool head blown off?"
"Why——"
"Don't you see, they're going to fire a charge of dynamite. Get out of that!"
"Stand c-l-e-a-r!" called the powder-man in a sing-song tone.
All hands ran back so as to be well out of the way, and now that Steve understood what was being done, he shouldered his shovel and moved leisurely off in the direction taken by the others.
"That's the worst of a fool kid," grumbled the contractor. "They don't know enough to come in out of the wet——"
"The fuse is fired! Look out!" warned the powder-man, starting away from the scene on a run.
Steve watched the sputtering, squirming fuse far down the drift as the flame neared the charge of dynamite, six pounds all told. It seemed to him that all of them were in a dangerous position, but not being familiar with blasting, he supposed the miners knew their own business best.
It is always an anxious moment in the mines when, gathered in an expectant group, the workers underground stand waiting for the charge of dynamite to explode. It is seldom that anyone speaks during this brief period of suspense until the flash comes, followed by a puff of white smoke, a heavy report and a rain of rock and ore.
In this instance the wait seemed unusually long. The flash did not come.
"Missed hole," announced Spooner in a tone of disgust. "Five minutes of valuable time lost. That's the way the money goes in this gang. Get in there and attach a new fuse, powder-man. Don't be all day about it, either. If I wasn't around here to watch things we wouldn't get half a dozen tons a day out of this drift. First thing you know we'll all be out of a job. Come, are you going to get in there?"
"It ain't safe," answered the powder-man, shaking his head, sending a shower of grease from his candle into the face of Steve Rush.
"I see I've got to do it myself," exclaimed Spooner, grabbing a handful of fuses from the shoulders of the man who handled the dynamite.
The powder-man reached for his fuses, but the contractor already had them in his hand and was striding toward the drift.
The powder-man hesitated, then started after him on a trot.
"It's again' the rules, sir, to go in until ten minutes after firing the fuse when there's a missed hole," he warned.
"Rules!" jeered the contractor. "I'm the rules. I guess I'm running this drift."
By this time both men had reached the dome-like space where the drift ended, which included a very rich vein of iron ore.
Steve Rush shaded his eyes and, stooping over, peered into the drift. He was looking between the two men who at that moment were arguing excitedly. They appeared to have forgotten that they were treading on dangerous ground, but long familiarity with high explosives had made them careless.
The lad saw something a few feet beyond them that caused his heart to leap. A tiny spark had sprung up from the darkness, then as suddenly died out.
"Look out!" shouted the young miner, now keenly alive to the danger of the men ahead.
"Keep that kid still, or throw him down on the next level!" called Spooner over his shoulder. "I expect he'll have an attack of hysterics when we fire the blast."
"I tell you it isn't a missed hole!" cried the boy.
"Don't be a fool," jeered the head trammer.
Steve did not hear him. The boy had started off with a bound. His hat dropped from his head and his shovel fell clattering to the ground. "Come back, I tell you!" shouted Rush.
A few seconds more and he was right upon them. Without wasting further words of warning, he grabbed the contractor, and with surprising strength for one of his build, Steve hurled Spooner far out into the drift, that official bellowing his rage at the indignity.
Steve reached for the powder-man. His hands had just been laid on the man's shoulders when there came a blinding flash, a detonating report, a rending and tearing of rocks, then a shower of ore and stone.
Darkness settled over the drift and all was still.
IN THE POWDER-WRECKED DRIFT
FOR a moment those outside the end of the drift stood in awed silence. The candles on the hats of the miners had been extinguished by the explosion.
Nothing will cause an underground miner to lose his head quicker than being plunged into sudden darkness. Several of them set up a terrified yell.
"Hold your tongues!" bellowed the contractor. "You haven't been hurt. Don't you know enough to light your candles? That's the best way I know of to get rid of the darkness."
Spooner lighted his own candle, holding it in his hand above his head as he looked about. He stepped forward toward the place where his men had been drifting in the ore.
"Just as I expected," he growled. "More time wasted."
The timbers that had supported the roof of the drift had crashed downward, carrying with them a few tons of rock and ore, blocking the passage completely.
"Are—are the men in there killed?" questioned a trammer in unsteady tones.
"How should I know?" growled the contractor. "I do know that we are losing a lot of valuable time. If that fool powder-man hadn't been in such a hurry we should have been spared all this delay. Get busy with your shovels and picks here."
There were ugly scowls on the faces of the miners as they sprang forward to obey the order of their employer. They knew full well that it was not the fault of either the powder-man or Steve Rush, but of Spooner himself. It was he who had insisted upon going into the drift to examine the missed hole, and had it not been for the bravery of Steve the contractor would now be lying dead behind the mass of rock.
The men spoke no word, but their hearts were full of indignation. They cared not for the loss of time, nor for any other loss that their employer might have suffered. They did care for the unfortunate man and boy buried in the drift.
In the meantime word had been conveyed to the mine captain that an accident had occurred in number seventeen. With a force of men he was already hurrying to the scene as fast as an electric tram could carry him. The word he had received was to the effect that several men had been killed. The company's surgeon had been sent for and all preparations were made to care for the wounded.
During all this time brave little Steve Rush lay inside the drift, half buried under rock and red ore. He had toppled backwards when the explosion came, half turned and had fallen face downward, his arms crossed under his forehead so that his nose and mouth were free. Otherwise he undoubtedly would have smothered before help could reach him.
Steve stirred uneasily, coughed and tried to raise himself. He could not do so. He found himself held down by an oppressive weight. Some little time elapsed before his return to consciousness, and even then he was still dazed. At first he tried hard to recall what had happened, and at last it all came back to him.
"There was another in here with me—the powder-man. I wonder if he is dead?" muttered the lad.
After some difficulty the lad got his hands free of his head and began feeling about him. He made a discovery that thrilled him through and through. The body of the powder-man lay across his own, holding the lad firmly to the ground.
Yet under these trying conditions the lad did not lose his steady nerve for an instant. As his mind became clearer he began weighing the possibilities of getting out of his predicament. He reasoned that he and his companion must havebeen imprisoned in some way by the explosion. All the time he was carefully twisting his body this way and that in an effort to free himself without hurting the man who was lying across him.
At last Rush succeeded in crawling from under his human burden and the weight of ore and rock that hemmed them both in.
Steve's first act was to stretch forth a hand to his companion. The hand wandered from the face of the prostrate man down over the heart, where it paused.
A faint, irregular beating of that organ rewarded Steve's effort.
"He's alive," cried the lad, scrambling to his feet. "He's——"
A severe fit of coughing cut short the young miner's words. A dense cloud of suffocating powder smoke hung over the drift like a pall.
Steve dropped to the ground, pressing his face close to the earth, where he found the air better. After a few long breaths he began searching for a candle. He knew there had been one on the powder-man's cap when the explosion came. A search, however, failed to locate the candle.
"I wish I knew what to do for him," muttered the lad. "He surely will die here unless they get us out pretty soon, and I wouldn'tgive much for my own life if I had to stay in this awful air very long."
Steve uttered a long shout, which ended in a fit of coughing.
"No more shouting for me," he muttered, wiping the tears from his eyes—tears not caused by fear or grief.
He next tried shaking the powder-man, which drew a groan from the man, whereupon the lad quickly desisted.
After a moment's reflection, the boy stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth, permitting it to cover his nose, to keep out the full strength of the powder smoke. This done, he got to his feet again, and began feeling his way about the chamber in which the accident had occurred.
"Ah, this is it!"
His hands paused when they came in contact with a heap of crushed timber, and his feet struck a mass of ore piled against the foot-wall of the drift.
For a moment Rush stood motionless, reflecting on the situation. He could hear no sounds on the outside.
"Either they are all killed out there, or else we are buried so deep that I cannot hear them. I do not know which it is, but I think it must be the latter," the boy decided. "We are imprisoned in the drift; that is certain."
The lad, after some searching about, found a shovel, and with this he began throwing the dirt back from the place where the opening had been. The effort was too much for him. Strong as he was, the shock of the explosion had weakened him and the powder smoke choked him until he went off into another fit of coughing. To relieve himself he lay down again.
The fresh air along the floor of the drift strengthened him somewhat, and once more he turned his attention to the powder-man. He lifted the miner's head gently, placing it in his own lap, after which he chafed the man's hands and forehead. The miner drew a long, deep sigh and stirred uneasily. Perhaps something of the lad's tender sympathy touched his inner consciousness.
"Poor fellow!" murmured Steve, forcing back the lump that rose in his throat. "This is not a life for the weak or the timid. It is a man's work and I'm going to be a man."
Steve continued to stroke the face and hands of the powder-man until, becoming dizzy from inhaling the powder smoke, he lay down again until somewhat revived.
"I must try to attract the attention out there," decided the lad finally.
Choosing a piece of rock large enough to answer his purpose, he began thumping on the broken timbers. The attempt was not very successful, for he seemed to make no noise at all. Then something else occurred to him.
Seizing the Shovel, Steve Began Beating the Timbers.
"The shovel!" he cried. "Why did I not think of it before?"
Grabbing up the tool, he began beating the timbers with it in wide, swinging strokes.
Bang, bang, bang, went the shovel, the lad now and then pausing to listen. Once he thought he caught an answering blow from the opposite side, but he did not hear it again. Then he set up a piece of rock, the largest he could find, and began hammering on this.
Steve's ears were ringing by this time, and during the intervals when he ceased hammering on the timbers or the rock he was overcome by a roaring sound as if a great flood had been suddenly let loose. He did not understand what this meant. The silence of the underground prison had become a chaos of noises, the lad's blows became weaker and at longer intervals apart.
"I wonder what—what is the matter with me. I'm getting sleepy," he muttered.
A few more blows and the shovel dropped from his nerveless fingers. Steve staggered, then collapsed unconscious across the body of the powder-man.
"IS ANYONE ALIVE IN THERE?"
"ORDER the timber-men in here! Get a pair of jacks and raise the timbers bodily. Get a move on you, men! We may be able to save them yet!"
Superintendent Penton, of the Cousin Jack Mine, had been summoned by telephone at the first sign of trouble. In his miner's outfit, with a green candle stuck in the holder on his hat, he had hurried down into the mine and made his way quickly to the sub-level where the accident had occurred. He needed no guide to reach the place, for he knew the maze of tunnels of that underground hive of industry so well that he could have followed them to any given point with his eyes shut.
A few brief, pointed questions had brought out the full story of the accident, but Mr. Penton had not addressed Spooner; he had made his inquiries from the men who had been working on that level and in the drift where the explosion had happened.
"Shovelers, here! Throw that rock back! Be careful that you do not undermine the lagging and let the roof all the way down. It's luckythe explosion blew ore enough out to hold the timbers off the ground, or our work would be much more difficult."
The superintendent had taken full charge of the operations. His long experience had told him exactly what to do. The official showed no trace of excitement; instead, his every faculty was centered on the work in hand. His tones were stern, his orders sharp and incisive.
By this time the jacks had been brought. At the superintendent's direction a heavy timber had been placed as a support under those that had been broken and the jacks set to work. Little by little, creaking and groaning, the wrecked lagging was raised inch by inch.
"Steady, there! Hold it, men!"
Those at the jacks stopped work.
"Let half a dozen shovelers get in there," Penton directed. "Throw out some of that dirt. We must get an opening as soon as possible to let air in. Throw away the larger pieces first."
In the meantime the superintendent had ordered a fresh drill brought up, the one belonging to that shift being in the wrecked drift. A line of pipe had been laid to the nearest connection to furnish the compressed air with which to operate the drill.
As soon as the rock had been removed sufficiently, the official ordered the drill set in place.He indicated where the drilling was to be done and a moment later the steady "bang, bang" of the diamond drill filled the air to the exclusion of all other sounds.
"She's through, sir," announced the drill-man, nodding to the superintendent.
"Withdraw the drill."
The official placed his nose to the hole thus made, and shook his head.
"You haven't reached it. Try a hole above the shoring. We must get air in there."
Again the powerful drill began its work. Gathered in a closely massed group were the other miners waiting, silent, anxious, the flames of candles on their caps flickering and swaying from side to side in the faint draft that swirled through the long, dark cavern. Attention was divided between the working drill and the calm-faced, strong, resourceful man who was directing the operations. He was master and the men knew it.
"All right." announced the drill-man again.
The superintendent nodded. The drill was withdrawn. Following it came a little puff of white, nauseating smoke.
"We've hit it," announced the executive calmly. "Now, bore another hole on the same line but about six feet to the left, so we shall get a draft through the enclosed drift."
This was promptly done.
The superintendent, as soon as the noise of the drill had ceased, placed his lips close to the hole thus made.
"Hello, in there! Is anyone alive in there?"
No answer came from the closed drift.
"They're dead. What's the use in bothering about them?" growled Spooner.
Mr. Penton shot a withering glance at the contractor.
"We will proceed on the theory that they are alive until we have learned that they are not," replied the superintendent coldly.
"Shall we go on raising the lagging?" asked the timber-man.
"No; wait until the powder smoke is out of the drift and some fresh air has taken its place. The two men in there will be suffocated unless we free the place of powder fumes. Remove the drill from the pipe and force a little air through the vent holes. Not too much; just enough to dislodge the smoke and force it out. It won't stand much pressure. There, that will do. Now, jackmen, get to work. Keep on shoveling below there."
Giving his orders calmly and encouragingly, the work proceeded with great success. The diggers were gradually boring in under the timber that the jacks were raising.
After a time their shovels and bars poked a hole through the débris into the drift. It was a small hole, so small that the average man would have difficulty in getting through it.
Among those who had hurried to the scene was Bob Jarvis. He had been using a shovel industriously, and when the opening had been made he stepped up to the superintendent.
"I think I can crawl in there now, if you will let me. I want to get that Hurry-up kid out," added Bob.
"Go in, if you think you can get through," nodded the superintendent. "Better tie a rope to one foot before you start, so we can pull you out if you get wedged in."
While Bob was making ready, the official got down on his hands and knees and examined the opening in the attempt to satisfy himself that it would be safe for a man to go through.
A moment more and Bob Jarvis was wriggling through the little tunnel on his stomach. There was still so much smoke in the drift that he nearly choked as he pulled himself up and began groping about in the darkness. Now that he was in he lighted his candle, and there before him lay the man and the boy.
Bob gave Rush a violent shake. Steve opened his eyes.
"So you're all right, eh?"
"Ye—yes. Have—have you come to li—lick me?" mumbled Steve closing his eyes.
"No; I've come to get you out of this hole. We'll talk about the licking later on. Is the other fellow dead?"
Rush pulled himself to a sitting posture at this.
"No; I think not. He was alive when I went to sleep. He may be dead now. Come, we must get him out. How did you get in?"
"Crawled in through that hole. Come along; I'll help you out first. You need looking after, judging from your appearance."
Steve Rush's face was ghastly white and covered with blood in spots. He had sustained a scalp wound where a sharp-edged rock had hit him. It was evident, however, that the powder-man was in much more serious condition. The man was still breathing when Bob peered into his face.
"Yes; he's alive, but I'll help you out now," Jarvis repeated.
"You will do nothing of the sort. This man needs attention first. I'll help you with him. How are we going to get him through that small opening without hurting him?"
"We'll have to do the best we can," answered Bob.
"I'll tell you, Jarvis; you crawl in backwardsand I will hand him to you. Tell those on the outside to get hold of your feet and pull when you get far enough in. Do you think he will go through the hole?"
"No; we've got to dig away some dirt inside here first. This end is the smaller. The other is large enough for him. It's lucky he isn't a fat man, or we could not do it."
Together the lads labored industriously for several minutes.
"Are they alive?" called the voice of the superintendent through the hole.
"Yes, both of them. Powder-man badly injured, I think."
All preparations being made, Bob crawled into the hole, while Steve, as carefully as he could, thrust the powder-man in after, feet first.
It was a difficult task that Jarvis had set for himself, but he went at it with stubborn determination. Finally, after moments of wriggling and inch-by-inch progress, the men outside the drift managed to get hold of his feet, as Steve had directed them to do. The rest was easy.
It was now Steve's turn, and he crawled through the hole as quickly as possible, though he felt himself growing momentarily weaker. At last he stood outside the drift. He was swaying giddily.
"Take this boy to the hospital," directed the superintendent.
"I'm all right, sir. That is, I will be as soon as I recover from the effects of the smoke. I'll——"
"I suppose you hid behind the powder-man to save yourself," sneered Spooner.
Mr. Penton turned on the man, his face flushing hotly. It was the first time the superintendent had shown the slightest trace of excitement.
"That will do, Spooner. You cut that out. You ought to be ashamed of yourself after this boy has saved your life. I know all about it. You will see to it that he gets full time while he is laying off in the hospital."
"Not at my expense he won't."
"Very well; then let it be at my own. But I shall see to it that you do not get another contract in the Cousin Jack Mine after you have finished with this one. I shall have something to say to you later, also, about this accident."
"Oh, of course I'll pay him if that's the way you feel about it. I'll pay him."
"I thought you would," answered the superintendent dryly.
In the meantime the powder-man had been conveyed to the surface and removed to the hospital in the superintendent's carriage, thedriver having received orders to return at once.
"Do you feel able to walk, Rush?" questioned the executive.
"Ye—yes, sir; I—I think so, sir."
"I'll help him," spoke up Bob Jarvis quickly.
"Yes; help him to the cage and go up with him."
Steve found that he was weaker than he thought, but leaning on Bob's strong arm he made his way to the lower level, where the lads caught the cage a few moments later and were conveyed to the surface.
"I'll not forget this, Jarvis," murmured Steve.
"Forget what?"
"Your kindness to me."
"I'm kind to you for another reason. I'll see you later. When you get well I'll have something to say to you, Miss Hurry-up," was Bob's parting shot, as he lifted the lad into the carriage and turned back to the shaft to return to his work below ground.
BOB MAKES GOOD HIS WORD
"THE superintendent wishes to see you at his office when convenient."
This message was brought to Steve Rush at his boarding house on the day following the accident in the drift. The lad's wounds had been treated, and he had been allowed to go home late in the afternoon of the same day. The powder-man, however, had been much more seriously injured. It was doubtful if the man ever would be able to work in the mines again.
Steve would have returned to work on the following morning, had the superintendent not given orders that he was not to do so, and the superintendent's orders were law in the mines.
The lad was somewhat surprised at the summons. However, he lost no time in going over to the offices. The superintendent was out at the moment and Rush was ushered into the handsome private office, where he was told to wait. Steve gazed about him, nodding thoughtfully.
"One of these days I shall have an office like this," he thought aloud. "Some day, in the distant future, I shall be a superintendent, too."
"So you want to be a superintendent, eh?"
The boy turned to find himself looking into the smiling face of Mr. Penton. Steve's face flushed rosy red.
"I—I guess I must have been thinking out loud, sir."
"Your ambition is a worthy one. Keep on in the way you are going and promotion is sure. You are now a part of one of the greatest games in the industrial world. Realize this and you have made a long stride forward. How are you feeling to-day?"
"I do realize it, sir, and I am proud of the very small part I am playing in that world. In answer to your question, I am feeling perfectly well to-day; I am ready for work."
"To-morrow will be time enough. Take the day off. Your pay will go on just the same. In this connection there is another little matter that I have sent for you to adjust. You are not of age?"
"Oh, no, sir."
"I will state what I have to say, just the same. It is customary, when one has been hurt in the mines, to have our claim adjuster call upon him at proper time and make such settlement as can be agreed upon, after which the injured party signs a release. I have prepared a release here with the amount left blank. You havedone a very brave act; I am willing to do what is right in the matter. To what extent do you think you have been damaged, Rush?"
There was a quizzical look in the eyes of the superintendent as he asked the question.
"Have you the release?"
Mr. Penton handed a paper to the boy. The latter read it through carefully, then asking for a pen, drew a line through the space left blank for the amount and signed his name.
"I am not that kind of man, Mr. Penton," said Steve. "If you wish my mother's signature to the paper, I will have her sign it. I do not care to receive any money that I have not earned."
"Rush," said the superintendent, rising and placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, "you talk like a true man. Youarea true man. It is not your refusal of the money that causes me to say that, but the principle that prompted the refusal. I felt that you would act as you have done. I see I was not mistaken in you. You will get on. No boy with your spirit could help getting on. Do you wish to be transferred from Spooner's shift to one not so hard?"
"No, sir; I am not looking for an easy job. I am looking for hard work and to learn everything there is to learn in this great industry. When I have earned promotion I want it."
"And you shall have it. Finish the week in level seventeen and I'll see what can be done for you in some other direction. Do you think you will be able to work to-morrow?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
Mr. Penton shook hands with him and the lad departed, light hearted and happy. He did not waste the time that he was resting—not Steve. Instead he went directly back to the works, remaining all day in the vicinity of the shaft watching the progress of the work and asking questions whenever he could find anyone willing to answer them. He visited the dry houses, where the miners changed their clothes and took their shower baths, a clean, comfortable building provided with numbered lockers for the street clothes of the employés of the company, and where those who chose might eat their lunches in the cold weather.
Steve learned a lesson that he did not forget. He learned it from the old pensioner in charge of the dry houses.
"Make your men comfortable, look out for their safety and you will get fully a third more work out of them," said the old attendant. And this was the principle on which the company acted.
The day passed quickly, and Steve went early to bed, in order to be up early on the followingmorning. This time he took no chances of getting lost in the mine. He followed one of the trammers who worked in his part of the mine, and reached Spooner's contract some fifteen minutes before the hour for beginning work. The contractor liked to have his men on the job early, and when he could drive them into doing so, he managed to get ten minutes or so extra work out of them before the whistle on the level blew the signal to begin work.
Steve smiled good-naturedly when Spooner ordered him to get in and begin shoveling. The lad was not averse to doing so. All evidences of the accident had been removed and once more the drift was open and workable. A new powder-man had taken the place of the injured man, a quiet, self-contained young fellow on whom Spooner's bulldozing tactics had no effect.
"See here, boy, how about that shovel?" demanded the contractor, after the lad had been working a short time.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean the shovel you banged up hammering on the drift to make us hear."
Rush looked puzzled.
"What about it, sir?"
"Shovels cost money. I have to furnish the tools on my job. I'll expect you to pay for that one. Got any money with you?"
"No, sir."
"Well, see that you bring it to-morrow. The shovel's worth a dollar."
"Yes, sir. I will speak to the superintendent about it, and if he says it is proper for me to pay you I will do so," replied the lad wisely.
"Speak to the superintendent?" shouted the contractor. "You'll do nothing of the sort. I'm running my business; the super isn't. If you try that game on me I'll fire you. You don't have to pay for the shovel if you don't want to. But you're a cheat if you don't."
"I am not a cheat," protested Steve indignantly. "As I said before, if the superintendent says I ought to pay you, I shall do so gladly. You can fire me if you wish to. I am not so much in love with number seventeen that I would shed tears were I ordered out of it."
The contractor glared, started to speak, then gaining control of himself, turned and walked away. Rush, in the meantime, was energetically throwing dirt and when the long day was ended he had shoveled into ore cars ten tons of soft ore. The lad handed his tally slip to the contractor at the close of the day's work.
Spooner uttered a grunt of disapproval.
"Only ten tons!" he groaned. "You'll have to do better than that. Unless you can handle twelve you're not fit to be below ground."
"I understand, sir, that twelve tons a day is the record and that only one man has accomplished that in the last ten years," answered the boy promptly. "But I'll equal it before I am through here; not especially to gratify you, but for my own satisfaction."
Mr. Spooner had no more to say.
"How many tons a day does he get out of this contract?" asked Steve, as he was waiting for the cage to ascend to the surface.
"Fifty tons is the most we ever got out in a day," was the answer from Steve's companion.
"How much does he get a ton?"
"That we don't know. He never tells his business. Some contractors get less and some more, depending upon how the ore runs, how much paint rock there is to be thrown out in the dirt."
"Do the others run about the same?"
"I reckon they do."
Steve was always seeking for information, and what he was learning in these early days was to serve him well in the future.
For the rest of the week he worked diligently, increasing his daily output by at least a ton. One day he fell considerably below this, as the ore came out hard and was not delivered to the car men as fast as they could handle it. That was a day that Spooner was at his worst.
Saturday came, the day that the young miner was to receive his first pay envelope. He had made it a practice to carry his lunch below and eat it there. This saved him considerable effort, and gave him an opportunity to rest before the whistles blew to resume work. Steve usually chose some quiet spot in an unused drift, where, seating himself by the side of a little stream of water trickling from the rocks, he would stick his candle-holder in a crevice and tuck the cover of his dinner pail under the trickling stream to catch water to drink with his meal.
He had just settled himself down for his noon-day meal, on this Saturday afternoon, when he was attracted by a bobbing candle on a miner's cap approaching him from down the drift just off the main level.
"Now, I wonder what he wants?" mused Rush, peering out curiously. "I believe that's Bob Jarvis. He is probably coming in here to eat his dinner. He'll be surprised to find me here. Hello, Bob."
"Hello yourself."
"I just did. Sit down and have lunch with me."
"I ain't lunching to-day. I——"
"Eat some of mine if you haven't yours with you. There is enough for both of us in my pail, and here is some of the finest water you everdrank. It's colder than any ice water I ever tasted."
Bob did not reply. He was standing over Steve, peering down at the latter with a steady gaze. Presently Rush noticed that Jarvis was acting peculiarly. There was a constraint in his manner that Steve had never seen there before.
"What's the matter? Anything gone wrong, Bob?"
"No; nothing has gone wrong. Something's going that way pretty soon, though."
"What do you mean?"
"I promised you a licking, didn't I?"
"I believe you did, but that is all past now. You saved me from the drift. I shan't forget that, old fellow. I hope I get a chance to do you a good turn one of these days."
"You're going to get it now."
"I am going to get what?"
"The licking."
Steve rose slowly to his feet after carefully placing his dinner pail to one side.
"Do you mean you want to fight me after having saved my life, Bob Jarvis?"
"That's what!"
Rush gazed steadily at his companion of the moment. The taller boy had assumed a pugnacious attitude.
"I don't want to fight you, Bob."
"Then you'll stand for a coward; you'll be a 'missie' for certain."
Steve began slowly to strip off his oilskins. His blouse and flannel shirt came next. These removed, he stuck his candlestick in a crevice in the rocks high enough up to shed a fairly good light over the drift.
"How'll you have it?" he asked coolly.
"No hitting below the belt; hammer in the clinches when we can. All fair and above board," answered Jarvis, making himself ready for the fray.
"Very well," replied Steve. "I am ready whenever you are."
YOUNG GLADIATORS MEET
"GOING to take off your boots?" questioned Steve.
"Sure."
"Then I'll take mine off, too."
He did so, tightened his belt and stepped out into the drift well within the flickering circle of light shed by the two candles.
"How are we going to decide it, Bob?"
"The fellow who gets knocked out first loses. No second chance. Are you ready?"
"I've been ready for the last five minutes."
"Look out—I'm coming!"
Jarvis made a rush, swinging a quick blow at the head of his opponent. Steve ducked and went under it, at the same time giving Bob a jolt in the ribs that made the larger boy grunt.
"Hello! You ain't such an easy mark as you'd have me believe, eh? Been playing off, have you? Said you couldn't fight."
"I never said so. I said I wasn't a fighter. I hope I have higher ambitions in life than that. But is this a fight or an argument?"
"It's a fight," shouted Jarvis, dancing in, his arms working like a piston rod.
Both boys led for the head at the same instant. Each countered with his left, receiving the other's blow on his arm. After a rapid exchange of blows, none of which landed, they backed away. But Steve, without waiting for his opponent to take the lead, became the aggressor now. He sprang in as lightly as a cat, and ere the taller boy could get his guard up, had planted a blow on Jarvis' nose that sent the other's head back and the blood spurting from his nose.
Whack!
Steve landed another on the side of Bob's jaw. It was a glancing blow, Jarvis having turned a little, else the boy would have been knocked out and the battle ended then and there.
Quick as a flash, Jarvis put a fist to Steve's neck and the lad went down in a heap while Bob stood over him exultingly.
"Got your medicine that time, didn't you?" he jeered.
Steve, on all fours, was getting ready to spring up. His eyes were on his adversary, watching him narrowly. Rush's head was aching, but he gave no heed to that.
"You will have to give it to me in bigger doses than that if you expect a cure," retorted Steve, with a short laugh, as he sprang up and danced away from the taller boy for a few seconds.Then he closed in like a whirlwind. For a full minute it was give and take. Both lads were strong, and each was handy with his fists, though Steve Rush showed more skill than did his opponent. This was offset by Jarvis' greater height and weight.
Many a hard blow was struck in that round, after which the boys backed away instinctively. Jarvis' nose had sustained several bangs. It was somewhat larger than when the fight had begun; Steve, on the other hand, had a half-closed eye.
"I'll put a spectacle on the other one before I've done with you," jeered Bob.
"Then I'll give you one of the same sort," retorted Steve, planting a blow on Bob's right eye. Bob dropped as if he had been hit with a club. But he was up like a flash. This time he was thoroughly angry. He charged Steve with a roar, receiving two quick, short-arm jolts on the side of the head that made that member spin dizzily.
For the next five minutes it was give and take again. Then Steve struck his opponent a blow in the ribs that brought a loud "ouch!" from the taller boy.
Rush grinned, but there was no mirth in the grin. It was one of savage satisfaction. Now the lad settled down grimly to his work. Hebattled with dogged determination, taking his punishment as a matter of course, beating, hammering, dodging, ducking, but without the slightest trace of anger or excitement in his face. His was a will that in the battle of life sweeps all obstacles from its path.
The battle had not been in progress long before a miner passing the outer end of the drift had discovered what was going on. Summoning some of his companions, the men ran down where the fight was in progress. They were about to interfere, when Steve, in a momentary lull, said:
"Please don't interfere. This is a perfectly friendly little argument. We've got to fight it out."
The men laughed uproariously.
"You look the part, both of you. Go it, then, if you've got to fight. We'll see that each of you gets fair play."
But the boys did not hear. They were at it again and with a savageness that had not marked their fighting before. Two blows delivered at the same instant landed both boys on their backs on the ground.
The miners yelled for sheer joy.
Bounding to their feet, the combatants went at it again hammer and tongs; and, though they were mere lads, it is doubtful if the spectatorsever had witnessed a more scientific battle with fists. The lads were side-stepping and dancing in their stocking feet, not heeding the sharp pieces of rock and ore that cut into their feet, drawing the blood at almost every step.
They had battled steadily for over ten minutes. The face of each was covered with blood and it was with difficulty that the lads were able to see at all. They had barely one set of good eyes between them. Jarvis was getting more and more desperate. Try as he might his superior strength was not equal to the task of putting Steve Rush down and out. For every blow delivered Bob got a return that he felt all over his body from his head to his feet.
At last Bob thought he saw an opening to deliver a knock-out blow. He let go with all his strength. The blow struck nothing more substantial than thin air. Then, like a bolt of lightning, the fist of Steve Rush shot out, catching Jarvis under the nose, lifting the larger boy from his feet, sending him crashing against the shore wall of the drift.
"That settles him," shouted the spectators. "My, what a wallop! That would have knocked down one of the mules in number seven level. I'll bet he doesn't wake up in——"
Bob Jarvis was already awake. Despite the terrific blow under which he had gone downhe was quickly on his feet. It was observed that he staggered a little. Both boys were beginning to show their weariness, though Jarvis exhibited more of this than did Steve.
"Call it a draw, lads," yelled the miners.
"Not till I give him back for that last one," roared Bob, making a vicious lunge at his companion.
The blow barely grazed the left cheek of the smaller of the lads, he having moved his head slightly to one side to avoid the blow.
"I'll hand it out to you, Bob," said Steve.
Once more Jarvis was lifted from his feet and this time he was laid on his back on the ground, while Steve leaned against the wall of the drift, panting heavily.
"Call it off! Call it off, or we'll take a hand in the game," warned the miners.
Jarvis had staggered to his feet and Rush was lurching to meet him.
There was a slow exchange of blows and the lads clinched, each with an arm about the other's neck. For a full minute they stood thus, panting, striving to collect their strength to continue the battle.
Jarvis made a feeble effort to deliver a right-hand hook on his opponent's jaw, but there was not enough steam in the blow to do any damage.
Steve retaliated with a vicious punch in the pit of Jarvis' stomach—a blow that made the larger boy grunt and cling heavily to the neck of his adversary.
"Have you got enough?" breathed Steve.
"No!"
Bob managed to land a fairly strong blow on Steve's neck.
The latter returned the compliment by a vicious punch in the ribs that caused the larger boy to hug his opponent closer. Then all at once, with the last ounce of their failing strength, the two youthful gladiators began delivering short-arm jolts, each standing with an arm about the other's neck, driving in the blows with all the strength he had left.
Not for a moment had either lad sought to foul the other. It was a "square" fight, such as is seldom seen between professionals.
No more steam was left in their blows. They had fired their last round.
"Shall we call it quits, Bob?" breathed Rush in the ear of his opponent.
"I—I guess we'd better, if we expect to report for duty this afternoon."
Steve promptly released himself from the grip of the other boy's arm, and, staggering to a side wall, leaned against it heavily. Jarvis did the same.
Just then the whistle blew three sharp blasts. It was the signal for the miners to return to their work. Jarvis staggered out into the centre of the drift, extending a hand. Steve met him half way.
"Shake!" said Bob. "You're the squarest and the pluckiest bundle of muscle that I ever went up against."
"The same to you," glowed Steve Rush, gripping the hand of his late adversary. Then each with an arm about the other's shoulder started for the main level. The desperate battle that was to be the beginning of a friendship of many years, had ended in a draw, with Steve having a shade the better of the argument.