“KEEP YOUR CHIN UP!”
Jerry thought he heard a gasp from Tom, but he wasn’t certain, and
after a brief instant of silence the latter spoke.
“You mean I’m――to lay hold of the――ladder?” he asked.
“Yes, if you get it under your shoulders it’ll float you. I’m going
back up, Tom. I’ve got to get that pick, I reckon, to pry a length of
this loose. Then I’ll drop it. It――it’s a chance, Tom, because if it
hit you――――”
“You shout before――you let go,” answered Tom, “and I’ll duck under――the
water. I’ll take the chance, Jerry!”
“Good! I’ll try to drop it close to this side. Reckon, if you have
that to keep you afloat there’ll be time to go get a rope. I’ll hurry,
Tom.” Jerry was already climbing back up the ladder. “I won’t be long.
You――you keep your chin up!”
“I’m――all right,” declared Tom gaspingly. “Don’t you worry――about
me――Jerry!”
There was new hope and fresh courage in Tom’s voice, and Jerry,
conquering rung after rung with fair speed, felt as if a ton weight had
been taken from his heart. It would be, he realized, no child’s play
to wrest one of those uprights from the shaft wall, but he was certain
that, with the pick head to aid, it could be done. He tried to count
the ladder rungs as he ascended, that he might know how great a length
of rope would be needed, but his thoughts took his mind from the task
and after twenty he lost count. Sooner than he expected his reaching
hands encountered empty air and he was back at the tunnel level. He
pulled himself over the edge and cautiously stood upright. Then, not
daring to more than turn his head, he shouted back reassuringly that
he was up, and Tom’s voice responded faintly. After that Jerry took
four long paces and reached for the tunnel wall. It was there beside
him, and counting his steps, he went back along the tunnel. He wished
he could remember how far along the tunnel he had picked up the pick
and set it down again. He had, he recalled, leaned it against the
right-hand wall, facing the shaft, and presently, still counting paces,
he crossed the track and, as he went, swept the space between floor and
wall with his left foot. A moment later he stumbled over an obstacle
and almost fell headlong. It was the fragment of ore, lying between
rail and wall. He had forgotten that, but now he remembered that they
had found the ore after discovering the pick, and went on, certain that
he had not passed the latter. And presently his foot struck it and
knocked it over, and then he had it in his hand and had turned back
toward the shaft.
He had counted seventy-one paces since leaving the shaft, and knew that
they had been short ones. Now, returning, he tried to make his steps of
the same length. But his eagerness to get back constantly lengthened
them, and, realizing it, he paused when he had counted fifty, and
pondered. The danger was in overwalking and sharing Tom’s fate. After
a moment he went on slowly, testing the ground ere he set foot on it.
Ten paces so, and he lowered himself to hands and knees and continued
the journey in that manner. And finally, when he had begun to wonder if
he had somehow got turned around and was crawling toward the tunnel’s
mouth instead of toward the shaft, his hand fell on the edge of the
opening, and, with a little gasp, he stopped. Exploring, then, he found
the ladder ends, but before he set to work he called again down the
shaft. Tom’s voice came back to him amongst the echoes and he shouted
again cheerfully. Then, peeling off his coat and vest, he lowered
himself, pick in hand, down the ladder. Presently he found the lower
end of the right hand upright, some dozen feet below the tunnel level.
Shifting his feet well to the left of the rung he was on, he managed to
get his left arm through behind a higher rung, and thus assured against
losing his grip, he began his task.
What worried him most was the fear of losing his hold on the pick
head, for without that his efforts would be useless, and every time he
changed his grip on it his heart stood still. He had to hammer a blunt
point many times against the outer edge of the rough joist before he
obtained a purchase. Fortunately, the joist was pine or some other soft
wood, and repeated blows finally yielded a crevice. Then, putting all
his strength on the other end of the pick, he strove to pry the joist
away from the wall. At first there was no give and his heart began
to sink within him. Perspiration trickled down his forehead and into
his eyes. If he could have had both hands to work with the task would
have been far easier, but with only one the pressure he was able to
exert on the lever was slight and for a long minute the joist resisted
his efforts. Then, when hope had nearly vanished, there came a faint
creaking sound and the pick head moved back toward the wall. With a
heart that beat fast, Jerry strained with all the strength of his right
arm, and, suddenly, the joist gave easily and the pick, released,
almost fell from his hand!
Had he had to force the old wrought-iron nails from the planks he would
never have succeeded in his task, for they were many inches long,
spikes rather than nails, and they held firmly. But the joist was old
and soft and the long nails pulled through it as it was pried outward.
Moving the pick a foot further along, Jerry again applied his strength.
Now the task grew easier and the joist came away completely at the
bottom and rested on the nail-heads. Before moving upward another rung,
Jerry leaned downward and pried loose the rung below his feet. This
was far simpler work, for the nails were shorter and came away readily
enough from the loosened upright. After that, he paused for breath and
sent a panting inquiry down through the blackness of the chasm.
“All right,” was the answer from below. “How much――longer?”
“Just a minute, Tom!” He fell to with redoubled effort. Once again in
his eagerness to end his task, he nearly lost his hold on the pick, and
he worked more cautiously then. But, although he spent far more than a
minute completing the work, at last he was able to crawl over the edge
again and lie for a brief instant tired and inert on the floor of the
tunnel. But that rest was only the matter of a few long-drawn breaths.
Then he was kneeling by the edge of the shaft, pushing and prying, and
a moment later the twelve-foot length of pine was free, dangling from
his grasp. He steadied himself and called his warning.
“All ready, Tom! I’m going to drop it!”
“All right!” was the answer. From the depths came the sound of a faint
splash. Jerry leaned over, held the joist as close to the wall as he
dared, lest it strike the ladder in falling, and let go. A second’s
silence followed. Then came a distinct, louder splash as the beam
struck the water far below. Jerry waited a second and then called.
“Tom!”
“Yes! All right――Jerry――I’ve got it!”
“Will it hold you up?”
“I think――――” There was a moment of silence. Then: “I’m on it!――It’s
fine――Jerry!”
“I’m going for help, Tom. I’ll be back as quick as I can. Will you be
all right?”
“Yes.” Tom’s voice sounded fainter than ever, as though reaction had
him. “Don’t hurry.――I can stay――like this――for hours.”
“You won’t have to!” For the first time Jerry laughed. Reaction had
him, too, and the laugh was weak and trembling. “I’m off, Tom! So
long! Keep your chin up!”
Greatly, then, Jerry longed for a match, anything to light the gloom
of the long tunnel. He tried to run, but he was too weak for that, and
he stumbled and staggered so that he had to slow his pace to a kind
of jogging walk. Presently a white fleck brightened and widened and
grew nearer and showed itself as the tunnel mouth, a roughly square
opening bisected by a vertical black line that was the maple tree whose
no trespassing sign they had failed to heed. Then he was out in the
pale sunlight again, out with the friendly trees and the little green
vines, free from the horrible nightmare of darkness back there. For a
moment Jerry had to stop and shade his eyes, for the daylight hurt them
intolerably. Then he was off, straight over the edge of the bank before
the tunnel, running fleetly down the sloping hill, dodging between
the trees deftly, avoiding the tangles with a faculty born of much
wandering in the forests.
The school lay a mile or so away, in an easterly direction, and he kept
the faint shadows of the trees across his path as he went, certain that
by so doing he would emerge on the road west of the school or on the
field over which they had started their journey. Perhaps in combating
the instinctive tendency to bear to the left he bore too much to the
right, for when, in a few minutes, he came to the edge of the woods the
curving red-clay road was before him, and the school buildings lay a
quarter of a mile distant, the tower of Founders’ Hall gleaming white
above the tree tops. But the road had been rolled hard by many wheels,
and, although he was fast getting out of breath, he made good time. As
he went he mentally listed what was needed: a lantern――two would be
better,――a hundred feet of stout rope, plenty of matches and at least
two more pairs of strong arms to pull on the rope.
On his right the trees ceased and the school hedge took their place
along the road. There were the tennis courts and, just behind, the
stable. And between courts and stable were two boys, walking slowly
across the turf. On the instant Jerry’s plan to go straight to Doctor
Heidler was abandoned. To find the Doctor would consume time, and time
was precious. In the stable were lanterns, as he knew, and rope as
well, and within hail was all the assistance he needed. He shouted and
the boys turned inquiringly as Jerry leaped the hedge. Not until then
did he recognize them. One, the taller of the two, was Wayne Sortwell.
The other was Loring Browne. Too much out of breath now to shout, he
waved, and they hurried toward him as he made for the back of the
stable, his haste and the fact that he was coatless and hatless plainly
indicating something amiss.
“What’s the matter?” called Lory as they came.
“Tom!” gasped Jerry. “He’s fallen down――the old mine shaft! Got to have
lanterns――rope! You fellows come along――pull him out!”
“Tom Hartley?” asked Lory as they hurried to the stable. “Where,
Benson?”
“Old mine on the Ridge. ’Bout a mile. Find the lanterns. I’ll get some
rope.”
He thrust the door open with a bang that nearly shook it from its
hinges and plunged into the harness room. The lanterns had been rescued
by Cicero after the hazing episode and fitted with new chimneys, and,
although somewhat battered, they were ready for service, as Lory
determined as he seized them. There was rope in plenty, rope of many
lengths and sizes, and Jerry chose a new coil of three-quarter inch
manila that hung on a wooden peg. “Got any matches?” he demanded. Lory
and Wayne between them produced seven. “’S enough, I reckon. Come on!”
On the way Jerry supplied a brief story of the accident, avoiding
superfluous details since he needed all the breath that was left to
him. “But I never heard of any mine,” marveled Lory as he trotted
along. “Did you, Wayne?”
“No. Can Hartley come up without help, Jerry? How bad is his arm hurt?”
“’Fraid he’s busted it. I’m going down. I’ll have to tie the rope
around him, I reckon.”
“Gee!” said Wayne. “That’s rotten! There goes the best third baseman
we’ve had in years!”
“Guess you’ve done your share, Benson,” said Lory. “Better let one of
us go down.”
Jerry shook his head. “I’ll go,” he panted. “Better not talk. Save your
breath. Got to hurry.” He led the way into the woods and they trotted
behind him as he wound between the trees. He was wondering whether he
could find the mine again without a long search. He believed that he
could, but there was always the chance that he might miss it at first,
and that worried him. Taking his advice, the others toiled behind him
in silence, soon finding that rowing and baseball training did not
necessarily fit them for running uphill through a forest! It wasn’t
long, though, before Jerry had to moderate his pace to a hurried walk,
and soon after that he began to peer anxiously about him.
“Much farther, Jerry?” panted Wayne.
“Reckon it’s nigh here somewheres.” Jerry stopped and looked around,
seeking some remembered landmark. Then he gave a grunt of satisfaction.
They were on the edge of a streak of younger growth trees that led
uphill to the left, and Jerry followed it assuredly. A minute later the
little plateau of mine dumpings loomed above them and he led the way
up its bank and, without pause, plunged into the mouth of the tunnel.
Inside, however, he stopped.
“Better light up,” he gasped.
Lory and Wayne obeyed, and then they went on. With the light of the two
lanterns their progress was easy. Although Lory and Wayne wondered at
what they saw they did so in silence, saving their breath for a better
purpose. Near the end of the tunnel Jerry turned and took the lantern
that Wayne carried. Then they were beside the shaft, its blackness
looking strangely ominous in the flickering yellow glow. Jerry stepped
to the edge of the hole, opened his mouth and closed it again without
a sound. He stepped back and leaned tiredly against a wall. “You,” he
whispered to Lory.
So it was Lory’s voice that awoke the very echoes of the dark abyss.
“_Tom!_” he called. And then, when the echoes had died to faint
whispers, “_Tom!_” he called again. “_Tom!_” They listened with loudly
beating hearts, but no answer came from the dark depths. Jerry
groaned. Wayne shouted at the top of his healthy lungs. “_Hartley! Tom
Hartley!_” But still, save for the mocking echoes, the shaft yielded
only silence. Jerry stooped and fairly ripped off his shoes. “Lay hold
on the rope, you fellers!” he gasped. “I’m goin’ down!”
But he was trembling so with fear and exhaustion that Lory pushed him
back. “Not you, Benson,” he said firmly. “You’re all in. I’ll make it.
Give a hand, Wayne.”
“Hold on,” was the answer. “I’m twenty pounds lighter than you, Lory.
That’ll count in getting me up.” He threw aside his coat and vest and
unlaced his shoes. “Better tie a loop in the end, Lory, and I’ll put my
foot in it.”
Jerry sank back again against the wall, too weary to protest had he
wanted to. But he didn’t, for he realized that Lory was right. In less
time than it takes to tell it, Wayne was ready, a little nervous, I
think, but eager nevertheless. Lory tested the remaining upright of the
ladder and twisted the rope about it, letting the end of the latter
hang a few feet over the edge of the shaft. Wayne lay down and squirmed
backward, Jerry holding a hand, until he had found the loop in the rope
with one stockinged foot. Jerry handed him one of the lanterns. Then:
“Lower away!” he said quietly.
“If you need help,” said Lory, “shout and I’ll come down, too. We can
look after ourselves all right, I guess, until Benson finds some one to
pull us up. And――and let’s know how he is――if you find him!”
“All right. Go easy at first. I’m likely to spin a bit, I reckon.
Soon’s I get my bearings I’ll call and you can lower faster. Let go!”
Lory and Jerry, bracing themselves, let the rope pay out slowly. The
one twist about the upright took much of the pull and their task was
easy. After a moment Wayne called back: “All right, fellows! Faster
now!”
They obeyed in silence. Only the rasping of the stout rope about the
joist broke the stillness until, with something like a sob, Jerry said:
“Reckon he couldn’t keep ahold of the timber, Lory. I――I oughtn’t never
to have left him!”
“You did all you could, Benson,” was the reply. “Maybe Wayne’ll
find him all right. Maybe he’s too done up to answer us. We’ll soon
know.” But Jerry, staring miserably at the rope as it descended from
sight over the timbered edge of the shaft, would not be comforted.
At intervals a little sharp intake of breath showed Lory that he was
suffering, and after another moment the latter spoke again. “You
couldn’t have helped any by staying down there with Tom, Benson. You
did the one thing that could be done. Whatever happens, you mustn’t
take any blame for it.”
“I oughtn’t have let him go near the edge,” answered Jerry miserably.
“I was afraid to go myself and I let him go!”
At that instant there was a shout from far below. “Easy, fellows! Go
slow! I’m down! Hartley’s here. I can see him! Slow!”
A long silence followed while the rope payed out inch by inch. Then:
“That’s enough!” came Wayne’s voice faintly. Another silence, filled
for Jerry with a horrible suspense and dread. Finally: “He’s all
right,” called Wayne. “Just fainted, I think. I’m getting the rope
around him. Lower a little more!”
There was a gasp from Jerry and a chuckle from his companion. “Guess
the poor chap just sort of keeled over when he found he was all right,”
said Lory. “We’ll have him up in a jiffy, Benson.”
“Yes,” said Jerry with a sniffle. “We――we’ll have him up right quick
now. Reckon we can pull him, don’t you?”
“Surest thing you know,” answered Lory heartily. “He doesn’t weigh
much, anyway. Was that Wayne? Listen!”
“Haul away!” came the word. “But go easy fellows! All right!”
Lory had unslipped the turn about the upright and now, as they pulled,
the rope bound badly against the edge of the timbering and made their
work harder. Tom weighed about a hundred and forty, and to that weight
was now added many pounds of water-soaked clothing, and the boys at
the rope soon found that theirs was no slight task. Yet the rope came
toward them slowly. Lory, eighteen and with muscles hardened by rowing,
soon found the perspiration starting on his forehead. Jerry panted as
he pulled, hand over hand. Suddenly Lory’s voice broke the silence
there.
“Benson,” he gasped, “how are we going to manage when we get him up?
One of us will have to pull him over the edge. Can one hold the rope
alone?”
“Golly!” panted Jerry. “We never thought! We’ll have to work to the
ladder there somehow and snag the rope round it.”
“We never could,” answered the other desperately. “Wait! Take a look
behind you. Isn’t that timber away from the wall a bit?”
Jerry looked as bidden, but in the dim light of the lantern the shadow
of the supporting beam made the question one hard to answer. But,
“I think so,” Jerry said. “We can find out if we move over that way
together.”
They did so, shuffling across the tunnel floor until Jerry, bracing his
feet against a rail, ran a cautious hand behind the prop. Then: “Yes!”
he exclaimed triumphantly. “Kick the rope this way and I’ll work the
end through!”
After a somewhat breathless moment it was done, and then, while,
doubtless, Tom, if he was conscious, felt a most sickening sensation as
he dropped back a foot or so in the shaft, they found new holds on the
rope where it had passed around the prop. Although they stepped further
back up the tunnel, the new arrangement had added more resistance,
and the burden came toward them slower yet. Now they could feel the
rope jerk at times as Tom’s body struck against the ladder. But the
end of their task came at last, and holding the rope tightly around
the upright, Jerry saw Lory rush to the edge and, exerting all his
strength, heave the still unconscious body of Tom to the tunnel floor.