TRAPPED IN THE MINE
As the dump-car moved steadily downward along the rails, Ned Blake held
the lantern high and peered ahead. The feeble yellow gleam showed the
rock roof and sides of the tunnel, which gradually narrowed till it
became barely wide enough to allow the passage of the car. Beyond the
small circle of light was a wall of pitchy blackness, ever receding as
they moved toward it and closing again behind them as they rumbled
onward.
“That small cable runs right along overhead,” declared Ned, holding up
the lantern to better illuminate the roof. “I’m blessed if I can see
what’s holding it up there!” he continued. “It must be—”
The words were cut short by a warning shout from Dick, and turning, Ned
caught the reflected gleam from the surface of a black pool which filled
the tunnel from wall to wall.
“Jump for it!” yelled Ned, and in an instant both boys had leaped from
the rear of the car knee-deep into the icy water.
Floundering back up the passage, they gained dry ground, and straining
their eyes through the gloom, watched the car as it continued on its way
down the track and disappeared beneath the inky water.
“Wow! We came near getting an all-over ducking!” cried Dick, as he
stooped to wring the water from the bottom of his trousers.
“It was mighty stupid of me not to have been looking out for this,” Ned
blamed himself. “Of course everybody knows the tunnel runs out under the
lake and that the lower end is full of water.”
“The car is still going ahead,” announced Dick. “Look! The cable is
running out yet.” But even as he spoke, the black wire rope dragging
along between the rails suddenly stopped. “She’s got to the end of the
tunnel,” he continued. “Now what!”
For a moment Ned Blake did not reply. He was staring up at the line of
small cable stretched tightly along the roof of the mine and passing
from sight where roof and water-surface met.
“I know what’s pulling so hard on that rope,” he said quietly. “It’s
that buoy.”
“By jiminy! You’re right!” Dick’s voice rose excitedly. “And when that
small winch is released, the buoy rises to the surface of the lake!
But—but what’s the use of all this? That’s what I can’t make out!”
“Let’s try to make the boys hear and tell ’em to haul us back,”
suggested Ned.
Raising their voices in a combined effort, they sent a shout
reverberating up the tunnel, and an answering halloo came faintly to
their ears.
“Here’s where Weary does his stuff!” grinned Dick, as he watched the
cable drag slowly out of the water like a great black snake. “He’ll crab
a plenty over _this_ night’s hard labor!”
Soon the car came into view, looking not unlike some huge amphibian as
it emerged from the pool streaming water at every angle. Climbing upon
it as it passed, Ned and Dick were pulled up the steep incline, till at
length they came in sight of their comrades grunting at the crank-handle
of the winch.
“Well, what did you find?” puffed Beals, as the car came to rest in its
original position.
“Nothing much,” replied Dick.
“Nothing _much_!” groaned Wilbur. “And that’s the fruit of the hardest
labor a man was ever sentenced to! Say, you let _me_ ride down and back
a couple of times while you fellows grind that winch!”
“We didn’t find much because there’s nothing down there except water,”
explained Ned, “but we’ve got an idea as to what’s pulling on that small
cable,” and Ned proceeded to give his theory of the buoy which he and
Dick had seen appear and disappear at the surface of the lake.
“Sounds reasonable,” admitted Charlie Rogers. “If anybody outside wanted
to get an absolutely exact location of the submerged end of this mine,
why that buoy would do the trick for ’em; but what the blazes could
anybody want of it, and why so fussy to be within _inches_?”
“That’s the puzzle,” agreed Ned. “That’s what we got to find out. Slade
hinted that if we got inside the cellar we’d soon learn the whole game.
So far we haven’t accomplished much. Let’s look around up at this end of
the mine.”
There was nothing to be seen in the restricted area about the car and
winches, but partly concealed by the stairway was a narrow passage hewn
in the rock.
“This is where Coleson started to follow the vein of ore back under the
house, I guess,” said Ned and moved forward with his lantern.
Half a dozen steps brought him to a door set in the rock wall. A quick
jerk threw it back upon its hinges, revealing a small chamber between
the walls of which tiers of wooden boxes reached from floor to roof.
Crowding together before the open door, the boys stood silent for a long
minute.
“What’s in ’em?” Dick Somers’ muttered question voiced the curiosity of
all.
Setting his lantern upon a projecting point of rock, Ned Blake
cautiously lifted one of the boxes from the front tier. A dull metallic
rattle sounded from within.
“I heard that same noise once before!” exclaimed Rogers excitedly. “I’ll
never forget it!”
The box was tightly closed, but by aid of the winch-handle the cover was
pried off and the secret of the haunted mine stood revealed to five
pairs of astonished eyes. Ned lifted a bottle from the opened case and
read the label on its flat side.
“Canadian Club Whisky.”
“_Bootleggers!_” yelped Dick Somers.
“_Rum-runners_ from across the lake!” wheezed Dave Wilbur.
“There’s no doubt of it,” said Ned, staring at the bottle in his hand.
“They come across from Canada and locate the caved-in end of the mine by
means of the ranges and that buoy. Once anchored there, they can lower
these cases of whisky onto the dump-car that is waiting down below. They
don’t have to land and leave tracks on the beach. It’s so simple we
ought to have guessed it long ago!”
“And once they get the stuff safely stowed here, all they have to do is
watch their chance to load a truck and run it up to Cleveland,” remarked
Beals. “Like every other bunch of crooks and lawbreakers, they thought
their scheme was one hundred per cent perfect.”
“Well, I guess it _was_ working pretty fair till we butted in with our
dance proposition,” grinned Dave Wilbur. “It’s no wonder they tried to
drive us off the place.”
“Of course, we know they ran their truck up through the old wood-road
and parked it among the scrub oaks opposite the end of the house,” began
Dick. “Ned and I found where it stood but—but still there’s one thing
that puzzles me.”
“You’re wondering why we never could find any tracks on the strip of
sand between the house and the woods,” guessed Ned. “That question
bothers me also. Let’s have another look inside the cellar.”
Leading the way with his lantern and closely followed by the other boys,
Ned mounted the stairs. At the top he halted abruptly and held the
lantern above his head. “Who was the last man in here?” he demanded.
“I was,” replied Charlie Rogers.
“Did you shut this door behind you?” Ned’s tone was sharp.
“I certainly did _not_!” protested Rogers. “It was wide open and I
remember pushing it clear back against the wall in order to give us a
chance to beat it out of here if anything happened!”
Handing his lantern to Dick Somers, Ned approached the door and tried it
cautiously; then putting his shoulder against it he pushed with all his
strength. “Come here, Fatty,” he grunted. “Put your beef on it!”
Tommy hastened to Ned’s side and together they flung their united weight
against the oak planks. It was useless. The door was securely fastened
on the other side. They were trapped in the mine.