Produced by Betsie Bush, Robin Monks, Karen Dalrymple, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE COPPER PRINCESS
A Story of Lake Superior Mines
_By_ KIRK MUNROE. _Author of "The Painted Desert" "Rick Dale" The
"Mates" Series, etc._
_Illustrated by_ W. A. ROGERS
[Illustration: Logo]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1898
[Illustration:
Page 105
ON THE FACE OF THE CLIFF STOOD A GIRLISH FIGURE]
BY KIRK MUNROE.
THE PAINTED DESERT. A Story of Northern Arizona.
RICK DALE. A Story of the Northwest Coast.
SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES. A Sequel to "The Fur-Seal's Tooth."
THE FUR-SEAL'S TOOTH. A Story of Alaskan Adventure.
RAFTMATES. A Story of the Great River.
CANOEMATES. A Story of the Florida Reef and Everglades.
CAMPMATES. A Story of the Plains.
DORYMATES. A Tale of the Fishing Banks.
_Each one volume. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25._
_The "Mates" Series, 4 vols., in a box, $5 00._
WAKULLA. A Story of Adventure in Florida.
THE FLAMINGO FEATHER.
DERRICK STERLING. A Story of the Mines.
CHRYSTAL, JACK & CO., and DELTA BIXBY. Two Stories.
_Each one volume. Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, $1 00._
NEW YORK AND LONDON:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.
Copyright, 1898, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. STARTLING INTRODUCTION OF TOM TREFETHEN 1
II. PEVERIL TIES "BLACKY'S" RECORD 9
III. A 'VARSITY STROKE STRIKES ADVERSE FORTUNE 17
IV. STARTING IN SEARCH OF THE COPPER PRINCESS 25
V. THE TREFETHENS 32
VI. A MILE BENEATH THE SURFACE 40
VII. CORNWALL TO THE RESCUE 48
VIII. IN THE NEW SHAFT 56
IX. WINNING A FRIEND BY SHEER PLUCK 65
X. HEROISM REWARDED 73
XI. NELLY TREFETHEN FINDS A LETTER 81
XII. A VISION OF THE CLIFFS 89
XIII. LOG-WRECKERS AND SMUGGLERS 95
XIV. A VAIN EFFORT TO RECOVER STOLEN PROPERTY 102
XV. PEVERIL IN THE HANDS OF HIS ENEMIES 110
XVI. LOST IN A PREHISTORIC MINE 118
XVII. UNDERGROUND WANDERINGS 125
XVIII. FROM ONE TRAP INTO ANOTHER 133
XIX. "DARRELL'S FOLLY" AND ITS OWNER 141
XX. PEVERIL IS TAKEN FOR A GHOST 148
XXI. MIKE CONNELL TO THE RESCUE 156
XXII. THE SIGNAL IS CHANGED 164
XXIII. A BATTLE WITH SMUGGLERS 172
XXIV. CONNELL MAKES GOOD HIS ESCAPE 180
XXV. A SEA FIGHT ON LAKE SUPERIOR 188
XXVI. FIRST NEWS OF THE COPPER PRINCESS 196
XXVII. A NIGHT WITH A MADMAN 205
XXVIII. LEFT IN SOLE POSSESSION 213
XXIX. A ROYAL NAME FOR A ROYAL MINE 221
XXX. PEVERIL ACQUIRES AN UNSHARED INTEREST 230
ILLUSTRATIONS
ON THE FACE OF THE CLIFF STOOD A GIRLISH FIGURE _Frontispiece_
"IN BREATHLESS SILENCE THE GROUP WATCHED PEVERIL'S
MOVEMENTS" _Facing p._ 12
PEVERIL GOES TO WORK " 36
THE CAR-PUSHERS MADE A FURIOUS ATTACK ON PEVERIL " 46
PEVERIL LEAPED DOWN AMONG THE SPUTTERING FUSES " 66
THE MEN HASTILY THREW PEVERIL HEAD-FIRST INTO
THE BUSHES " 106
PEVERIL SAT BESIDE THE FIRE IN FORLORN MEDITATION " 130
AT SEEING PEVERIL, THE MEN UTTERED A CRY OF TERROR " 152
A WILD-LOOKING MAN LEVELLED A PISTOL AT PEVERIL " 174
THE TWO MEN STOOD AND LISTENED " 194
RESCUED FROM THE SHAFT " 200
PEVERIL FINDS MARY AGAIN " 234
THE COPPER PRINCESS
CHAPTER I
STARTLING INTRODUCTION OF TOM TREFETHEN
"Look out, there!"
"My God, he is under the wheels!"
The narrow-gauge train for Red Jacket had just started from the
Hancock station, and was gathering quick headway for its first steep
grade, when a youth ran from the waiting-room and attempted to leap
aboard the "smoker." Missing the step, he fell between two cars,
though still clutching a hand-rail of the one he had attempted to
board.
With cries of horror, several of those who witnessed the incident from
the station platform averted their faces, unwilling to view the
ghastly tragedy that they believed must occur in another instant.
At sound of their cries, a neatly dressed young fellow,
broad-shouldered and of splendid physique, who was in the act of
mounting the car-steps, turned, and instantly comprehended the
situation. Without a moment of hesitation he dropped the bag he was
carrying and flung his body over the guard-rail, catching at its
supporting stanchions with his knees. In this position, with his arms
stretched to their utmost, he managed to grasp the coat-collar of the
unfortunate youth who was being dragged to his death. In another
moment he had, by a supreme effort, lifted the latter bodily to the
platform.
Those who witnessed this superb exhibition of promptly applied
strength from the station platform gave a cheer as the train swept by,
but their voices were drowned in its clatter, and the two actors in
their thrilling drama were unaware that it had been noticed. The
rescued youth sat limp and motionless on the swaying platform where he
had been placed, dazed by the suddenness and intensity of his recent
terror; while the other leaned against the guard-rail, recovering from
his tremendous effort. After a few minutes of quick breathing he
pulled himself together and helped his companion into the car, where
they found a vacant seat.
A few of the passengers noted the entrance of two young men, one of
whom seemed to be in need of the other's assistance, and glanced at
them with meaning smiles. There had been races at Hancock that day,
and they evidently believed that these two had attended them. No one
spoke to them, however, and it quickly became apparent that the
supremest moment in the life of one of the two, which would also have
been his last on earth but for the other, had passed unnoticed by any
of the scores of human beings in closest proximity to them at the
time.
It was hard to realize this, and for a few minutes the young men sat
in silence, dreading but expecting to be overwhelmed with a clamor of
questions. It was a relief to find that they were to be unmolested,
and when the conductor had passed on after punching their tickets, the
one who had rescued the other turned to him with a smile, saying:
"No one knows anything about it, for which let us be grateful."
"You can bet I'm grateful, Mister, in more ways than one," answered
the other, his eyes filling with the tears of a deep emotion as he
spoke. "I won't forget in a hurry that you've saved my life, and from
this time on, if ever you can make any use of so poor a chap as me,
I'm your man. My name's Tom Trefethen, and I live in Red Jacket, where
I run a compressor for No. 3 shaft of the White Pine Mine. That's all
there is to me, for I 'ain't never done anything else, don't know
anything else, and expect I'm no good _for_ anything else. So, you
see, I hain't got much to offer in exchange for what you've just give
me; same time, I'm your friend all right, from this minute, and I
wouldn't do a thing for you only just what you say; but that goes,
every time."
"That's all right, Tom, and don't you worry about trying to make any
return for the service I have been able to render you. I won't call it
a slight service, because to do so would be to undervalue the life I
was permitted to save. Besides, you have already repaid me by giving
me a friend, which was the thing of which I stood in greatest need,
and had almost despaired of gaining."
"Why, Mister--"
"Peveril," interrupted the other. "Richard Peveril is my name, though
the friends I used to have generally called me 'Dick Peril."'
"Used to have, Mr. Peril? Do you mean by that that you hain't got any
friends now?"
"I mean that five minutes ago it did not seem as though I had a friend
in the world; but now I have one, who, I hope, will prove a very
valuable one as well, and his name is Tom Trefethen."
"It's good of you to say so, Mr. Peril, though how a poor, ignorant
chap like me can prove a valuable friend to a swell like you is more
than I can make out."
At this the other smiled. "I don't know just what you mean by a
swell," he said. "But I suppose you mean a gentleman of wealth and
leisure. If so, I certainly am no more of a swell than you, nor so
much, for I have just expended my last dollar for this railroad
ticket, and have no idea where I shall get another. In fact, I do not
know where I shall obtain a supper or find a sleeping-place for
to-night, and think it extremely probable that I shall go without
either. I hope very much, though, to find a job of work to-morrow that
will provide me with both food and shelter for the immediate future."
"Work! Are you looking for work?" asked Tom, gazing at Peveril's natty
travelling-suit, and speaking with a tone of incredulity.
"That is what I have come to this country to look for," was the
smiling answer. "I came here because I was told that this was the one
section of the United States unaffected by hard times, and because I
had a letter of introduction to a gentleman in Hancock whom I thought
would assist me in getting a position. To my great disappointment, he
had left town, to be gone for several months, and, as I could not
afford to await his return, I applied for work at the Quincy and other
mines, only to be refused."
"Is it work in the mines you are looking for?" asked Tom Trefethen,
evidently doubting if he had heard aright.
"Yes, that or any other by which I can make an honest living."
"Well, sir, I wouldn't have believed it if any one but yourself had
told me."
"But you must believe it, for it is true, and I am now on my way to
Red Jacket because I have been told there is more work to be had there
than at any other place in the whole copper region, or in the State,
for that matter."
"And more people to do it, too," muttered Tom Trefethen, as he sank
into a brown-study.
By this time the train had climbed from the muddy level of Portage
Lake, which with its recently cut ship-canals bisects Keweenaw Point,
making of its upper end an island, and was speeding northward over a
rough upland. Its way led through a naked country of rocks and
low-growing scrub, for the primitive growth of timber had been
stripped for use in the mines. Every now and then it passed tall
shaft-houses and chimneys, belching forth thick volumes of smoke,
which, with their clustering villages, marked the sites of
copper-mines. Finally, as darkness began to shroud the uninteresting
landscape, the train entered the environs of a wide-spread and
populous community, where huge mine buildings reared themselves from
surrounding acres of the small but comfortable dwellings of
North-country miners. Everywhere shone electric lights, and everywhere
was a swarming population.
Peveril gazed from his car window in astonishment. "What place is
this?" he asked.
"Red Jacket," answered his companion. "That is, it is Red Jacket, Blue
Jacket, Yellow Jacket, Stone Pipe, Osceola, White Pine, and several
other mining villages bunched together and holding in all about
twenty-five thousand people."
"Whew! and I expected to find a place of not over one thousand
inhabitants."
"You don't know much about the copper country, that's a fact," said
Tom Trefethen, with the slight air of superiority that residents of a
place are so apt to assume towards strangers. "Why, a single company
here employs as many as three thousand men."
"I am willing to admit my ignorance," rejoined Peveril, "but I am also
very anxious to learn things, and hope in course of time to rank as a
first-class miner. Therefore, any information you can give me will be
gratefully received. To begin with, I wish you would tell me the name
of some hotel where my grip will serve as security for a few days'
board and lodging."
"A hotel, Mr. Peril! You can't be feeling so very poor if you are
thinking of going to a hotel. Or perhaps you don't know how expensive
our Red Jacket hotels are. You see, there is always such a rush of
business here that prices are way up. Why, they don't think anything
of charging two dollars a day; and they get it, too--don't give you
anything extra in the way of grub, either. I can do lots better than
that for you, though. There's a-plenty of boarding-houses here that'll
fix you up in great shape for five a week. You just wait here at the
station a few minutes while I go and look up one that I know of."
Without waiting for a reply Tom Trefethen hurried from the train,
which was just coming to a stop at the bustling Red Jacket station,
and disappeared in the crowd of spectators who had gathered to witness
its arrival. Peveril followed more slowly, and, depositing the
handsome dress-suit case that he had learned to call a "grip" in a
vacant corner of the platform, prepared to await the return of his
only acquaintance in all that community, "or in the whole State of
Michigan, so far as I know," reflected the young man.
"As for friends, I wonder if I have any anywhere. This Tom Trefethen
claims to have a friendly feeling towards me, and, if he comes back, I
will try to believe in him. It is more than likely though that his
leaving me here is only a way of escaping an irksome obligation, and I
shouldn't be one bit surprised never to see him again. It seems to be
the way of the world, that if you place a fellow under an obligation
he begins to dislike you from that moment. My! if all the fellows
whom I have helped would only pay what they owe me, how well fixed I
should be at this minute. I could even put up with a clear conscience
at one of Tom Trefethen's two-dollar-a-day hotels. What an
unsophisticated chap he is, anyway. Wonder what he would say to the
Waldorf charges? And yet only a short time ago I thought them very
moderate. It's a queer old world, and a fellow has to see all sides of
it before he can form an idea of what it is really like. I must
confess, however, that I am not particularly enjoying my present point
of view. Must be because I am so infernally hungry. Odd sensation, and
so decidedly unpleasant that if my friend with the Cornish name
doesn't return inside of two minutes more I shall abandon our tryst
and set forth in search of a supper."
At this point in his dismal reflections Peveril became aware of a
short, solidly built man, having a grizzled beard, and wearing a rough
suit of ill-fitting clothing, who was standing squarely before him and
regarding him intently. As their eyes met, the new-comer asked,
abruptly:
"Be thy name Richard, lad?"
"Yes."
"What's t'other part of it?"
"Peveril. And may I inquire why you ask?"
"Because, lad, in all t'world thee has not a truer friend, nor one
more ready to serve thee, than old Mark Trefethen. So come along of
me, and gi' me a chance to prove my words."