A DOUBLE BLOW
"Some one," said Ethel Mason, "has to go to town for me this
afternoon. There are a dozen things I've got to have right away."
She looked at Gordon as she spoke, but he smilingly shook his head in
answer.
"Some one," he said lightly, "doesn't mean me. I've got to drive over
to the Iroquois to see Haskins about that smelting proposition, and
you know what that means; I shan't be back till supper time at the
earliest. Otherwise I'd do your marketing for you with all the
pleasure in life."
The girl nodded, and turned to Rose Ashton. "Isn't he clever at
excuses?" she said. "Preparing for married life, I suppose."
Rose laughed in answer. A week in the little cabin on Burnt Mountain
had changed her a hundredfold for the better. The color in her cheeks
and the animation of her whole expression bore witness that her
surroundings were to her complete satisfaction.
"I'll go for you, Ethel," she said; "unless," she added, turning to
Gordon, "you'll take me with you, Dick. I'd like to go."
Gordon doubtfully shook his head. "I'd like nothing better, of
course," he said; "but I don't believe you should attempt it, Rose.
You have no idea what these mountain roads are like in places; it's
about as rough as an ocean voyage. And as far as that goes, I don't
believe you want to walk to town and back, either. It's altogether too
far. You'll be sensible to stay at home and rest."
The girl's face showed her disappointment, and she was about to
protest, when Harrison spoke.
"He's right, Miss Ashton," he said, "that ride's a tough one for
anybody, and the trip to town ain't much better. It's all right goin',
but comin' back ain't no joke. I'll go to town myself, an' be glad of
the excuse--unless," he added, with a grin, "Jim here wants to go
'nstead of me. If he wants the job, it's his for the askin'."
Mason's look was sufficient answer. The idea of leaving his beloved
fifth level for an entire afternoon savored almost of sacrilege. Even
the brief trip home for lunch always somehow exasperated him with a
sense of time wasted, and an afternoon--a whole long afternoon--
"I'm not a candidate for the nomination," he said drily. "You can go
and welcome, Jack. I'll get Miss Ashton to come along with me and take
your job down on the sixth level. I'll bet she'd make as good a miner
as a lazy cuss like you."
There was a general laugh. Then Gordon turned to Rose. "That reminds
me," he said. "Seriously, Rose, if you want to help us out this
afternoon, you can. You needn't go to work with a pick, but I do need
about a dozen specimens of rock to send East; and if you want to let
Jim show you the place on the sixth level, and pick us out the best
samples you can find, it would really save time and trouble for
everybody. We'll pay regular union wages, too, so there's your
chance."
The girl nodded eagerly. Than to help Gordon in any way, real or
fancied, she desired nothing better. "Splendid," she assented, "if I
won't be in the way."
Mason shook his head. To the surprise of all, he had taken what was
for him a great fancy to their visitor from the East. "Not a bit," he
said, readily enough; "I'll be proud to have you along," and thus the
afternoon's program was settled for all.
Harrison was the first to take his departure, striding cheerfully away
down the path on his long jaunt to town, ready and willing to start on
a journey a hundred times as far as long as it was only Ethel who said
the word. Next, Jim Mason finished his pipe and rose.
"Come on, Miss Ashton," he cried, "got to get to work. Life's short,
and there's lots to do."
With a laughing word of farewell to Ethel and Gordon, she hastened to
join him, and together they left for the mine.
Fifteen minutes later Gordon climbed into the buggy despatched from
Seneca's only livery stable, duly received Bill Hinckley's well-filled
lunch pail from Ethel Mason's hand, gathered up the reins, chirruped
to his horses, and disappeared from sight around the bend in the road.
No sooner, however, had he reached a safe distance from the house than
he deliberately brought the team to a standstill, and then, a dark
gleam of excitement in his eyes, opened the lunch pail Ethel Mason had
given him, drew a tiny bottle from his pocket, and quickly poured its
contents into the coffee, still steaming hot in the bottom of the tin.
Having rearranged everything as before, he drew up a few moments later
at the entrance to the mine, with a word of friendly greeting handed
Hinckley the pail, and started in earnest on his long trip across the
mountain.
Singular enough, however, seemed his actions, for a man bound on an
errand that had for its object the completion of a contract for the
smelting of the Ethel's ore. Scarcely five minutes after he had left
Hinckley he passed through a small, densely wooded plateau on the
mountain's side, and here he drew rein, scanning the bushes on either
hand with careful scrutiny, listened a moment, and then, tying the
horses, walked straight toward what seemed to be a tangled network of
overhanging boughs. Readily at his touch, however, they parted to
right and left, for an instant disclosing a narrow path with a
clearing at the end, and then closed noiselessly upon him.
Another five minutes passed. Silence everywhere; the stern old
mountain sleeping its majestic, ancient sleep in the sober calm of the
peaceful, sunlit afternoon. Then from the bushes near the mouth of Abe
Peters' abandoned claim a figure emerged, at first crouching, then, as
the screen of bushes grew less and less, snakelike, hugging the ground
itself, worming its cautious way steadily onward, at length to be
swallowed up bodily in the overhanging shadow of the entrance to the
mine.
Once secure in the gloom of the old shaft, the man, with a little sigh
of relief, rose to his full height, drew from his coat a slender tube
of steel, and from his pocket a delicate frame shaped like the stock
of a gun, deftly fitted the two together, pulled back the spring,
carefully inserted the bullet, and stood armed with a weapon, at close
range absolutely to be relied upon, precise, noiseless, deadly.
Silently the man nodded his head, and then, slowly, cautiously, with
every nerve in his body on the alert, began his dangerous descent.
Down on the fifth level old Jim Mason, his miner's lamp casting its
glimmering light on the high walls of rock, plied his heavy pick, not
with the fiery enthusiasm of eager, determined, hot-blooded youth, but
with the slower, steadier poise of equally determined, and far more
patient, age. Rhythmical, effective, machine-like, he bent to his
work. Swing--crash; swing--crash; swing--crash; his vigorous old body
sent the steel biting into the rock; never a glance to right or left,
never a glance behind, on and on he pressed, well satisfied, with an
honest content, every stroke bringing him an infinitesimal fraction
nearer his heart's desire.
Never a glance to right or left, never a glance behind, or he might
have noticed one shadow darker than the rest creeping steadily forward
out of the gloom, stopping momentarily only to advance again, until at
last it paused but a few yards away and stood rigid and motionless,
blending again with the other shadows among the jagged walls,
waiting--waiting--
And now the old man tired a trifle. The rock was hard. Rhythmically he
had been counting the strokes to himself--eighty-five, eighty-six,
eighty-seven--when he should reach one hundred he would stop--stop and
rest a while. On and on crashed the pick; ninety-four, ninety-five,
ninety-six--the tired muscles cried out for a respite, however brief,
but grimly the old man set his teeth and kept on; ninety-seven,
ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred--with a long sigh of relief he
slowly straightened, and stood for an instant, motionless as a statue,
in the sheer physical enjoyment of rest well-earned. The best that was
in him he had given for so many long years, the best that was in him
of muscle and brain, and now the end--the consummation of all his
dreams--was near, so near--
From the darkness behind him came the faintest vibrant twang, as of a
spring released. Swift, sinister, relentless as fate, the bullet sped
to its mark. Just for an instant of time the old man still stood,
motionless; then, the pick slipping from his nerveless fingers went
crashing to the floor, and old Jim Mason of Seneca, shot through the
head, pitched forward headlong, and lay stone-dead amid the faintly
gleaming ore of the mine he had loved so well.
Again silence, seemingly for minutes, in reality but for seconds, and
then the dark shadow crept again forward, picked up the miner's lamp,
and stole silently to the old man's side. Only for a moment it waited
there, and then crept back until it paused at the opening of the shaft
which led again downward to the sixth level. Very faintly a sound came
up from the blackness below--the sound of a girl's voice singing. Amid
the darkness no eye could see the expression on the shadow's face. For
an instant it stood poised at the mouth of the shaft; then, quickly
and yet with caution, began its descent.