BURIED ALIVE
At the moment when Skip Miller knocked away the joist which supported
the timbers at the top of the tunnel, Fred had stooped to pick up his
shovel, and this position saved him from being instantly killed.
One end of the shoring plank was yet held by the upright placed in the
center of the cutting, and it remained at an angle, although pinning him
down, while the earth covered him completely.
For a moment he was at a loss to know what had happened, and then he
heard, as if from afar off, Joe calling him by name.
"Here I am under the timber," he replied.
"Are you hurt much?"
"I think not; but I shall stifle to death if the dirt isn't taken away
soon."
"It ain't a sure thing that you won't stifle even then," he heard Bill
say sharply. "Take hold, mate, an' let's get him from beneath while we
have a chance to breathe."
Then the grating of the shovels was distinguished, and pound by pound
the weight was removed until nothing save the timber held him down.
"Can you get out now?" Joe asked, and his voice sounded strangely
indistinct.
"Not till the joist is pulled away."
"When that is done it's safe to say tons of the roof will follow," Bill
muttered, and Joe asked:
"Does it hurt you much, lad?"
"The edges are cutting into my back terribly."
"Grin an' bear it as long as you can. Our only chance for life is to
break through the wall into the old tunnel; but if that timber is taken
away it's good-bye for all hands."
"Then don't bother about me. It's better one died than three."
There was no reply to this. The men were digging at the barrier of earth
with feverish energy, and each instant respiration became more
difficult. The slight amount of air which filtered through the bank of
slate and sand was no more than sufficient for one pair of lungs.
The darkness was profound. The lamps had been extinguished by the shock,
and five minutes later it was impossible to re-light them. The oxygen
had become so nearly exhausted that a match would not burn.
Fred bit his lips to prevent an outcry. The huge timber was crushing him
slowly but surely, and the pain was intense.
Each instant the blows of the men grew fainter. Strength and even the
power of movement was rapidly succumbing to the noxious vapor.
Joe was the first to give up, and as the pick fell from his nerveless
hands he said faintly:
"It's all over, lads. We might as well pull the timber from Fred, and
die at the same moment."
"Don't weaken, mate," Bill said, imploringly. "Who knows but we're
within a few inches of the other drift."
"Even if that's true, the chances are we'll be stifled by the gas."
"The alarm may be given in time to save us from the entrance."
"Sam can't have come back yet, an' before any one knows what has
happened we shall be dead."
Joe had lost all courage and the apathy of despair was upon him. His
words robbed Fred of the last hope, and as it fled consciousness
deserted him.
Bill delivered a few more feeble blows with the pick, and then he in
turn sank to the ground.
The hand of death was very nearly upon them, and the agonies of
dissolution already passed.
Within a few feet of where the unconscious men lay, willing hands were
working at the obstruction. No more than three could labor at once, but
these were relieved every two minutes, in order that their energy might
not be impaired by weariness, and meanwhile others shoveled the slate
and earth into cars, that the drift might be kept clear.
Mr. Wright personally assisted in the labor, and it was he who began the
cheering which ensued when an aperture was made in the barrier.
"At it with a will, boys," he shouted, "but be careful about removing
the timber, for some of the poor fellows may be beneath it."
The foul air rushing out nearly overcame the laborers, but the eager
rescuers heeded not their own peril, and the moment finally came when
the unconscious ones were fully exposed to view.
"Pass out the men, and then dig beneath the boy; he must be released in
that manner, otherwise we may all share their fate," and Mr. Wright
shoveled the earth carefully away from Fred, while the others carried
Joe and Bill into the drift.
From his place of concealment on the hillside Skip Miller saw a party of
men come out of the slope bearing an ominous looking burden.
"One of them is dead," he whispered to himself, as his face paled.
Then came another party, and a few seconds later the third, each
carrying a similar load, marched down the road leading to the village.
The sight nearly overpowered Skip; he shook as if in an ague fit, and
after staring at the sad spectacle until the men had passed from view,
he turned and ran through the grove, believing the officers were close
upon him.
The news that two miners and a boy had probably been killed spread
through the village rapidly, and Cale Billings was in Taylor's groggery
when one of the late rioters brought the intelligence.
"It's a wonder they don't accuse us of havin' somethin' to do with the
accident," the newcomer added, and the proprietor said sternly:
"I don't want to drive customers away, but if any who come here have had
a hand in murder, they'd better not show their heads 'round this place
again."
Billings looked disturbed, but made no reply. Although having had no
direct share in the crime, he knew he was really an accomplice, and the
knowledge that Taylor might inform against him was by no means pleasant.
It was eight o'clock in the evening when Skip ventured to come down from
the hillside, and he looked like a boy who had been very ill. Even at
this late hour he did not dare to walk through the village, but skulked
around the outskirts until he saw Chunky, whom he hailed in a whisper.
"Where have you been?" Fred's chute mate asked in surprise.
"I had some work on the other side of the hill."
"Have you been there all day?"
"Yes. Jest got back. Are those fellows dead!"
Ordinarily Chunky was not quick to arrive at conclusions, but now he
asked in a suspicious tone:
"How did you know anything about it if you've jest got back?"
"Oh, I heard from some of the fellows."
"Who?"
"Never mind," and Skip spoke sharply.
"Did they all get killed?"
"None of 'em; but the doctor says Fred won't be over it for three or
four days. Joe an' Bill are both in bed, though they'll be out in the
morning."
"Does Wright know who did it?"
"Did what?"
"Why, knock--whatever was done."
"I thought the roof of a cuttin' fell in 'cause it wasn't shored up
enough."
"I s'pose that was the reason," Skip replied in a nervous way.
"It seems to me you know more about this thing than anybody else."
"You'd better not say that again," and Skip stepped forward a few paces
with clenched fists.
"You can get the best of me, so I'll have to hold my tongue; but I
reckon I've had all I want of the regulators. Tryin' to kill a feller
who never did much of anything to you is a mean trick."
"Shut up or I'll knock your head off. You can't back out of our s'ciety,
an' if you ever say I tried to kill anybody I'll pound you till there
won't be an inch of skin left."
Chunky did not wait to hear more. He started at full speed toward his
own home, and Skip was more alarmed than before.
"Now I'm in a worse scrape than ever, for he's jest fool enough to tell
what he knows, an' then there will be trouble. I'd better go to meet
Billings, an' perhaps he can help me out."
He could reach the rendezvous without going through the village, and
greatly to his relief the leader of the rioters was waiting to receive
him.
"Now this is somethin' like business," and Billings patted the boy on
the head.
Skip stepped back; the touch of the man's hand now, when through him he
had gotten into so much trouble, was disagreeable.
"What am I to do?" he asked fiercely.
"Help me finish what you've begun."
"I won't do it. They'll have me arrested, an' you must get me through
the scrape."
"So I will after I've served the company out. We'll go off somewhere
together."
"And I'm to leave home?"
"There's nothin' for it if Wright gets the idea that you knocked the
timber away."
"If he doesn't know it already there are them who will tell him. Chunky
thinks I did somethin' to help the thing along."
"He does, eh?" and now Billings began to look disturbed. "Is he likely
to go to any of the bosses?"
"He might tell some one else who would do it."
"That's true. What with him an' Taylor, things begin to seem kinder
scarey for me."
"I'm in worse trouble."
"You're right, an' that shows we two must keep together."
"But I don't want to leave home."
"You can't help yourself. Once in the scrape, it's bad to back out."
Skip had good evidence that the way of the transgressor is hard. He felt
a decided repugnance to becoming Billings' constant companion, but he
dared not go home, and it seemed as if there was no other course left
open.
"It won't do to stay here very long, for folks might see us, and it
wouldn't be hard to guess we were up to mischief. Will you go with me,
or take the chances of bein' arrested?"
"I'll have to do what you say," Skip replied with a groan, and Billings
started straight across the hill toward the abandoned shaft.
"Where are you going?"
"We'll hide for a while. It ain't safe to loaf 'round here much longer.
Here's a dollar. Go to Taylor's an' get somethin' to eat. Tell him I
want cooked food, 'cause I'm bound on a tramp."
"I don't dare show up there."
"Move on, or I'll break every bone in your body! You've got to toe the
mark now if you don't want to go to jail."
Billings used the tone of a master, and Skip understood that his crime
had brought him to slavery of the most degrading kind.
The groggery was filled with men when he arrived, and in the number he
found safety. All were excitedly discussing the accident, some
intimating that Billings had a hand in it, and no one paid any
particular attention to the frightened boy who crept cautiously in, as
if to avoid being seen.
"Wants grub, eh?" Taylor asked, when Skip made known his errand. "What's
he up to? Afraid they'll nab him for what was done to-day?"
"I don't know."
"Now, look here, Skip Miller, I ain't got any too much love for you, but
it don't seem right to let a boy go on as you've begun. Go home now, an'
leave Billings to take care of his own business."
"If I don't carry back the stuff he'll say I stole his money."
"Well, take the grub, an' then get back as soon as you know how."
"All right," Skip replied meekly.
"If you're not home in half an hour I'll see your father to-night."
"I wish I dared to go," Skip said to himself as he hurried away with the
bundle. "Workin' in the breaker ain't a marker to what it'll be runnin'
around with Cale Billings."