IN THE POWDER-WRECKED DRIFT
For a moment those outside the end of the drift stood in awed silence.
The candles on the hats of the miners had been extinguished by the
explosion.
Nothing will cause an underground miner to lose his head quicker than
being plunged into sudden darkness. Several of them set up a terrified
yell.
"Hold your tongues!" bellowed the contractor. "You haven't been hurt.
Don't you know enough to light your candles? That's the best way I know
of to get rid of the darkness."
Spooner lighted his own candle, holding it in his hand above his head as
he looked about. He stepped forward toward the place where his men had
been drifting in the ore.
"Just as I expected," he growled. "More time wasted."
The timbers that had supported the roof of the drift had crashed
downward, carrying with them a few tons of rock and ore, blocking the
passage completely.
"Are--are the men in there killed?" questioned a trammer in unsteady
tones.
"How should I know?" growled the contractor. "I do know that we are
losing a lot of valuable time. If that fool powder-man hadn't been in
such a hurry we should have been spared all this delay. Get busy with
your shovels and picks here."
There were ugly scowls on the faces of the miners as they sprang forward
to obey the order of their employer. They knew full well that it was not
the fault of either the powder-man or Steve Rush, but of Spooner
himself. It was he who had insisted upon going into the drift to examine
the missed hole, and had it not been for the bravery of Steve the
contractor would now be lying dead behind the mass of rock.
The men spoke no word, but their hearts were full of indignation. They
cared not for the loss of time, nor for any other loss that their
employer might have suffered. They did care for the unfortunate man and
boy buried in the drift.
In the meantime word had been conveyed to the mine captain that an
accident had occurred in number seventeen. With a force of men he was
already hurrying to the scene as fast as an electric tram could carry
him. The word he had received was to the effect that several men had
been killed. The company's surgeon had been sent for and all
preparations were made to care for the wounded.
During all this time brave little Steve Rush lay inside the drift, half
buried under rock and red ore. He had toppled backwards when the
explosion came, half turned and had fallen face downward, his arms
crossed under his forehead so that his nose and mouth were free.
Otherwise he undoubtedly would have smothered before help could reach
him.
Steve stirred uneasily, coughed and tried to raise himself. He could not
do so. He found himself held down by an oppressive weight. Some little
time elapsed before his return to consciousness, and even then he was
still dazed. At first he tried hard to recall what had happened, and at
last it all came back to him.
"There was another in here with me--the powder-man. I wonder if he is
dead?" muttered the lad.
After some difficulty the lad got his hands free of his head and began
feeling about him. He made a discovery that thrilled him through and
through. The body of the powder-man lay across his own, holding the lad
firmly to the ground.
Yet under these trying conditions the lad did not lose his steady nerve
for an instant. As his mind became clearer he began weighing the
possibilities of getting out of his predicament. He reasoned that he and
his companion must have been imprisoned in some way by the explosion.
All the time he was carefully twisting his body this way and that in an
effort to free himself without hurting the man who was lying across him.
At last Rush succeeded in crawling from under his human burden and the
weight of ore and rock that hemmed them both in.
Steve's first act was to stretch forth a hand to his companion. The hand
wandered from the face of the prostrate man down over the heart, where
it paused.
A faint, irregular beating of that organ rewarded Steve's effort.
"He's alive," cried the lad, scrambling to his feet. "He's----"
A severe fit of coughing cut short the young miner's words. A dense
cloud of suffocating powder smoke hung over the drift like a pall.
Steve dropped to the ground, pressing his face close to the earth, where
he found the air better. After a few long breaths he began searching for
a candle. He knew there had been one on the powder-man's cap when the
explosion came. A search, however, failed to locate the candle.
"I wish I knew what to do for him," muttered the lad. "He surely will
die here unless they get us out pretty soon, and I wouldn't give much
for my own life if I had to stay in this awful air very long."
Steve uttered a long shout, which ended in a fit of coughing.
"No more shouting for me," he muttered, wiping the tears from his
eyes--tears not caused by fear or grief.
He next tried shaking the powder-man, which drew a groan from the man,
whereupon the lad quickly desisted.
After a moment's reflection, the boy stuffed a handkerchief in his
mouth, permitting it to cover his nose, to keep out the full strength of
the powder smoke. This done, he got to his feet again, and began feeling
his way about the chamber in which the accident had occurred.
"Ah, this is it!"
His hands paused when they came in contact with a heap of crushed
timber, and his feet struck a mass of ore piled against the foot-wall of
the drift.
For a moment Rush stood motionless, reflecting on the situation. He
could hear no sounds on the outside.
"Either they are all killed out there, or else we are buried so deep
that I cannot hear them. I do not know which it is, but I think it must
be the latter," the boy decided. "We are imprisoned in the drift; that
is certain."
The lad, after some searching about, found a shovel, and with this he
began throwing the dirt back from the place where the opening had been.
The effort was too much for him. Strong as he was, the shock of the
explosion had weakened him and the powder smoke choked him until he went
off into another fit of coughing. To relieve himself he lay down again.
The fresh air along the floor of the drift strengthened him somewhat,
and once more he turned his attention to the powder-man. He lifted the
miner's head gently, placing it in his own lap, after which he chafed
the man's hands and forehead. The miner drew a long, deep sigh and
stirred uneasily. Perhaps something of the lad's tender sympathy touched
his inner consciousness.
"Poor fellow!" murmured Steve, forcing back the lump that rose in his
throat. "This is not a life for the weak or the timid. It is a man's
work and I'm going to be a man."
Steve continued to stroke the face and hands of the powder-man until,
becoming dizzy from inhaling the powder smoke, he lay down again until
somewhat revived.
"I must try to attract the attention out there," decided the lad
finally.
Choosing a piece of rock large enough to answer his purpose, he began
thumping on the broken timbers. The attempt was not very successful, for
he seemed to make no noise at all. Then something else occurred to him.
Illustration: Seizing the Shovel, Steve Began Beating the Timbers.
"The shovel!" he cried. "Why did I not think of it before?"
Grabbing up the tool, he began beating the timbers with it in wide,
swinging strokes.
Bang, bang, bang, went the shovel, the lad now and then pausing to
listen. Once he thought he caught an answering blow from the opposite
side, but he did not hear it again. Then he set up a piece of rock, the
largest he could find, and began hammering on this.
Steve's ears were ringing by this time, and during the intervals when he
ceased hammering on the timbers or the rock he was overcome by a roaring
sound as if a great flood had been suddenly let loose. He did not
understand what this meant. The silence of the underground prison had
become a chaos of noises, the lad's blows became weaker and at longer
intervals apart.
"I wonder what--what is the matter with me. I'm getting sleepy," he
muttered.
A few more blows and the shovel dropped from his nerveless fingers.
Steve staggered, then collapsed unconscious across the body of the
powder-man.