BORNE SKYWARD ON A SKIP
"He's gone through the hole! Call the captain! Where is he?"
"I saw him on the sub-level above a minute ago," cried a brakeman,
running up the ladder to summon the mine captain.
The latter was on hand, it seemed less than a minute later, and behind
him came Bob Jarvis.
"What is it?" shouted the captain before he had reached the scene.
"Tally-man and dumper gone down through the hole there."
The captain started in amazement.
"How did it happen?" he demanded excitedly.
"I don't know. He just went through, that's all."
"Who--who was it?" stammered Bob.
"Steve Rush."
Jarvis uttered a half articulate cry and began to let himself down into
the opening. The mine captain grabbed him.
"You'll be killed," he said sternly, dragging the lad back to the
platform. "You cannot help your friend by going through that way."
The captain opened the door leading into the skip shaft and ran down the
ladder. His quick glance took in the broken-down supports, but what he
did not see was that the planking beneath the post had been sawed part
way through. There was no planking there to see.
There were no signs of Steve on the platform below. The captain hurried
back.
"Jarvis, run to the telephone on this level, and tell each level below
to look for the body of a man who fell through the shaft."
Bob started on a run. Despite his pluck, Bob Jarvis was trembling from
head to foot.
"He's dead, he's dead! _They've_ done it. But how? No, it is impossible.
They couldn't be to blame for that. It was an accident."
Word came back that there was no one in the shaft.
"Who opened the hole?" asked Bob.
"It is an old trap that has been closed for years. It simply caved in,
that's all. Order the timber-men to put in a new piece and some fresh
supports. Telephone to the top and find out if they have heard anything
there."
No one seemed really to know what to do. All believed that Steve Rush
had been dashed to death.
"Did--did he fall on a skip?" asked Bob in a trembling voice.
"I am afraid that is what has happened," replied the mine captain. "I am
waiting to hear from the surface and if they have seen nothing of the
body, we will examine the shaft all the way up."
Bob groaned and, walking over, leaned heavily against the partition.
Steve's fall had been so sudden that he had no time even to utter a cry.
The blow that he had given the catch on the tram car had been too much
for the sawed support under the old trap. The support had collapsed
under his weight and Rush had dropped through the opening.
He shot down feet first to the platform below, bounded off and dropped
into the shaft itself.
Something caught and lifted him through the air at a frightful rate of
speed. Steve had been caught by the ore skip, and was being borne to the
surface nearly two thousand feet above. The lad had by this time lost
consciousness, for the shock when the skip caught him had been a heavy
one. It seemed as if it must have broken every bone in his body.
On roared the skip with its human burden. The car shot out into the
daylight, then darted up the fifty-foot shaft that towered above the
opening to the mine.
Reaching the top, its burden of ore was dumped into a waiting tram car
on the trestle, after which the skip dived down into the depths again.
The dump-man on the trestle caught sight of something that was not ore
falling into his car. Instead of starting the car along the trestle, he
sprang up on the side board.
"I wonder what that was? It looked like a human being!" he exclaimed.
Then his eyes caught sight of a piece of clothing. The man tugged at the
cloth, but it did not give way.
"It's a man!" he shouted, clambering over on the car and beginning to
dig frantically with his hands. "Stop the skips, _stop_ them quick!"
But his warning came too late. A skip load of ore was dumped down on the
loaded car, most of it sliding off to the ground fifty feet below.
Enough remained, however, to bury the dump-man and the man he was trying
to drag out.
But the dump-man was full of grit. He fought desperately and in a moment
succeeded in pushing off the ore that held the body down. He was now
working with frantic haste to get the other man out, knowing full well
that the unfortunate one would be suffocated if he already were not
dead.
By this time other men, attracted by the dump-man's cries, were scaling
the trestle at a dozen different places. Among them was the
superintendent himself, who, on his way to the dry house to put on his
miner's suit preparatory to going below ground on his usual daily round,
had heard the cry for help up on the trestle. The superintendent,
despite his size, got to the top of the trestle ahead of any of the
others and started on a run for the scene.
"What's the trouble, Collins?" he shouted.
"Man thrown up on the skip, sir."
"Is he dead?"
"I can't say, sir. I think most likely he is."
"Who is it?"
"Don't know him, but he's a young 'un. He's pretty badly banged up, so
far as I can see."
Superintendent Penton threw himself to the top of the ore car and
assisted in getting the man out. At first he did not recognize the limp
figure as being that of Steve Rush, for the red ore had been ground into
the cut and bleeding face of the lad until he was almost unrecognizable.
"Send for the stretchers. This man must be gotten to the hospital on the
jump!" shouted the superintendent.
The dump-man had lifted the boy from the car, had laid him down on the
trestle and with his handkerchief was wiping the dark-red ore from the
lad's mouth, eyes and nose.
"He's alive, sir," called Collins. "But I reckon he won't be for very
long."
Mr. Penton stepped over, after giving his orders, and looked keenly down
into the pale face before him.
"What!" he exclaimed, bending close to the injured boy. "Good heavens,
it's Steve Rush! This is too bad. How did it happen?"
"I don't know, sir. The first I knew about it he came out of the hopper
kerflop. I jumped up to dig him out, and then I went kerflop with a load
of ore on my back. Woof! It's lucky for me the car was full or I'd have
been at the bottom of the heap."
Mr. Penton had picked Steve up in his arms. The burden seemed as nothing
to this powerful man. And even when he reached the ladder leading down
to the ground the superintendent appeared to experience no difficulty in
making his way down with the heavy load he was carrying.
Steve was rushed to the hospital, followed by the superintendent
himself. The lad was still unconscious. A hasty examination by the
surgeon was made in the presence of the superintendent.
"Well?" Mr. Penton threw a world of meaning into the word.
"No bones are broken. There may be some internal injury. I should judge
there might be, from the fact that he is bleeding at the mouth. What
happened?"
"He was thrown up by the skip. That's all I know about it now. I want to
know whether or not the boy is going to die. Then I will find out how it
happened."
After working over the unconscious boy for half an hour, the surgeon
decided that there had been a severe concussion that might amount to a
fracture. A few hours, he said, would tell the story.
"I'll be back within the hour. Let no efforts be spared to straighten
the lad out, if it be possible."
Steve lay limp and pallid, his face almost as white as the sheets of the
cot on which he had been placed, and there was a troubled look in the
eyes of the big-hearted superintendent as he left the company's hospital
and hurried to the shaft.
"Let me off at the seventeenth level," he directed, taking his place in
the cage. A few minutes later found him at the chutes where the accident
had occurred. Bob, pale-faced and anxious, had been placed at the
tally-board and the work of the mine was going on much as usual.
"Please, Mr. Penton, is Steve badly hurt?" demanded the lad, running
over to the superintendent the instant he saw him approaching.
"I fear he is, my boy. How did the accident occur?"
"We hear he was carried up on the skip and dropped on the trestle."
"I mean what happened here?"
"The boy fell through the old trap there," explained the mine captain,
approaching at that moment.
"Fell through the trap?" demanded Mr. Penton in surprise.
"Yes, the old trap that was closed several years ago. The men are fixing
it so a similar accident won't occur again."
"Tell me exactly what happened."
"I didn't see it. The motor-man there can tell you. He is just coming in
now."
The motor-man explained that young Rush was hammering at the dump-car
catch when the trap gave way beneath him and he went down. That was all
that anyone below ground knew about the accident. In fact, that was all
there was to tell so far as any one in the mine knew.
Mr. Penton looked grave. It was an accident that reflected on him, for
the corporation looked to him to make the mine safe. He was greatly
disturbed, but more on Steve's account than on his own.
The superintendent climbed down into the skip shaft and made an
examination on his own account.
"Where are the supports that held up the trap?" he demanded upon his
return to the platform.
"If they ain't there we must have thrown them into the shaft," explained
the timber-man.
"You should have known better than that. Was it a break?"
"It was a break, all right. The thing just gave out, and that's all
there was to it. But you can bet this one won't give way, not in a
thousand years. It'll be here long after the old mine has caved in."
Mr. Penton did not go on with his inspection of the mine that day. He
was too full of anxiety for Steve Rush. Bob had begged to be let off for
the afternoon, and Mr. Penton had willingly granted his request. The lad
hurried to the hospital, after having changed his clothes, and at his
earnest request he was allowed to sit beside Steve. The boy could
scarcely keep the tears back as he gazed down into the pale face of his
companion. Bob was sure in his own mind that Steve was dying and Jarvis'
eyes were large and sorrowful as he watched the surgeon working over the
unconscious patient.
Mr. Penton came, remained a short time, then went away; he, too,
convinced that Rush could not recover. Night came on, but still Bob sat
beside the hospital cot, one hand slipped under the sheet clasping a
hand of his companion.
"You had better go home," said the surgeon, seeming for the first time
to be aware of Jarvis' presence.
Bob did not answer.
"I said, you had better go home, Jarvis."
"I want to stay," answered the boy simply.
"You can do him no good."
"When will he get better--or worse?"
"I do not look for any change before three o'clock in the morning or
thereabouts, so you see it will be useless for you to remain."
"All right; I am not sleepy," and Bob turned his face toward the cot,
again fixing his gaze on the face of the unconscious Steve.
The surgeon shrugged his shoulders and proceeded with his duties. The
hours dragged along, but Bob never changed his position nor even moved,
so fearful was he of doing something that might retard his friend's
recovery. Three o'clock came and still there was no change. Another half
hour elapsed. The sky was graying in the east. Steve uttered a low moan.
The surgeon was at his side in an instant. He placed an ear to the boy's
heart, then took his pulse, watch in hand. Bob's eyes were fixed on the
surgeon now. The latter shut his watch with a snap, then noting the
pleading question in the watcher's eyes, he nodded.
"He is better. The change is coming, and unless something unlooked for
occurs he should return to consciousness soon."
Bob drew a short, quick breath that was half a sob, settling down into
his former watchful position.
Now the surgeon remained by the side of the cot. Occasionally he would
administer a few drops of medicine. When the patient choked a little and
swallowed, the surgeon would nod approvingly.
All at once Steve Rush's eyelids fluttered open. His gaze was fixed for
a brief instant on the face of his companion. Jarvis held his breath.
"Bob," murmured the lad, then closed his eyes wearily.