INTO A BLACK GULF
While the Iron Boys were trudging through the mine, completing their
weary rounds of miles with their eyes fixed keenly on the tracks, a
meeting had been called at the office of the superintendent. All of the
gentlemen who comprised the party of visitors at the mine were at the
meeting.
Maps of the mines on the range were spread out on the table before them,
and they were going over and discussing these maps in detail. Business
was transacted with a speed that would have made most of the business
men in that remote region dizzy headed.
Having disposed of the matters before them, the conversation turned to
their recent narrow escape in the Cousin Jack Mine. The visitors were
fully convinced now that the fire had been caused by a spark from the
trolley wire, and Superintendent Penton, if he thought otherwise, did
not say so. He had made up his mind, however, to push his inquiry a
little further. He wanted to make sure that the suggestion was the
correct one.
From the subject of the fired bag the men turned to a discussion of
Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis. This ended in Mr. Cary's making a
proposition. After a little discussion it was put in the form of a
motion and passed with enthusiasm.
Of all of this, of course, the lads tramping along the levels far
underground knew nothing. It was destined to come as a great surprise to
them when they learned of the action taken by the officials of the
company in the interest of the two plucky boys.
That night the officers boarded their private car and went on to visit
other of the company's mines further up the range. Early on the
following forenoon Superintendent Penton visited his own mine, and while
there looked up Steve Rush.
The superintendent asked Steve what he thought about the theory of a
spark from the wire having fired the dynamite bag.
"I don't take any stock in it," answered the boy promptly. "Do you,
sir?"
"I have had my doubts, but how else could it have started?"
"I will answer that question by showing you that it could not have
started from a wire spark. The fire started on the underside of the bag.
Did you notice that?"
"No; it had spread over the bag when I caught sight of it. But I was
reasonably certain there was more to it than we imagined when you asked
Dominick if he met anyone in the level just before reaching the chutes."
Steve nodded reflectively.
"What do you infer from the fire starting on the under side of the
dynamite bag?"
"That someone had either accidentally or by design shoved a candle under
the bag while Dominick was carrying it. That is the only way I can see
that the fire might have started."
"I think you are right about that. But it surely was an accident. No one
would be willing to take such terrible chances. Why, it might have blown
everyone up within a wide radius."
"Yes, it would have done so."
"And yet you were down on your knees, with your nose right over the
stuff, as if it were so much clay. I have steady nerves myself, but I
don't believe I should have had the pluck to do that. At least, I know I
should have turned my head away."
Steve laughed.
"I am afraid that would not have helped you much if the stuff had gone
off."
"Rush, if you suspect anything keep your eyes open; that's all I have to
say. What you don't see will not be worth the seeing."
"Very well, sir; I will do as you request, but I have not much hope of
getting at the truth."
"I'll risk that. I am going to the lower level. There is some difficulty
with the pumps there, the engineer tells me," said the superintendent,
proceeding on his way.
Steve had not very much to do, so he walked back to his old post on the
seventeenth level to wait until Bob Jarvis should come along. Steve and
the superintendent had no sooner left the spot where they had been
talking than a figure slunk from a deserted drift near by, glanced up
and down the level, then hurried away. The man's hat was pulled down,
and the candle above aided in throwing his face into deep shadow, but
the full beard was not hidden, had anyone been near by to observe it.
Steve had been sitting on the platform at the chutes for about thirty
minutes when the level's telephone rang.
"Mr. Penton wants to see you on the lower level," said the telephone
boy.
"Where is he?" questioned Steve.
"He says he'll meet you near the suction pipes."
"Very good," answered the lad, rising. "If Mr. Jarvis comes along tell
him where I have gone. If I get through in time I will meet him here and
go up with him."
Rush hurried over, signaled the cage tender that he wished to descend,
and a short time afterwards was being plunged deeper into the mine.
He left the cage at the sub-level just above the last level. The last
level was flooded with water some twenty feet deep. All the water from
the mine was drained down into the last level and from there pumped to
the surface and thus disposed of.
There were naturally no mining operations carried on down on the last
level.
Steve had been down there on numerous occasions and every inch of the
ground was familiar to him. Upon leaving the cage he made his way
through the dark, damp tunnels, whistling as he stepped briskly along.
He could not imagine what Mr. Penton could want of him down there, for
if anything were wrong with the pumping system it was a matter for the
engineering department and not for a track inspector.
Turning the last bend in the sub-level, Push began to move with more
caution. A moment more and he caught sight of the big water pipes
winding up through the roof of the level.
"I wonder where Mr. Penton is?" muttered the lad, stepping out on a
plank platform.
As he did so a wave of dampness that almost chilled him swept up from
the dark depths of the last level. An open space extended from the
floor down to the level itself and from this soundings were occasionally
taken to determine the depth of the water. The lead line hung from a peg
driven into a crevice in the rock. Steve noted that the line was dry.
"That is curious. Mr. Penton evidently has not made a sounding. I should
have thought he would have done so if he had reason to think the water
was not being pumped out as fast as it should be."
Rush raised his voice and called out the name of the superintendent.
Only the echo of his own voice came back to him.
"That's queer," decided Steve. "But, of course, he did not telephone me
from here. He probably is on one of the levels above this. I will wait."
Resuming his whistling, the lad began pacing back and forth on the
planking, having stuck his candlestick back on his miner's hat.
The young inspector had been waiting for fully half an hour, but not a
sign of the superintendent did he see.
"Well, this is getting rather tiresome," he said, pausing to listen to
the rhythmic click of the pumps that his ears could faintly catch. "I
think I will amuse myself by sounding the water level."
The lad took down the rope, to one end of which a piece of lead had been
attached, spun the weighted end a few times about his head, letting it
fly out into the darkness, listening intently as the line ran swiftly
through his hands.
A distant splash followed a few seconds later, whereupon the line gave
out not quite so rapidly.
"It's down," nodded Steve. He leaned over the edge to pull the line in
without drawing it over the edge of the planking, so that he could the
better see that mark of the water on the rope.
"Gracious, I should hate to take a swim in that hole," said the Iron
Boy, with a laugh.
He stopped suddenly. Steve thought he had heard something behind him.
"Is that you, Mr. Penton?" he asked, turning and peering into the
darkness.
There was no reply.
"I must be getting the creeps," said Steve, beginning to whistle as he
hauled in the line. "Wha--what--here, let go of me. Let----"
Some invisible force behind had put a sudden pressure upon Steve Rush.
He was being rapidly shoved toward the edge of the platform.
All at once Steve felt the flooring drop from beneath his feet; and,
without making a sound, the lad plunged over into the darkness.
A loud splash followed, then all was still.