THROUGH TUNNELS OF FLAME
STEVE waited not a moment.
"Keep working, men!" he shouted, starting away at top speed.
"Come back!" yelled Jarvis. "You'll be blown to death."
"We'll all be blown to death if someone doesn't stop the fire before it
gets to the powder room."
"Then I'm going with you," answered Bob Jarvis, following after his
companion at top speed. "It isn't any worse for me than it is for you."
"Stay back there and handle the men!" flung back Steve over his
shoulder.
Bob paid no attention to the command. He was running at full speed in
order to keep up with his companion, for Steve, with a handkerchief
stuffed in his mouth, was running on the toes of his heavy shoes,
darting in and out of drifts, making sharp detours to get around a
burning spot that was too hot to be passed with safety.
"Keep shouting, or I'll lose you," cried Bob.
"I can't! I'll choke!" was the faint answer.
On raced the two boys, Bob gaining on Steve very slowly, struggle as he
might to decrease the other's lead.
"We're too late!" groaned Jarvis, as the lads came to a sudden halt.
Before them the flames were crackling viciously in the dry woodwork of
the drift leading into the earth for some sixty yards, where the powder
room was located. "Get out of here, or we'll be blown to smithereens!"
"Bob, we've _got to_ find some way to save the magazine. Think what it
will mean if we do not! Why, it will wreck the whole mine and the
chances are that not a man of all the crew will get out alive."
"Yes, but how are we going to do it?"
Steve stood thoughtful for a moment, while second by second the flames
were eating farther and farther into the drift, drawing nearer and
nearer to the deadly stuff that was piled in cases behind the wooden
partition that stood in the drift beyond the flames just around the
bend.
"I'm going through," announced Steve firmly.
"You are not going to try to get through that burning drift, are you?"
"That's exactly what I am going to do. It's our only hope, old man.
We're surely doomed if I don't. If I fail then I shall have done my
best. Take off your shirt."
"What for?"
"Because I want to use it."
"Why don't you take off your own?"
"That is exactly what I am going to do," answered the lad, proceeding to
strip off the garment. "Be quick! We've no time to lose."
Bob began reluctantly to remove his own shirt, which he tossed to Steve.
"Now, what are you going to do?"
Rush did not answer. He began wrapping the two shirts about his head,
having first made slits in one of them through which he could see. Both
garments were finally twisted about his head until the latter looked
several times its natural size.
"Now I want you to stick right here. If I am overcome you'll have to try
your best to get me out."
"Yes; I'll be in nice shape to go after you. I'll singe the skin all off
my body if I try it. You get out the best way you can, but, mind you, if
that fire creeps much closer to the magazine you'll see me making a
lively sprint for a safe place."
"There will be no safe place in the mine if that happens, Bob. I guess
you won't run."
"No, I guess I won't, at that," admitted the lad. "What are you going to
do when you get in there?"
"I am going to try to block the passage so the fire can't get to the
magazine. I can't do any less than fail. I will shout if I get safely
through the fire; then you will know that I am all right. Good-bye, Bob,
if I do not see you again. In case anything happens to me, try to get
the men as far away as possible before the blow-up occurs."
Steve Rush bravely bolted into the tunnel of fire. There was fire above
his head, sparks falling in a perfect cataract about him, while the
drift was full of suffocating smoke.
Bob stood with head bent forward in a listening attitude, apparently
unmindful of the shower of burning cinders that fell over him. His whole
attention was centred on listening for the call that would signal Steve
Rush's safe arrival on the other side of the fire.
It came at last.
"Who-o-o-o-o-p!"
"He's made it!" breathed Bob, with a deep sigh of relief. "I wonder what
he is going to try to do? I ought to be in there with him, instead of
standing out here doing nothing."
In the meantime Steve, having penetrated beyond the fire zone, made his
way quickly to the wooden partition behind which lay the boxes of high
explosives. He gave the door a sharp push, but it did not yield.
"It is locked!" groaned the boy. "I've got to get in there, I've got to
do it or we are all lost!"
The fire was by this time less than fifty feet behind him, creeping
along toward the powder room at a rapid rate.
Steve backed off and threw himself against the door with all his
strength. But the door did not move.
Once more did the lad try to break the door in, the rough wood tearing
the skin from his shoulders, sending the blood trickling down his sides
in tiny rivulets.
Bang!
He hurled himself against the door for the sixth time. The door gave way
with surprising suddenness. Steve Rush plunged headlong into the
magazine and went down, entangled in the wreck of the splintered door.
Following his sudden entry into the powder room there came a succession
of crashes. At first he thought the dynamite was exploding and the boy
clenched his hands to meet the great shock that he felt sure would come
shortly.
It did not come. Steve suddenly realized that the dynamite was not going
to explode just yet; what he had heard was the falling of some of the
dynamite cases to the floor, following the shock of the bursting in of
the door.
"What a fool I am," cried the lad, starting to get to his feet.
It was then that he made the discovery that he had taken part of the
partition down with him and that he was so entangled in the wreck that
he would have difficulty in extricating himself. Every second the fire
was drawing nearer the magazine. Steve fought as he never had fought
before. Seconds seemed hours to him, and the crackling of the flames
seemed to be about his very ears. The more he struggled the tighter he
seemed to be wedging himself under the timbers and planking that he had
carried down with him.
With a mighty effort and in sheer desperation the lad lifted the weight
with his body. Then by a quick wriggle he managed to squirm from beneath
the planking, clearing all but his feet. These were again caught. They
would surely have been crushed had it not been for his heavy shoes.
But now the boy's hands were free, thus enabling him to use them in
liberating himself. After a struggle of a few moments he succeeded in
getting from under the partition and sprang to his feet.
The electric lights were glowing in the magazine, the circuit not yet
having been broken.
At a bound the Iron Boy leaped to the far side of the magazine. From a
box on a shelf he selected half a dozen white, paper-covered objects,
somewhat resembling wrapped candles, except that they were larger.
This done, Steve whipped out his knife and cut the electric feed wire
that led into the magazine. In doing so he got a shock that nearly
knocked him down.
"Gracious, but that wire is hot!" he exclaimed, shaking his hand to
restore the circulation. "It never seemed so hot as that before.
Everything is hot down here to-day, and I shall be in the same condition
if I do not make lively tracks out of here."
Running from the wrecked powder room, the lad sprang down the drift,
running straight toward the fire again. As yet he had not replaced the
shirts about his head, for he was not yet ready to plunge into the fiery
tunnel. The main purpose of his going to the powder room had not yet
been carried out.
Reaching a point some twenty feet from the edge of the fire, the lad
thrust one of the sticks into a crevice in the rocks. One after another
he distributed the sticks in various places, some of them being wedged
behind the lagging that supported the drift.
After a few seconds he had distributed them all, forming a line that the
fire would be sure to touch before it could get by to reach the
magazine.
Steve could hear Jarvis calling to him now. Perhaps Bob had been doing
so right along, but if so, Rush had been so occupied with his task that
he had not heard.
"Wh-o-o-p-e-e!" answered the plucky lad. "I'm coming. Look out for me."
Taking a final survey of his work, Steve turned toward the fire again.
"Getting out of here is going to be more difficult than getting in," he
decided. "I shall be well singed by the time I get through that wall of
fire."
Wrapping the shirts about his head, Steve dived into the fiery tunnel,
holding his breath as he ran.
The heat was terrific. He could feel it burning through his trousers,
and he could smell the burning cloth about his head. He had thrust his
hands into his trousers' pockets, which afforded some protection.
Suddenly he stumbled over a timber that had fallen from its supports and
measured his length on the ground. As he fell he uttered a shout.
The fall stunned him, for the boy struck on his head. Bob, however, had
heard the cry. Regardless of the fact that neither his head nor his body
was protected, Jarvis dashed boldly into the burning drift. He knew the
skin was peeling from his arms, but he did not experience any sensation
of pain.
All at once he, too, stumbled and fell in a heap with a deluge of
burning embers and live sparks showering about him. But Bob was not
stunned. He was very much alive at this particular moment, for he
realized for the first time that unless he moved rapidly he would be
burned alive.
Just then he felt the object over which he had fallen move.
"Steve! Steve! Is that you?" cried Jarvis.
"Ye-yes."
Bob fastened on him with a powerful grip, and began dragging Rush from
the fire, first having stripped off one of the burning shirts.
Steve regained control of himself almost instantly.
"Let go! Run for it! Something is going to happen!" he shouted.
But Jarvis did not let go. He ran faster than ever, holding firmly to
his companion. Perhaps he was beginning to understand what Steve
expected to happen. At least he was making all the speed possible under
the circumstances.
Both boys drew in a long breath as they flattened themselves on the
ground, well free of the fire zone.
Steve bounded to his feet.
"Run for your life!" he shouted.
"Is the magazine going up?" cried Bob.
"Something is going up in a minute. It may be the magazine."
This time Rush grabbed Bob, starting on a run with him. Both boys were
choking from the smoke they were inhaling.
"You're on fire!" yelled Jarvis. "Stop! I'll put it out."
"No, no, no! Keep going. Don't stop. It won't hurt me to burn a little.
I'm already pretty well cooked--"
Boom!
A reverberating report sounded through the level, and the Iron Boys were
hurled violently to the ground.