Down the Slope

"But this part of the mine seems to be all right."

"Yes, unless there's another explosion I reckon we can stay here 'til – "

"'Till what?"

"We shall starve to death after a while."

This mournful conversation was interrupted by Skip, who came running down the slope with the most abject fear written on every feature of his face.

Familiar as he was with the mine he had no need to ask for the cause of the noise, and understood as well as Sam the little hope there was for life.

"Are you shut in, too?" he cried.

"We're here," Sam replied, grimly.

"An' you'd been outside if I hadn't wanted to stay rather than take a flogging."

"You're right, Skip, but this ain't the time to find fault. All three are in the same box, an' we might as well be friendly."

"Won't they try to get us out?" Fred asked, faintly.

"Nobody knows where we are," Skip replied, bitterly.

"We told mother about you, and she'll be sure to repeat it to Joe and Bill now we're in such danger."

Skip's face brightened for an instant, and then he said, in a despairing tone:

"They don't know where this place is. Billings is certain the oldest miners never heard of the drift; he thinks it was made years before the workings were opened at Farley's."

"Joe and Bill have been down here."

"Even they wouldn't know where to start in. How long will the air hold out, Sam?"

"I don't know, but there's no need of usin' it any faster than's necessary. We'll put out two of the lamps; one is enough, an' we may be mighty glad to drink the oil."

Fred was very nearly incapable of action. The knowledge that his companions had lost hope literally dazed him, and he could not even follow Sam's suggestion.

Two of the lamps were extinguished, and since Fred was the only one retaining the means of dispelling the darkness, Sam and Skip forced him on ahead as they went still further into the tunnel where the air would be more pure.

"This is the only point from which we may expect aid," Sam said, "an' seein' that we can do nothin' it's better to stay here."

"Won't Joe and Bill try to help us?" Fred asked.

"They'll try, but whether it'll be possible to do anything is another matter."

"Can't we begin to dig? We've got one shovel."

"Neither of us knows in which direction to start, an' when workin' more food would be needed, therefore, to keep alive as long as possible we'd better stay quiet."

Skip threw himself on the floor close to the end of the cutting, as if reconciled to whatever might happen, and Sam sat down beside him.

"Do you think there is any chance that we can get out of here?" Fred asked after a long silence, and Sam replied, gravely:

"We may as well look the matter straight in the face. It's possible they can strike us without much trouble, but that ain't likely."

During half an hour the boys remained silent and motionless, as if each was trying to reconcile himself to the terrible doom which threatened, and then Fred said, with a feeble attempt at cheerfulness:

"It must be near supper time. Suppose we have one square meal?"

"Because a man knows he's slowly drowning there's no reason why he should try to keep his head under water more than is necessary," Sam replied, sternly.

"What do you mean?"

"We are not suffering with hunger now, but soon will be, so it's wise to wait till grub is absolutely needed to keep us alive."

"Then let's do something; this sitting still thinking of what is to come seems worse than the reality can ever be."

"Very well, we've got a shovel; we'll decide in which direction it's best to dig, an' begin operations."

"There surely is a chance of striking another drift."

"Yes, there's a chance," Sam replied, as if the conversation wearied him. "Each one shall say which course he thinks most likely to bring us out."

Skip wished to continue up the slope, arguing that each inch gained would carry them so much nearer the surface, while Fred believed it best to work through the mass of earth that had fallen, because there a pick would not be necessary.

"We'd better try Skip's plan," Sam finally said. "By making our way along the old drift a chamber of gas might be struck, when all hands would be suffocated. Come on, and I'll start it."

He wielded the shovel until tired, the others carrying the earth back to the foot of the slope in their hats, and then Fred tried his hand at the labor.

In this manner each did a certain amount of the work, but at the expense of no slight suffering. In the confined space it was very warm, and this exercise brought with it an intense thirst, which, of course, could not be quenched.

Skip drank a little oil now and then, but Fred could not force himself to taste the ill-smelling stuff.

There was no way by which the passage of time could be measured. When all were sleepy they laid down to rest, and on awakening a small quantity of food was dealt out. After the scanty meal had been eaten they continued what every one now believed was useless labor, ceasing only when the desire for slumber became overpowering again.

Reckoning these periods of work and rest as days and nights, seventy-two hours had elapsed when the supply of food was exhausted, and they realized that the final struggle was at hand.

The air remained reasonably pure, probably because a vent had been left somewhere in the choked drift, but there were moments when the odor of gas was perceptible, thus causing Sam to believe efforts were still being made to reach them by those on the outside.

But little work was done when the food had been consumed. Now and then one or the other would use the shovel in a listless way for a few moments at a time, but each had become so weak that any prolonged exertion was out of the question.

They slept as much as possible, and refrained from discussing the terrible situation. Fred no longer listened for the sounds which would tell that help was near at hand, and the odor of the oil did not prevent him now from taking his share when the scanty allowance was doled out.

Finally the hour came when the last drop had been drank. The tiny flame of the lamp seemed to have been the only link which connected them with the outer world, and then without any means of dispelling the profound darkness the bitterness of death came upon them.

Fred was the first to sink into a stupor from which he awakened only at rare intervals. Then Skip yielded to despair, and Sam was virtually alone.

All three were half sitting, half lying in the excavation they had made, and the moments passed unheeded. To Fred it seemed as if he had been unconscious for many days when he became aware that Sam was shouting wildly.