Part 18 (1/2)

”It looked as if he'd taken some liquor, but I don't know,” Thirlwell answered. ”He was obviously scared.”

”Sure,” said Scott. ”But he wasn't scared of getting drowned. Steve's a better canoe hand than either of us and has physical pluck.”

”Then why was he afraid?”

Scott looked thoughtful. ”I imagine he was afraid of the rapid and the dark. When he hailed us to take him over, I thought it an excuse; he could have got across in his own canoe if he had braced up. My notion is he didn't want to make the trip by himself.” He paused and gave Thirlwell a keen glance. ”Curious, isn't it?”

”He's a curious man,” said Thirlwell, who had dark suspicions that he did not want to talk about. ”When we were drifting into the rapid, I got a glimpse of his face and didn't look again. Thought I'd better not; the fellow's nerve had gone. Anyhow, if he hates the rapid, why does he stop here and live near the bank?”

”Steve is primitive; I guess you don't understand him yet. He's an old trapper and one gets superst.i.tious in the bush. For all that, he's stubborn, and if he has an object, he'll persist until he carries it out.”

”But what object has he got?”

Scott made a vague gesture. ”I can't tell you that. Hadn't you better get out the plates? I want some food.”

Thirlwell put a frying-pan on the stove and they talked about something else.

CHAPTER XVI

THE PIT-PROP

Driscoll was sorting pit-props, throwing them on to piles at the bottom of the shaft, when Thirlwell stopped to hook a small, flat lamp to his hat. The man sometimes worked in the mine for a few weeks when the trapping season was over, and Scott was generally willing to engage him because he was skilful with the axe and labor was scarce. He made no friends among the men, and gave Thirlwell a sour look without speaking when the latter picked up his lamp.

Thirlwell went on down the inclined gallery. Water splashed upon his slickers and trickled about his feet; the tunnel was narrow and the air was foul. Here and there a smoky light burned among the props lining the walls, and the dim illumination touched the beams that crossed the roof, but the gaps between the spots were dark. The timbers were numerous, and where one could see a short distance, ran on into the gloom in rows so closely s.p.a.ced that they seemed continuous.

By and by Thirlwell found Scott looking up at a ma.s.sive beam a few inches overhead. The beam was not quite level, and the prop beneath one end had bent, while a threatening crack extended across the roof.

”We may have a bad fall here,” Scott remarked. ”The prop's getting shaky and the pressure's pretty fierce. I reckon we'd better sh.o.r.e her up as quick as we can. It's lucky our lumber doesn't cost us much.”

Thirlwell examined the crack and thought it dangerous. There were one or two transverse splits, which indicated a heavy ma.s.s of rock was ready to come down. None of the men were near the spot, and he knew they were occupied, but Driscoll had left a few props between the timbers, ready for use where the roof was weak. Thirlwell found one and dragged it to the spot.

”We'll put this up and then I think I'll get a fresh beam across.”

Scott helped him to raise the timber. It was a few inches too long, and crossed the s.p.a.ce between floor and roof with a small slant, but it was meant to do so, in order that when its lower end was driven forward until it stood upright it would wedge fast the beam above. Then Thirlwell brought an ax and struck the prop some heavy blows with its back while Scott steadied the top. It was almost in place, and the bent timber was getting loose, when the top slipped and shook the beam. There was an ominous crack and a few small stones broke away and fell on Scott's head.

”I've got her b.u.t.ted solid now,” he shouted after a short breathless struggle with the timber. ”Be quick! The roof's coming down!”

Thirlwell saw the danger. So long as the prop slanted, it would not support the beam, and if the beam gave way, the roof would fall and crush them before they could get from underneath. He thought he had a few moments to hammer the prop straight, and swung the ax savagely while the sweat ran down his face. He dared not look up again, but the ominous cracking went on and while he wondered what was happening, Driscoll ran past. A big stone fell beside the man as he seized another prop and with a tense effort jambed it under the beam.

”I'll take some weight off her while you sh.o.r.e her up,” Driscoll gasped.

He had brought a heavy mallet, but before he used this he dragged the foot of the timber round, bending his body forward while his arms got stiff and hard, as if carved from wood. His sullen face was darkly flushed and the swollen veins stood out from his forehead. Thirlwell saw him for a moment as he lifted his ax, and remembering the scene afterwards, thought the fellow had looked a model of savage strength. It was obvious that he had no fear.

In the meantime, he was vaguely conscious that Driscoll had saved his life. He and Scott had stayed too long, and could not have fixed their prop before the beam gave way had not the other come to help. For that matter, they were not out of danger yet. Unless they could wedge the timber in the next few moments, the roof would come down. There was not room to swing the ax properly, his body was cramped from bending, and he could not lift his head. Stooping in the low tunnel, he nerved himself for a tense effort and struck several furious blows. The prop quivered, groaned as it felt the pressure from above, moved an inch or two, and stood upright. Then Thirlwell dropped his ax and staggered back. He felt limp and exhausted, and wanted to get away. The beam would hold the roof for some minutes and might do so for a time.

”You can let up now, Driscoll,” Scott called out when they stopped a few yards off. ”We'll see if the prop will stand before we do anything else.”

”Guess I'll fix the other,” Driscoll replied.

”Come out,” Scott insisted. ”You don't know if it's safe.”