Part 51 (1/2)

It was Ralph's duty to take the mule from the stable, to fasten him to a trip of empty mine cars, and to make him draw them to the little cl.u.s.ter of chambers at the end of the branch that turned off from the upper-level heading.

This was the farthest point from the shaft in the entire mine. The distance from the head of the plane alone was more than a mile, and it was from the head of the plane that Ralph took the cars. When he reached the end of his route he left one car of his trip at the foot of each chamber in which it was needed, gathered together into a new trip the loaded cars that had been pushed down to the main track for him, and started back with them to the head of the plane.

He usually made from eight to ten round trips a day; stopping at noon, or thereabouts, to eat the dinner with which the Widow Maloney had filled his pail. All the driver boys on that level gathered at the head of the plane to eat their dinners, and, during the noon-hour, the place was alive with shouts and songs and pranks and chattering without limit. These boys were older, stronger, ruder than those in the screen-room; but they were no less human and good-hearted; only one needed to look beneath the rough exterior into their real natures.

There were eight of them who took trips in by Ralph's heading, but, for the last half-mile of his route, he was the only driver boy. It was a lonesome half-mile too, with no working chambers along it, and Ralph was always glad when he reached the end of it. There was, usually, plenty of life, though, up in the workings to which he distributed his cars. One could look up from the air-way and see the lights dancing in the darkness at the breast of every chamber. There was always the sharp tap, tap of the drill, the noise of the sledge falling heavily on the huge lumps of coal, sometimes a sudden rush of air against one's face, followed by a dull report and crash that told of the firing of a blast, and now and then a miner's laborer would come running a loaded car down to the heading or go pus.h.i.+ng an empty one back up the chamber.

There was a laborer up in one of these chambers with whom Ralph had formed quite a friends.h.i.+p. His name was Michael Conway. He was young and strong-limbed, with huge hairy arms, a kind face, and a warm heart.

He had promised to teach Ralph the art of breaking and loading coal.

He expected, he said, to have a chamber himself after a while, and then he would take the boy on as a laborer. Indeed, Ralph had already learned many things from him about the use of tools and the handling of coal and the setting of props. But he did not often have an opportunity to see Conway at work. The chamber in which the young man was laboring was the longest one in the tier, and the loaded car was usually at the foot of it when Ralph arrived with his trip of lights; so that he had only to run the empty car up into the air-way a few feet, take on the loaded one, and start back toward the plane.

But one afternoon, when he came up with his last trip for the day, he found no load at the foot of Conway's chamber, and, after waiting a few minutes, he went up to the face to investigate. He found Conway there alone. The miner for whom the young man worked had fallen sick and had gone out earlier than usual, so his laborer had finished the blast at which the employer had been at work. It was a blast of top-coal, and therefore it took longer to get it down and break it up.

This accounted for the delay.

”Come up here with ye,” said Conway to the boy; ”I want to show ye something.”

Ralph climbed up on to the shelf of coal at the breast of the chamber, and the man, tearing away a few pieces of slate and a few handfuls of dirt from a spot in the upper face, disclosed an opening in the wall scarcely larger than one's head. A strong current of air coursed through it, and when Conway put his lamp against it the flame was extinguished in a moment.

”Where does it go to?” asked Ralph.

”I don't just know, but I think it must go somewhere into the workin's from old No. 1 slope. The boss, he was in this mornin', and he said he thought we must be a-gettin' perty close to them old chambers.”

”Does anybody work in there?”

”Oh, bless ye, no! They robbed the pillars tin years ago an' more; I doubt an ye could get through it at all now. It's one o' the oldest places in the valley, I'm thinkin'. D'ye mind the old openin' ye can see in the side-hill when ye're goin' up by Tom Ballard's to the Dunmore road?”

”Yes, that's where Uncle Billy worked when he was a miner.”

”Did he, thin! Well, that's where they wint in. It's a long way from here though, I'm thinkin'.”

”Awful strong wind goin' in there, ain't they?”

”Yes, I must block it up again, or it'll take all our air away.”

”What'll your miner do to-morrow when he finds this place?”

”Oh, he'll have to get another chamber, I guess.”

The man was fastening up the opening again with pieces of slate and coal, and plastering it over with loose wet dirt.

”Well,” said Ralph, ”I'll have to go now. Jasper's gettin' in a hurry.

Don't you hear 'im?”

Conway helped the boy to push the loaded car down the chamber and fasten it to his trip.

”I'll not be here long,” said the man as he turned back into the air-way, ”I'll take this light in, an' pick things up a bit, an' quit.

Maybe I'll catch ye before ye get to the plane.”

”All right! I'll go slow. Hurry up; everybody else has gone out, you know.”