Part 21 (2/2)

There was but one moment of the day when Mr. Fetherbee's spirit quailed.

His kind friends, anxious that he should miss no feature of ”local coloring” had thoughtfully conducted him to the very worst of the miner's boarding-houses, where they all cheerfully partook of strange and direful viands for his sake. Mr. Fetherbee, shrewdly suspecting the true state of the case, had unflinchingly devoured everything that was set before him, topping off his gastronomic martyrdom with a section of apricot pie, of a peculiar consistency and a really poignant flavor.

Just as he had swallowed the last mouthful, the proprietor of ”The Jolly Delvers” came up, and Mr. Fetherbee, in the first flush of victory, remarked: ”Well, sir! That _is_ a pie, and no mistake!” Upon which the host, charmed with this spontaneous tribute, hastened to set before his guest another slice. And then it was that Mr. Fetherbee, but now so unflinching, so imperturbable, laid down his weapons and struck his colors. He eyed the pie, he eyed his delighted fellow-sufferers, and then, in a voice grown suddenly plaintive, he said: ”Don't tempt me, sir! It would be against my doctor's orders!”

But even the memory of his discomfiture could not long check the flow of Mr. Fetherbee's spirits, and ten minutes later the valiant little trencher-man was climbing with cheerful alacrity into the wagon, which had been, in the interim, subjected to a judicious application of ropes and wires.

”Think she's quite seaworthy?” he asked, as the structure groaned and ”gave” under his light weight.

”Guess she'll weather it,” Dis...o...b.. growled between his teeth which were closed upon the stem of his pipe. ”If she doesn't, there'll be a circus!”

”Waves likely to be as high as they were this morning?”

”No; it's a kind of a double back-action slant we've got to tackle this time,” and off they rattled, even more musically than before, by reason of the late repairs.

Over the brow of the mountain they went, and down on the other side. For some fifteen minutes they rumbled along so smoothly that the insatiate Mr. Fetherbee experienced a gnawing sense of disappointment and feared that the fun was really over. But presently, without much warning, the road made a sharp curve and began pitching downward in the most headlong manner, taking on at the same time a sharp lateral slant. The brake creaked, and screamed, the wheels sc.r.a.ped and wabbled in their loose-jointed fas.h.i.+on, the horses, almost on their haunches, gave up their usual mode of locomotion, and coasted unceremoniously along, their four feet gathered together in a rigid protest.

”Do you often come this way?” asked Mr. Fetherbee, in a disengaged manner.

”Well, no;” Dis...o...b.. replied, composedly. ”This is my first trip. They sometimes haul the ore down here on a sort of drag, but I guess these are the first wheels that ever---- I say, fellows, you'd better get out and hang on. She's slipping!”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”IT'S A KIND OF DOUBLE BACK-ACTION SLANT WE'VE GOT TO TACKLE THIS TIME.”]

In an instant all but Dis...o...b.. had sprung out, and seizing the side of the wagon, or the spokes of the stiff front, wheel, in fact anything they could lay hands on, hung on to the endangered craft like grim fate, while Dis...o...b.., standing on the step, held the horses up by main force.

There were moments when the longed-for adventure seemed imminent, and Mr. Fetherbee's spirits rose. He had quite made up his mind that if the wagon went over he should go with it, go with it into ”kingdom come”

rather than let go! He wondered whether he should be able to do the situation justice when he got home. It was a pity that Louisa could not see them with her own eyes! Though, on second thoughts, he was afraid he did not present a very dignified appearance, and if Louisa had a weakness, it consisted in the fact that she made a fetich of dignity, especially where her vivacious husband was concerned.

Meanwhile the ground was receding more and more rapidly under his sliding, stumbling feet, and his eyes were full of sand. Dayton and Allery Jones were frankly puffing and groaning, but Mr. Fetherbee scorned to make any such concession to circ.u.mstances. He was wondering whether his gait would be permanently out of kilter after this complicated and violent scramble, when he became aware that the lateral slant was gradually lessening. A moment later he and his two companions had loosed their hold and stood stretching and rubbing themselves, while the wagon, under Dis...o...b..'s pilotage, continued on its way, scooping the horses down the hill at an increasing rate of speed. Just above where they were standing, was a shed-like structure which looked much the worse for wind and weather.

”That's the old shaft of the 'Coreopsis,'” Dayton remarked.

”So it is,” said Jones. ”Harry de Luce went down on the rope the other day.”

”How do you do it?” asked Mr. Fetherbee, much interested.

”Hand over hand, I suppose; or else you just let her slide. De Luce went down like a monkey.”

”He must have come up like a monkey! I don't see how he did it!”

”He didn't come up; he went out by the tunnel. It would take more than a monkey to go up three hundred feet on a slack rope, or thirty feet either, for the matter of that.”

As Mr. Fetherbee stood mopping his brow, thereby spreading a cake of mud which he had unsuspectingly worn since morning, in a genial pattern over his right temple, a consuming ambition seized him.

”Now that's something I should like to do,” he declared. ”Anything to prevent?”

”Why, no; not if you're up to that kind of thing. They're doing it every day.”

”Why don't you go down that way now?” Dayton asked. ”We shall be driving right by the tunnel in an hour or two, and can pick you up.”

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