The Underworld Part 29

When Mag arrived at the pit she asked a boy if Walker was up the pit yet for his breakfast.

"I dinna' think so," replied the boy. "He's kind o' late this mornin'; but there's the bell chappit three," he said as the signal was made from the bottom that men were about to come up. "That'll likely be him coming up."

The boy had no sooner spoken, than with a mad rush Mag darted forward, and opening the gates at the "low scaffold," where no one was near, being situated below the pit-head proper, with a loud scream she hurled herself down the shaft.

"G.o.d Almichty!" roared the engineman who saw all from the engine house, as he rushed out of the door, calling to the pit-head workers. "Mag Robertson has flung hersel' doon the shank!" and immediately all was consternation.

The engine keeper had just been in the act of signaling down to Walker, who was ready to ascend when he saw the flying figure dart forward and fling herself into the yawning abyss.

Walker, standing at the foot of the shaft waiting for the answering signal from above, heard the noise and the rush of Mag's body as it b.u.mped from side to side in its mad descent, and starting back, he was just in time to get clear as the mangled ma.s.s of rags and blood and pulpy flesh fell with a loud splashy thud at the bottom, the blood spattering and "jauping" him and the bottomer, and blinding their eyes as it flew all over them.

"In the name o' Heavens what's that?" yelled Walker, screaming in terror and jumping aside from the b.l.o.o.d.y upturned face, with the wide, staring eyes, which he seemed to recognize, as the other parts of the body lay about, still quivering and twitching, and a horrible sickness came over him and terror flooded his mind.

"Bell, three, quick!" cried Walker, frantic with desperation in his voice. "Bell three, dammit. An' let us up out o' here. Hurry up, h.e.l.l to you," and he drew the bell himself, and without waiting on the signal back from above, jumped into the cage, averting his face from those horrible eyes, which lay staring at him out of the darkness.

"Chap it awa', man!" he yelled at the bottomer, his voice rising to a scream. "Chap it, an' let us up to h.e.l.l oot o' this," and the bottomer, no less frightened than he, tore at the bell, and jumping in himself just as the cage began slowly to ascend, clung to the bar, shivering with terror.

CHAPTER XIX

BLACK JOCK'S END

When Walker reached the surface, he was like a madman. He raved and swore and frothed like a churn, running here, there and everywhere nearly collapsing with rage, which sprang from terror.

Usually cool and calculating, steady and active-minded, he seemed to have lost all grip upon himself. He had been drinking heavily the night before and was none too sober in the morning when he was called upon to go to work. Mag Robertson's attack the night before had sent him to the drink, and being a heavy drinker he was in a bad state the following morning. Mr. Rundell found him swearing and raving in a great pa.s.sion, sacking men and behaving like a maniac.

"Look here, Walker," he began at once, his quick temper rising anew as he thought of the story Sanny Robertson had told him. "I'll give you twenty-four hours to get out of here and away from the place; and if you are not gone in that time I shall inform the police. I know the whole story regarding the setting of the contracts. Sanny has told me, and if I was doing right I would not give you a single minute."

Walker seemed to calm down all at once, and his eyes became cringing as those of a kicked cur as he stood before the angry mine-owner.

"But I hinna telt you a' he has done," said Sanny Robertson, who came up just then in time to hear Mr. Rundell's words. "The dirty black-hearted brute murdered Geordie Sinclair. He telt me himsel' one nicht at the time when we were drinkin' together. He kent a' aboot Geordie workin' on the boss ground an' sent him to his death to get rid of him because in a soft moment I had telt Geordie hoo the contracts were set. He was feart Geordie wad tell you. He's a black-hearted murderer, an' noo he has added Mag's death to his list o' d.a.m.nation. Tak' that! an' that! you dirty villain! I'll save the hangman the bother o' feenishin' you!" and Sanny was upon Walker tearing at him like a cat, and clawing his face with his nails, punching, biting and kicking him as hard as he could drive his hands and feet.

The attack was so sudden that Walker went down, and Sanny was on top of him before anyone could intervene.

"I'll tear the thrapple oot o' you, you dirty swine!" he squealed, as he tugged at Black Jock's throat.

Mr. Rundell and a couple of laborers soon pulled Sanny up, though he struggled to maintain his hold upon the throat of his adversary.

"Let me at him," he yelled, striving to get free. "Let me at him, an'

I'll save the hangman a guid lot o' bother stretchin' his dirty neck!

Oh, you swine! You dirty murderin' beast!" he shrieked, as he tried to break away from the restraining hands which held him.

But Sanny was soon overpowered, and Walker, bounding to his feet, was off up the railway towards his home, terror filling his heart, and his mind reeling with fear.

Mr. Rundell quickly organized a band of men to descend the shaft and recover Mag's body, and soon the whole village was in possession of the news, and the excitement was intense.

They gathered her up, a ma.s.s of dirty, pulpy flesh, sc.r.a.ping the remains together and shoveling them into a rude improvised box, the head and eyes being the only part of the body that resembled anything like a human being.

"h.e.l.l to my sowl, but this is the warst job that ever I got," said Archie Braidhurst, as he sc.r.a.ped a ma.s.s of blood and bones, mud and rags, together. "It's a h.e.l.l o' a daith to dee."

"Ay, puir la.s.sie," replied Adam Lindsay. "She's made a splash at the hinner end. Mag ay cried that it was best to mak' a splash aboot the things you did; but, by sirs, she has made yin this time. What an awfu'

mess!"

"Splash!" echoed Archie with a grim laugh. "She's gane a' into jaups.

She maun hae thocht she was a juck-pool. I would like to dee like a Christian when I dee, and no' shuffle oot like a scattered explosion, or a humplick o' mince."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake shut your mooth, an' let us get her gathered up an' get oot o' here. Dammit, hae ye nae common sense, swearin' an'

jokin' about sic a thing! It's enough to tempt Providence, an' had it no' been for the tumblerful o' whisky that Mr. Rundell gied us I dinna think I could hae faced it. It's awfu'!"

"What the h.e.l.l are ye girnin' at?" asked Archie, turning round on him.

"Are ye feart Mag bites ye? Man, she's got a' her bitin' by noo, although I admit she's made a h.e.l.l o' a mess at the end. Pit your shovel in here an' lift this pickle, an' no' stand there gapin' like a grisly ghost at the door o' h.e.l.l! Fling it into her gapin' mouth, if you think she's goin' to bite you!" and the others laughed uneasily at Archie's sardonic humor.

It was a nerve-trying experience for most of them, and they felt sick with horror of it, in spite of the whisky and their grim jokes. The pit was put idle, and the men went home. A gloom brooded over the whole place.

Black Jock saw Mag Robertson's eyes staring at him, as he hurried over the moor. He had not even stopped to wash himself, but merely stowing some money into his pocket, was off, not deigning to answer his daughter's enquiries as to what was wrong, or where he was going. Every wild bird upon the moor seemed to shout at him in accusation; every living thing seemed to scream out in terror as he approached.

He laughed a harsh laugh, like the cry of a wild beast, and the sheep scampered away in fear. The wind moaned out of the gray clouds, which lay thick upon the hidden hills, and there was an early iciness in its breath as it groaned past; A soft, slushy sound rose from the moor at every step, until it seemed that even earth protested. Eerie and sad the moor was, gray and threatening the hills. Laughing at intervals that low gurgle which sprang from fear, as some wild bird would start up at his approach, he plodded on.

He did not know where he was going. He had no particular objective. He did not know what line he would pursue. He only wanted to get away from the scene of the tragedy, and those terrible eyes staring, which seemed to follow him from behind every bush or clump of heather, till in the gray mist it seemed as if the moor were alive with them.

Eyes everywhere. Eyes that never winked or moved. Eyes that never trembled with recognition or glimmered with life. Dead eyes, cold eyes, immovable and clear--horribly clear they were--eyes that simply stared, neither showing accusation nor denunciation; but there they were at every tuft of yellow gra.s.s, behind every moss-hag, and staring like pools of clear silent death, which struck horror to his heart. He bounded sideways as a partridge on whirring wing flew away at his approach, and almost dropped dead with fright as a muirc.o.c.k, with loud protesting voice, seemed to scream: "'way back! 'way back! 'way back!"

and then, drawing out into a low grumbling command, as it came to earth a few hundred yards away, still muttering its orders to him, as he momentarily stood to recover from his fright.

The whinny of a horse upon the hillside, the low cry of a young cow, the bleat of a sheep, all added to his feeling of dread, until the sweat streamed down his body, as he swung along the moor.

At last he came to a little village, about six miles from Lowwood, and, entering the inn, he called for a supply of whisky.

"It's kind o' cauld the day," the landlady said in an affable way, as he stepped into the bar.

"Warm enough where I have been," he replied bluntly. "Gie's something to drink in whusky!"

"So it wad seem," she said in reply, noting his beaded forehead, as he wiped it with a colored handkerchief.

"You've surely been gey hard ca'd wherever you hae been," and there was a note of curiosity in her voice.

"I want a drink," he broke in abruptly, "an' it doesna matter a d.a.m.n to you whether I hae been hard ca'd or no'. You're surely h.e.l.lish keen to hae news. Dis a' your customers get the Catechism when they come in here?" he queried. "If they do, I may as well tell you to begin with, that I came in for whusky, an' no' to staun' an examination."

She saw at once that he resented her leisurely way and her attempt at affability, and she hastened to apologize.

"Look dam'd sharp," he growled, as she attended to his order. "I want whusky and plenty o' it."

"You are in an unco' hurry," she replied, getting nettled, as she filled a gla.s.s. "It doesna' do to be so snottery as a' that."

"Well, dammit, look alive. I'm dying for a drink. Bring in a bottle," as she placed a gla.s.s before him filled with whisky, "an' tak' the price o'

your dam'd poison aff that!" and he flung down a sovereign upon the table.