The Young Railroaders Part 38

The week succeeding brought Alex a suggestion.

XVII

WILSON AGAIN DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF

It was decidedly warm the following Monday noon at Bonepile, and Wilson Jennings, his coat off, but wearing the fancy Mexican sombrero that the Bar-O cowmen had given him, sat in the open window to catch the breeze that blew through from the rear. From the window Wilson could not see the wagon-trail toward the hills to the west. Thus was it that the low thud of hoofs first told him of someone's hurried approach.

Starting to his feet, he stepped to the end of the platform. At sight of a horseman coming toward him at full speed, and leading a second horse, saddled, but riderless, Wilson gazed in surprise. Wonder increased when as the rider drew nearer he recognized Muskoka Jones, the big Bar-O cowman.

"What is it, Muskoka?" he shouted as the ponies approached.

The cow-puncher pulled up all-standing within a foot of the platform.

"There's been an explosion at the Pine Lode, kid, and ten men are bottled up somewhere in the lower level. Two men got in through a small hole--the mouth of the mine is blocked--and one of them is tapping on the iron pump-pipe. Bartlett, the mine boss, thinks it may be telegraph ticking--that maybe Young knows something about that. Will you come up and listen?

"You see, if they knew what was what inside, they'd know what they could do. They are afraid to blast the big rock that's blocking the mouth for fear of bringing loosened stuff down on the men who have been caught."

Wilson was running for the station door. "I'll explain to the despatcher," he shouted over his shoulder.

"I, I, X," responded the despatcher.

"There has been an explosion at the Pine Lode mine," sent Wilson rapidly, "and a man has been sent to take me there to try and read some tapping from the men inside. Can you give 144 and the Mail clearance from Q and let me go up?"

"Some tapping? What--Oh, I understand. OK! Go ahead," ticked the despatcher. "Get back as soon as possible."

"I will."

"All right, Muskoke," cried Wilson, hastening forth, struggling into his coat as he ran.

"Get round thar," shouted the cowboy, swinging the spare pony to the platform. Wilson went into the saddle with a neat bound.

"Say, you've seen a hoss before, kid," observed Muskoka with surprise as he threw over the reins.

"Sure I have. Used to spend my summer vacations on a farm. Can ride a bit standing up," said Wilson, with pride.

They swung their animals about together, and were off on the jump. As the two ponies stretched out to their full stride the cowboy eyed Wilson's easy seat with approval. "Well, kid," he observed after a moment's silence, "next time I come across a dude I'll git him to do his tricks before I brand him. I don't see but what you sit about as good as I do."

Wilson's pleased smile gave place to gravity as he returned to the subject of the explosion. "When did it happen?" he asked.

"Early this morning. Just after the men went in. They're not sure, but think it was powder stored at the foot of the shaft down to the lower level. The main lead of the Pine Lode, you know, runs straight into the mountain, not down; and the shaft to the lower level is a ways in. We heard the noise at the Bar-O.

"There's nothing much to see, or do, though," the cowman added as they raced along neck and neck. "A big rock just over the entrance came down, and when they got the dirt away they found it had bottled the thing up like a cork. It's that they are afraid to blast until they know how the men are fixed inside. Hoover and Young got in through a small hole at the top, Hoover about half an hour before Young. He started tapping on the pipe too, then stopped. They don't know what happened to him."

Twenty minutes' hard riding brought them to the foothills. Still at the gallop the ponies were urged up a winding rocky trail, and finally a tall black chimney and a group of rough buildings came into view.

"There it is," said the cowboy, indicating a ledge just above.

As they went forward, still at full speed, Wilson gazed toward the mine entrance with some astonishment. Mine disasters he had always thought of as scenes of great excitement--people running to and fro, wringing their hands, excited crowds held back by ropes, and men calling and shouting.

Here, about a spot but little distinguished from the rest of the rocky, spa.r.s.ely-treed mountain side, was gathered a group of perhaps fifty men, some sitting on beams and rocks, others moving quietly about, all smoking.

On their being discovered, however, there was a stir, and as Muskoka and the boy dismounted at the foot of a rough path and ascended there was a general movement of the miners and cowmen to meet them.

"I got him," Muskoka announced briefly to a grizzle-haired man who met them at the top. "This is Bartlett, the mine boss," he said to Wilson by way of introduction. The boss nodded.

"The tapping's going on yet, is it, Joe?"

"No. It's stopped, just like Hoover's did," was the gloomy response. "And just when we were getting onto it ourselves."

The speaker held up a small board pencilled with figures and letters.

"Redding there hit on the idea that maybe Young was knocking out the numbers of letters in the alphabet, and we made this table, and just found out we had it right when the tapping stopped. That was twenty minutes ago, and we haven't had another knock since."

"Let's see it. What did you get?"

"There--'20, 7, 5, 20, 21, 16'--'T G E T U P.' Something about 'can't get up,' we figured it. But it's not enough to be of any use.

"And there's not another man here can wriggle in through the hole," went on the boss, turning toward the great rock which sealed the mouth of the mine. "A dozen of 'em tried it, and Redding got stuck so we had to get a rope on him. Nearly pulled his legs off."

Wilson made his way forward and examined the strangely blocked entrance.

The small hole referred to was a triangular-shaped opening about a foot in height and some sixteen inches in width, apparently just at the roof of the gallery. Some minutes Wilson stood studying it, pondering. Finally he turned about with an air of decision and returned to Muskoka and the mine boss.

"I have a plan," he announced. "If you will go back to the station again, Muskoke, I'll send for another operator, and go in the mine myself. Two operators could talk backwards and forwards easily on the piping. And--"

"But whar's the other operator?" interrupted the cowboy.

"There is a freight due at the station in about twenty-five minutes. I can give you a message to hand the engineer for the operator at Ledges, the next station--a message asking the despatcher to send the Ledges operator down on the Mail. Someone could wait for him, and if there is no hitch he'd be here inside of an hour and a half."

"That'll work!" exclaimed the boss. "That's it! You'll go, Muskoke?"

"Sartenly. I'll get a fresh hoss, and wait fer him myself." Wilson, finding an envelope in his pocket, dropped to a boulder and began writing.

"W. B. J., Exeter," he scribbled. "Am at the mine. The tapping has stopped. No one else can go in, so I am going myself. Please send down operator from Ledges to read my tapping if I am unable to return.

"Jennings."

"Redding! Whar's Red?" shouted Muskoka as he folded the message.

"Here. What?"

"I'm going back to the station for another operator. I'm going to take your Johnny hoss. Mine's blowed."

"Sure yes," agreed the owner, and with a "Good luck, kid," Muskoka was clattering down the path.