DARTMOOR LEGACY

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 61, Issue 186, 21 May 1941, Page 7

DARTMOOR LEGACY

By T. C. BRIDGES.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS

CHAPTERS.

Bob Hamlyn, living alone on bis small Dartmoor farm, is aroused by the barking of his dog. Investigations take him to the head of a disused tinmine on his property. There a shot is fired at him.

' Next day he learns that a convict has escaped, but that possible explanation collapses. With Peter Newcombe, a friend home from Malay, lie examines the mine.

CHAPTER 111

DISAPPEARANCE OF ROPE.

At first the prints were plain enough but further on, the floor became solid rock and Bob could see no trace at all. Yet Peter did, for he went on slowly, holding the beam of his torch close to the ground. Presently he turned to the right into a side gallery. He spoke to Bob in a whisper. “Walk carefully. The roof is rotten. Even a shoht might bring it down." Bob was too excited to be frightened yet even his untrained eyes could perceive that there was danger for tlie floor was littered' with sharp-edged chunks of reddish rock which had fallen from the roof. The timbering had rotted away, and what remained was covered with white fungus which filled the close air with a mouldy smell. Water dripped from the Joof and trickled down the walls.

Peter stopped. The way was barred by the month of a shaft which dropped darkly to unknown depths. It was spanned by a heavy timber but this was black with decay.

“A winze," Peter explained. “It leads to a lower level." He turned the beam /of his torch into the pit. “All right. I can see the bottom. Only about 20ft. Bob, I’ve a notion the secret is here. It looks to me as if our friends went. down. There are marks on the rim which were made by a nailed boot. See?" Bob looked and nodded. “Yes, they are quite fresli," he agreed, but how the dickens did they get down? They must have had something to fasten their rope to and that balk is too rotten to hold a man’s weight."

‘“They had a crowbar, like us. Bob, these chaps knew .their job. Here is where they drove it in." He pointed to a small hole in the floor. “Now we’ll do the same."

Ho fitted the point of his own bar into the hole, found a chunk of granite and pounded it in until it was quite secure. He uncoiled the rope, tested it, fastened one end to the bar and dropped the other down the winze. “I’ll go first," he said and grasping the rope in his big, hard hands, slid l over. By the light of the candle stuck in Peter’s hat, Bob saw him slide down the rope. In spite of his size and weight Peter Newcombe was active as a cat.

“All right," came his deep voice sounding oddly hollow as it rose up the shaft. “Footing good, and air not too bad. Come on."

Bob got hold of the rope and followed Peter. The gallery in which •he found himself was very like the one above but wetter and more muddy. Also the mud was lighter in colour than what they had waded through above. “Hero are their marks," Peter said. Peter Newcombe was not the sort to easily betray excitement, yet Bob caught a note in his voice which made him feel that Peter was on tho eve of somo discovery. For himself ho could not imagine what it was. Up above there had been signs of tin ore in the walls, here there was none at all.

Peter moved on. He came to a place where the passage forked. Again he very carefully examined the floor. “They were in both," he said. “We’ll try the left first." The roof was so low that Bob’s shoulders ached with the constant stooping. He began to feel he would give a lot to be able to straighten his hack for just a minute. Peter stopped. His light fell upon a pile of broken rock which completely blocked the passage. “Roof fall. Can’t, go further this way," he said. “We’ll try the other." The other passage sloped downwards.

Adventure and Love in the Caribbean Sea.

(Copyright).

It was very slushy. It curved slightly then came to a sudden end. Peter threw the ray of his torch on the blank wall.

“Got it!" he said in sudden triumph. “Got what?” asked Bob, puzzled, for all he could see was a few square feet of whitish stufF that looked like chalk. Peter turned and nis eyes were aglow. “China clay." “China clay,” Bob repeated. Visions of the vast pits ho had seen on the Cornish moors flitted before his eyes, and with them, the memory of a man who had banked thousands at Taverton, a farmer on whose land kaolin had been discovered, “China clay. But why didn’t they work it? The tin men, J mean.”

“Because they didn’t know anything about it. They had one-track minds. Tin was what they were looking for. Bob, you’re a lucky lad. You can either sell out or form a company and work it yourself. I’d say work it.” “I—J’ll'do just what you say, Peter,’said Bob. His head was spinning. He felt queerly giddy. Peter was at the face taking a sample of the clay. Having clone so, he turned again to Bob. “Wo must get an expert up from Cornwall hut I don’t think there’s any doubt about this being a big deposit and easily worked. ’ ’ Ho led the way back up the long slope towards the winze. When they reached it the rope was no longer there. Peter looked up the shaft but there was no sign of it. “Bob," ho said in a curiously quiet voice. “Done and Co. had a spy watching us. They havo snookered us. There’s no getting up that shaft without a rope." “And no other way out,” asked Bob, Peter shook his head. “I don’t see any," he answered. UNDER FALLING ROOFS. “My turn," said Peter Newcombe as ho took the spade from Bob Hamlyn’s blistered hands, and started a fresh spell of digging.

It was now five in the afternoon. Six hours lmd passed since the two bad found themselves trapped in the lower level of the Bittifer Mine and ever since they had been working on the roof fall in the left-hand passage, trying to force a way through. It was desperately hard and difficult work aud risky, too, for the broken roof was so shaky that the slightest jar brought down fresh lumps of stone.

Their miner’s hats had saved their heads time and again, but at any moment a rock might crash down, so large and heavy that nothing could save a man caught beneath it. If Bob had been alone he would havo beeii finished long ago; it was Peter’s skill and experience which had so far saved them both from catastrophe. By this time they were both soaked, with sweat and getting very tired. The air was not too good and working in this confined space was very trying. Worse than all was the knowledge that even if they did force a way through the barrier of clay and boulders, there was no certainty that it would load to freedom. Bob knew that there was a second exit from the mine at a lower level than the adit through which they had entered, but he had never explored it and seemed to recollect that it was not much bigger than a fox’s earth. Peter skilfully levered a large stone out of the fall and Bob lifted it aside. Peter spoke. 71 believe we’re getting through. I can feel a draught of air though I can’t ’see anything yet." He set to work again. It was impossible to hurry for the rotten roof hung like a sword of Damocles over their heads. Both knew that at any moment tons of rocks might come thundering down, and even if they escaped burial, such a fall would seal the passage for good and all. There was littlo hope of resexfe from outside for, no one knew where they were. Now Peter was working on the top of the barrier and Bob held his breath in terror of a fresh fall. But Peter cleverly built up on one side the stones he took from tho other, and presently looked round.

“There’s a real draught now, Rob." “I can feel it," Bob answered. “Get down and let me havo a turn."

“Not yot. This is pretty ticklish and I’m more accustomed to this sort of thing than you are.” > “If we get out it will be your doing,” said Boh gruffly. Peter did not answer. Ho went on skilfully shifting heavy stones. At last he stepped back. “Give me the torch,” he said. He took it and held it so that its ray pierced between the left-hand wall and the stones which he had built up. “I can see through, Bob,” he announced. “Passage looks to bo clear the far side, but there’s a bit of work to do still before there’s room to wriggle through.” The bit of work was the most difficult and delicate of all, and Bob saw the grim anxiety on Peter’s face as he picked the stones out ■pno by ono. Slowly he enlarged the opening until it wa.'j, about a foot across. Every now and then there would he a sharp little crack as a small stone fell i>om the roof. The rook was rotten. Even Bob could see that, and lie was as anxious as Peter. Peter paused a moment.

“There’s daylight on the far side,” liesaid, and a thrill of relief ran through Bob’s aching body. Once more he glanced up at the roof. In a flash he had grasped Peter and dragged him back. He was just in time to save him as a huge lump of rock weighing at least a ton came crunching down. “Thanks, Boh,” came Peter’s voice out of the fog of dust raised by the fall. Boh wondered he could speak so quietly. The dust cleared and both stepped forward. Peter shook his head.

“We shall never move that,” lie said, pointing to the boulder which now crowned the fall. Bob’s heart sank horribly, for lie, too, could see that their way was blocked for good. The odd thing was that the small hole which Peter had opened had not been closed, but the boulder, sitting squarely above it, made it flatly impossible to enlarge it.

“If only we had a pick,” said

Peter longingly. Boh pulled himself together.

“Peter, we’re both pretty avcll done. Let’s sit down and eat a sandwich and have a smoko. Wo may think of something.”

“Not a had notion,” Peter agreed. He put his hand into his pocket. “And I have a flask,” he said. “A drop of good whisky.” They sat and ate. Each took only one sandwich. There was no saying how long the half-dozen which Bob had brought would have to last them. But. that was something better not thought of. Bob had a pipe; Peter a ease with about a dozen cigarettes. They smoked and talked.

Bob’s idea was that they might carry rocks back to the winze and build them up so that they might climb on them and reach the top. Peter knew that such a task would take at least a week, hut would not say so for fear of discouraging the other. His own notion was to search this lower part of the workings for any tool left behind by the workers.

“Even if we had the crowbar,” ho said, “I don’t believe we could cut away the Avail of the gallery enough to squeeze through'.” “Listen 1” he said, tensely. In the silence that followed both heard a scratching sound behind the barrier. Bob sprang up. (To Be Continued).