The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 28 October 1915, Page 3

The Storyteller

A LUCKY ACCIDENT They had finished their shift and were ready to blast. It was Corrigan's last day in the mine, for he was going away. That much he had decided. He would go on top, draw his pay, arrange with the bank about his savings—for he was that rara avis—a thrifty body among underground menand on the morrow he would buy his ticket for Butte. Not that he cared over much for Butte, but that it was a long way from Nevada, California. He wanted to get awayaway. His anger had cooled overnight to the lukewarm stage, but his heartache remained and the tumult of mind would not be allayed. . And ? They had quarrelled. That was all. It was childishly simple, but they had quarrelled with all the ardency of two warm Irish natures, and he had flung himself away in his bitterness with the fearful threat that she would never see him again ! And he recalled that she—Kitty Connor—merely tossed her head and laughed derisively. ' 'Tis not I who care. You needn't delay on my account, Mister Corrigan.' Actually, she had laughed at him ! He had been very badly treated, he told himself, and she had called him Mister Corrigan ! Laughed at him—lucky she was not a man ! No man in the camp would have dared laugh at him, Larry Corrigan. And she had advised him not to tarry. Well, he wouldn't. He was through with the camp, and he was ready to go and forget. Now he and Matley were together at the bottom of the shaft, and their shift was done. From the huge, dangling bucket at the end of the cable, Corrigan lifted the box of innocent-appearing giant powder, which Matley replaced with their drills and sledges. Then they deftly charged the drill-holes with stick after stick of the explosive, cut and capped the fuses, and tamped each charge with wet clay. In the ghastly light of their dripping tallow candles, they ignited row after row of black, curling fuse and scrambled up into the bucket. Corrigan leaned across, felt .the iron ring at the end of the wire, and gave it three sharp tugs—the signal to the hoist. Moments were precious down there. Again he signalled. A brief wait, as he instinctively glanced tip the shaft. When his third effort brought no response a shade of anxiety crossed his features. ' Wonder what's the matter V he said, quietly. ' Maybe it's the old engine buckin' again.' Silence for a few moments that seemed a very long time, ' Wish we'd start. I don't like this,' Matley complained solemnly. With a jerk the bucket started, and they shot upwards, clutching the cable as sailors cling to a stay with the unexpected lurch of the ship in a pitching sea. Corrigan's hat sailed down into the dark, and their candles were snuffed out. in the hundredth part of a second. Their practised senses told them that something unusual had transpired on top. They knew that the hoisting engine was running wild, and the fearful pace meant death amid the wreckage of the bucket and the head-frame should it continue. ' The engine's broke loose ! God help us!' shrieked Matley in Corrigan's ear. Corrigan, head back, gazed at the white patch of sunlight. The huge overhead pulley through which' the cable ran caught his eyes. It was weirdly fascinating though all this took but seconds. It was there the crash would come —the end. Then the drive swiftly slackened," and his heart gave a mighty leap. Another instant and the ascent stopped as suddenly as it began. The shock sent the great tub swinging back and forth against the sides of the black, rocky shaft like the weight at the end of a wildly-swinging pendulum. Matley was . flung

free of the treacherous vehicle, but clung to the cable, and swung to and fro. - Fear distorted his face,; and fear weakened his fingers, ' I'm go—goin', Larry ! I can't—hang—on!' he gasped,' with quickening breath. ,-,";;With crushing force he struck the wall, and, halfstunned, felt his fingers relax. But Corrigan, big, powerful, and young, with the joy of living full in his veins, seized him at the belt with his right hand. ' Not by a whole lot, yet he gritted, between his teeth hard set. Now He flung all his great strength into one supreme effort, his muscles stood out layer , upon layer, and the veins of his neck swelled to bursting. ' Bend your legs—quick ! Steady now. That's it. That's the stuff!' There was something like exultation in his voice as Matley, lifted by that mass of muscle, crooked his trembling knees and slipped his feet into the tub again. Now Matley, shivering like a terrified child, his nerve gone, huddled limp, weak, and broken, moaning piteously, his arms about Corrigan's waist. «, . _ ' Hang it, brace up, Tommy!' Corrigan chided him. ' Soon's that old scrap-heap gets goin' right we'll go up nice and easy. There's time yet.' To his disgust, Matley burst into sobs. ' We're gonners, Larry ! We'll be blowed up! Oh, I wish I hadn't come on this shift. I felt something was goin' to happen. And I ain't ready to go! God forgi ' 'Shut up!' snapped Corrigan. ' God forgive us this day if it comes to that. You needn't shout your head off.' The cable trembled, and, with a sense of utter hopelessness, they realised that they were going down. Matley broke into renewed lamentations, a word of prayer choking in his throat. Corrigan was silent. The strain told on him, iron as his nerves were. Each second marked an age of mental torture, and a weakness of which he was ashamed crept over him. Yet he held Matley at the belt with a grip that death alone might break. Down, down, until Corrigan fancied he could hear the hissing of the fuse. He even wondered in a dazed, careless way, why the shots had not gone off before. The fuse seemed to last uncommonly well. Perhaps they had cut it longer than usual. The descent ended. God alone knew the moment when the explosives would rend the earth, scattering bits of bucket and what had once been men to the collar of the shaft. ' Pray now, Tommy, if you ever prayed in your life!' Corrigan said, very quietly. 'lt's all up.' Even as Matley cried a broken prayer through his tears, there came a jar, a jerk, sharp, but followed by no mad rush. Swiftly, surely, they mounted again towards the white patch of sunlight. 'God hears! God hears!' shrieked Matley. * Thrilling as were the events in the darkness of the shaft, equally startling was the scene enacted at the surface. Through the manzanita led the path to the cottage of the boss, Jim Connor, straight past the shaft which the Bonanza Company was putting down, some distance below the main workings on the higher slope of the mountain, to prove the superintendent's belief in the continuity of the ledge. On the flat below lay the town. The grass lay brown and burned on the hills, and the sun of a midsummer day poured mercilessly down on the sheet-iron engine-house by the side of the deep hole. Kitty Connor, presiding queen of her father's cottage, came up the path from an > errand of mercy to the Penberthy's, having called with a delicacy for ' Booy Henry,' who had fallen from a truck at the 500 a few days before. Kitty Connor, with her winsome face, cheery word, and laughing greygreen Irish eyes, good angel to the sick and injured boys of the Bonanza, had in every man of them a ; devout worshipper. If she thought of Corrigan and last night, one could not have guessed it now, for,

hot as it was, she came along humming a quaint ditty with a delicious lilt to it. " • i The bell clanged as she approached the enginehouse. Instinctively she stopped, counting. Three brazen notes rang out. ' Man to be hoisted,' they said, warning the engineer to haste and care. No whirr of machinery followed. Once again, and a, third time the -code of the miner spoke from the depths below, amid the same mysterious silence. The engine, the engine! The girl realised that unless it became infused with life at once death awaited the men now vainly signalling. This, she knew, was the hour for the afternoon blasts, and she also knew who was on shift. The blood fled her cheeks, a frightened look crept into her eyes, and with wildly-beating heart, she started forward. What had happened ? Where was old Sipple, the hoisting engineer ? She wondered as she ran. She reached the open side of the shed, her breath coming in quick sobs. The place was deserted ! There was no time to question or seek. In an instant she reached the engine. Born and reared amid the mines, they were to her an open book, and each bit of machinery she knew and loved. For a few seconds she stood irresolute, before the creature of knobs and levers. Then she remembered, and with too-eager fingers set the hissing beast loose. With terrific speed the cable came winding in and the tub shot heavenward. It was this wild rush which had unnerved Matley. With the snarl of a wild beast old Sipple sprang from behind the woodpile, six feet away. He flung the girl backward against the water-barrel, and brought the engine to a standstill. Then with fiendish deliberation he reversed the lever and lowered away. Sipple was no longer a human being. Insanity ranged through his cracked brain. The girl realised it all in an instant, and stood gasping for breath, gazing in horror. ' They're down the shaftdevilsmillions of 'em raved the maniac, turning his burning eyes on her. ' No, no ! It's Corrigan and Matley. You know them. Of course you do. Why, they board at McGlyn's with you, Mister Sipple/ soothed Kitty Connor in trembling tones. ' Please haul them up. You don't want to have them blown to pieces. Please, please do it for me.' ' I tell you they're only devils down there. That shaft leads straight to hell. They're waitin' for me to h'ist 'em. Then they'll all come up—an' the devil, too. Look, look See 'em trying to crawl out!' His gaze was fixed on the mouth of the shaft in fascination. ' Back! back!' he roared, drawing a revolver from his greasy blouse and firing rapidly. 'Ha! ha! That scared 'em !' He placed the firearm, with its one remaining charge, on an overturned box, and began muttering rapidly to himself. The girl thought quickly as she cowered, and a desperate plan flashed to .her mind. Its execution must be instantly attempted, she realised. Nothing else on earth could avail. If it failed, her own life might pay the forfeit. •' Look,' she cried, advancing a step, as though falling in with his humor. ' Over there —see, see!' If the strategy failed— Even the cunning of the madman was momentarily matched. He turned, following her direction. A gasp, a rush, and she dodged low, his murderous blow ruffling her soft brown hair, for he struck as he swung about with a blood-curdling howl, catching her intent. His hairy, oil-stained fingers were at her slim, white throat, as her own closed frenziedly over the weapon lying there. Blindly she fired. Sipple whirled, staggered drunkenly, sagged at the knees, and then quietly pitched forward with a queer little cough and. lay still.

Kitty Connor drew back the lever, breath coming fast and dry sobs moaning in her throat, quivering with

fear of danger past and the -greater fear that even now she might be too late. The steam hissed noisily in the cylinders, the drum revolved with splendid haste, and the bucket mounted rapidly, steadily, through the darkness. , ' \ . -

With a great, deep. roar the blast let go, the earth trembling with the shock. A shower of murderous rock hurtled up the shaft, and the bucket surged and tossed like a cockle in a swirling sea, battered and staved. Matley fell back with a groan, and hung limp and senseless over the edge of the vehicle, and Corrigan's numbing grip alone prevented him from plunging into the smoking depths. The demolished tub reached the surface, and Corrigan staggered off, literally dragging . Matley ’s stilled form. The big Irishman’s heavy rubber coat hung in shreds, riddled and ribboned, and a dozen wounds streamed crimson as his giant strength ebbed fast. .

‘ I’mnot hurt—much,’ he said slowly, painfully, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. He drew a tattered sleeve across his eyes and wiped away the blood. ‘ Tommy’s got it bad, though. Pull the whistle cord ’

He caught at the air and sank down beside his companion.

The sharp, uneven shriek of the whistle rang up and down the mountain, crying a warning and a call for help. They cut Craig, superintendent of the Bonanza off in the middle of a word in his conversation with Hendricks, who had come up from Angels Camp to investigate the possibilities of the new sliming plant. ‘Something wrong down there exclaimed Craig, reaching for his hat. ‘ Sounds like it,’ agreed Hendricks. 1 Who’s your engineer ?’ Sipple—Sam H. Sipple.’ ‘My God, man! Not “Limpsing Sammy? Red hair and stubby beard. Lame in left leg, little finger off his right hand’ ‘That’s the man. What’s the matter with him?’ demanded Craig. ‘He came here three weeks ago, just when we needed a hoisting engineer, and, on the strength of a letter from your company got the job. I noticed it was over a year old, but he said he’d been around a great deal since then. So far as I’ve observed he’s a first-class man.’

‘ When he left us he was one of the best engineers that ever worked a hoist,’ said Hendricks, speaking rapidly. ‘ He’d worked a long time for us, and had a little money saved up. Then he decided to go prospecting. He went down in the desert country on the east side of Death Valley, and started a shaft on a fair prospect, I’ve heard. One day he was coming out of the hole when a rattlesnake struck him. Country’s full of them. He started for the nearest camp, but collapsed on the way and was picked up for dead. He had a sunstroke, too, the doctors said. Anyway, his mind was affected, and he was in the asylum for three months. His cabin burned down the day of the accident, and he lost all his personal effects. I thought that letter had been burned, too. He was seemingly all right when they discharged him, and then he dropped out of sight, as we were afraid to put him on again. Since then I’ve heard indirectly that he’s been in again. Extremely hot weather may set him off without warning. His hallucination was, so the physicians told me, that the shaft was populated with devils, and that they were coming up after him. For weeks at a time I don’t doubt that he may be perfectly sane. By Jove, I never thought he’d attempt to run another- engine ! Get some men and let’s hurry.’ Together they dashed out of the office, to find a group of the afternoon shift, dinner-pails in hand, gazing down the slope, talking excitedly. ‘Come on, boys!’ called Craig, waving his arms. Down the slope they crashed through the knee-high scrub, following the pipe line, rather than lose a moment on the longer, though safer trail, iv-, They found the girl, very pale, weeping softly, but bravely, endeavoring to restrain her tears, fluttering

about like a frightened dove, dabbing at two . ghastly, blood-stained faces with a ridiculously tiny . handkerchief that was now dyed r6d. After an age, the doctors came. ‘ Nothing dangerous,’ they announced curtly,' hastily examining Sipple’s wound and administering a rough dressing before hurrying, on to Jim Connor’s cottage, where the injured men. had been tenderly borne by the rough miners, that being the nearest place of habitation. Sipple was carted away to the county hospital. v Day after day, Stanton and Merrill, the doctors, came. They went away solemnly. The nurses, summoned by the Bonanza manager, were cheerful, but noncommittal. On the sixth day Stanton came alone. For the first time he emerged from the sick room smiling. The girl caught his look of satisfaction. ‘You think they’ll recover she asked, her eyes brightening. As sure as you are the heroine of Nevada City,’ he answered. ‘ln three weeks, Miss Kitty, we’ll have them up for dinner, if all goes well.’ After all, Corrigan was wrong. His hurts were far more serious than were Matley’s, and after the Bonanza Company had sent Matley away to the healing, cool, salt breezes of the Golden Gate, Corrigan lingered, but each day saw his strength returning. One afternoon a soft haze lay over the hills, the air faintly stirring the long-fringed pines, wafted into the darkened room an odor of old-fashioned roses from Kitty Connor’s garden. The nurse slept in the hammock on the east porch. Corrigan was to follow Matley on the morrow. Wearied after an hour in a chair and a few uncertain steps taken about the house, he had returned to his couch. Stanton walked leisurely out the crooked street and took the trail towards the mine for a last look at his patient. Reaching the cottage, he stopped at the open window and gazed through the white, half-drawn curtains at the wasted form of the big fellow, now half-reclining among the pillows, eyes closed.

The girl tiptoed into the room. She glanced neither to the left nor to the right, but moved noiselessly towards the bed, a, wondrous light in her eyes. With a soft, cool hand she —ever so gently—smoothed back Corrigan’s long hair, then stooped and kissed him lightly as thistledown on the brow. His eyes opened with suspicious suddenness, and ere she could move, both her hands were fast in his. She caught her breath with a fast little gasp.

‘Kitty,’ he said very gently, very wistfully, his eyes hungry on her sweet face, ‘ I was awake all the time.’

To which the maid shamelessly replied, with averted face and flaming cheeks:

‘ I don’t care if you were.’ ‘ Kitty ’ but the good doctor fled unseen, chuckling to himself. When well out of sight he stopped and most absurdly shook hands with himself. Mister Corrigan, my congratulations. ’Twas a lucky accident for you,’ he said.