The Cross Cut

C >> Courtney Ryley Cooper >> The Cross Cut

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"With them?"

"Yes, they 've been simply crazy about something. You got my note?"

"Yes."

"That was the beginning. The minute Squint Rodaine heard of the
strike, I thought he would go out of his head. I was in the office--I
'm vice-president of the firm, you know," she added with a sarcastic
laugh. "They had to do something to make up for the fact that every
cent of father's money was in it."

"How much?" Fairchild asked the question with no thought of being
rude--and she answered in the same vein.

"A quarter of a million. They 'd been getting their hands on it more
and more ever since father became ill. But they could n't entirely get
it into their own power until the Silver Queen strike--and then they
persuaded him to sign it all over in my name into the company. That's
why I 'm vice-president."

"And is that why you arranged things to buy this mine?" Fairchild knew
the answer before it was given.

"I? I arrange--I never thought of such a thing."

"I felt that from the beginning. An effort was made through a lawyer
in Denver who hinted you were behind it. Some way, I felt differently.
I refused. But you said they were going away?"

"Yes. They 've been holding conferences--father and son--one after
another. I 've had more peace since the strike here than at any time
in months. They 're both excited about something. Last night Maurice
came to me and told me that it was necessary for them all to go to
Chicago where the head offices would be established, and that I must go
with him. I did n't have the strength to fight him then--there was n't
anybody near by who could help me. So I--I told him I 'd go. Then I
lay awake all night, trying to think out a plan--and I thought of you."

"I 'm glad." Fairchild touched her small gloved hand then, and she did
not draw it away. His fingers moved slowly under hers. There was no
resistance. At last his hand closed with a tender pressure,--only to
release her again. For there had come a laugh--shy, embarrassed,
almost fearful--and the plea:

"Can we go back where Harry is? Can I see the strike again?"

Obediently Fairchild led the way, beyond the big cavern, through the
cross-cut and into the new stope, where Harry was picking about with a
gad, striving to find a soft spot in which to sink a drill. He looked
over his shoulder as they entered and grinned broadly.

"Oh," he exclaimed, "a new miner!"

"I wish I were," she answered. "I wish I could help you."

"You 've done that, all right, all right." Harry waved his gad. "'E
told me--about the note!"

"Did it do any good?" she asked the question eagerly. Harry chuckled.

"I 'd 'ave been a dead mackerel if it 'ad n't," came his hearty
explanation. "Where you going at all dressed up like that?"

"I 'm supposed," she answered with a smile toward Fairchild, "to go to
Center City at midnight. Squint Rodaine 's there and Maurice and I are
supposed to join him. But--but Mr. Fairchild 's promised that you and
he will arrange it otherwise."

"Center City? What's Squint doing there?"

"He does n't want to take the train from Ohadi for some reason. We 're
all going East and--"

But Harry had turned and was staring upward, apparently oblivious of
their presence. His eyes had become wide, his head had shot forward,
his whole being had become one of strained attention. Once he cocked
his head, then, with a sudden exclamation, he leaped backward.

"Look out!" he exclaimed. "'Urry, look out!"

"But what is it?"

"It's coming down! I 'eard it!" Excitedly he pointed above, toward
the black vein of lead and silver. "'Urry for that 'ole in the
wall--'urry, I tell you!" He ran past them toward the fissure, yelling
at Fairchild. "Pick 'er up and come on! I tell you I 'eard the wall
moving--it's coming down, and if it does, it 'll bust in the 'ole
tunnel!"

CHAPTER XXIII

Hardly realizing what he was doing or why he was doing it, Fairchild
seized Anita in his arms, and raising her to his breast as though she
were a child, rushed out through the cross-cut and along the cavern to
the fissure, there to find Harry awaiting them.

"Put 'er in first!" said the Cornishman anxiously. "The farther the
safer. Did you 'ear anything more?"

Fairchild obeyed, shaking his head in a negative to Harry's question,
then squeezed into the fissure, edging along beside Anita, while Harry
followed.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously.

"Harry heard some sort of noise from above, as if the earth was
crumbling. He 's afraid the whole mine 's going to cave in again."

"But if it does?"

"We can get out this way--somehow. This connects up with a
spring-hole; it leads out by Crazy Laura's house."

"Ugh!" Anita shivered. "She gives me the creeps!"

"And every one else; what's doing, Harry?"

"Nothing. That's the funny part of it!"

The big Cornishman had crept to the edge of the fissure and had stared
for a moment toward the cross-cut leading to the stope. "If it was
coming, it ought to 'ave showed up by now. I 'm going back. You stay
'ere."

"But--"

"Stay 'ere, I said. And," he grinned in the darkness, "don't let 'im
'old your 'and, Miss Richmond."

"Oh, you go on!" But she laughed. And Harry laughed with her.

"I know 'im. 'E 's got a wye about 'im."

"That's what you said about Miss Richmond once!"

"Have you two been talking about me?"

"Often." Then there was silence--for Harry had left the fissure to go
into the stope and make an investigation. A long moment and he was
back, almost creeping, and whispering as he reached the end of the
fissure.

"Come 'ere--both of you! Come 'ere!"

"What is it?"

"Sh-h-h-h-h-h. Don't talk too loud. We 've been blessed with luck
already. Come 'ere."

He led the way, the man and woman following him. In the stope the
Cornishman crawled carefully to the staging, and standing on tiptoes,
pressed his ear against the vein above him. Then he withdrew and
nodded sagely.

"That's what it is!" came his announcement at last. "You can 'ear it!"

"But what?"

"Get up there and lay your ear against that vein. See if you 'ear
anything. And be quiet about it. I 'm scared to make a move, for fear
somebody 'll 'ear me."

Fairchild obeyed. From far away, carried by the telegraphy of the
earth--and there are few conductors that are better--was the steady
pound, pound, pound of shock after shock as it traveled along the
hanging wall. Now and then a rumble intervened, as of falling rock,
and scrambling sounds, like a heavy wagon passing over a bridge.

Fairchild turned, wondering, then reached for Anita.

"You listen," he ordered, as he lifted her to where she could hear.
"Do you get anything?"

The girl's eyes shone.

"I know what that is," she said quickly. "I 've heard that same sort
of thing before--when you 're on another level and somebody 's working
above. Is n't that it, Mr. Harkins?"

Harry nodded.

"That's it," came tersely. Then bending, he reached for a pick, and
muffling the sound as best he could between his knees, knocked the head
from the handle. Following this, he lifted the piece of hickory
thoughtfully and turned to Fairchild. "Get yourself one," he ordered.
"Miss Richmond, I guess you 'll 'ave to stay 'ere. I don't see 'ow we
can do much else with you."

"But can't I go along--wherever you 're going?"

"There's going to be a fight," said Harry quietly. "And I 'm going to
knock somebody's block off!"

"But--I 'd rather be there than here. I--I don't have to get in it.
And--I 'd want to see how it comes out. Please--!" she turned to
Fairchild--"won't you let me go?"

"If you 'll stay out of danger."

"It's less danger for me there than--than home. And I 'd be scared to
death here. I wouldn't if I was along with you two, because I know--"
and she said it with almost childish conviction--"that you can whip
'em."

Harry chuckled.

"Come along, then. I 've got a 'unch, and I can't sye it now. But it
'll come out in the wash. Come along."

He led the way out through the shaft and into the blizzard, giving the
guard instructions to let no one pass in their absence. Then he
suddenly kneeled.

"Up, Miss Richmond. Up on my back. I 'm 'efty--and we 've got
snowdrifts to buck."

She laughed, looked at Fairchild as though for his consent, then
crawled to the broad back of Harry, sitting on his shoulders like a
child "playing horse."

They started up the mountain side, skirting the big gullies and edging
about the highest drifts, taking advantage of the cover of the pines,
and bending against the force of the blizzard, which seemed to threaten
to blow them back, step for step. No one spoke; instinctively
Fairchild and Anita had guessed Harry's conclusions. The nearest mine
to the Blue Poppy was the Silver Queen, situated several hundred feet
above it in altitude and less than a furlong away. And the metal of
the Silver Queen and the Blue Poppy, now that the strike had been made,
had assayed almost identically the same. It was easy to make
conclusions.

They reached the mouth of the Silver Queen. Harry relieved Anita from
her position on his shoulders, and then reconnoitered a moment before
he gave the signal to proceed. Within the tunnel they went, to follow
along its regular, rising course to the stope where, on that garish day
when Taylor Bill and Blindeye Bozeman had led the enthusiastic parade
through the streets, the vein had shown. It was dark there--no one was
at work. Harry unhooked his carbide from his belt, lit it and looked
around. The stope was deeper now than on the first day, but not enough
to make up for the vast amount of ore which had been taken out of the
mine in the meanwhile. On the floor were tons of the metal, ready for
tramming. Harry looked at them, then at the stope again.

"It ain't coming from 'ere!" he announced. "It's--" then his voice
dropped to a whisper--"what's that?"

Again a rumbling had come from the distance, as of an ore car traveling
over the tram tracks. Harry extinguished his light, and drawing Anita
and Fairchild far to the end of the stope, flattened them and himself
on the ground. A long wait, while the rumbling came closer, still
closer; then, in the distance, a light appeared, shining from a side of
the tunnel. A clanging noise, followed by clattering sounds, as though
of steel rails hitting against each other. Finally the tramming once
more,--and the light approached.

Into view came an ore car, and behind it loomed the great form of
Taylor Bill as he pushed it along. Straight to the pile of ore he
came, unhooked the front of the tram, tripped it and piled the contents
of the car on top of the dump which already rested there. With that,
carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the tram before him.
Harry crept to his feet.

"We 've got to follow!" he whispered. "It's a blind entrance to the
tunnel som'eres."

They rose and trailed the light along the tracks, flattening themselves
against the timbers of the tunnel as the form of Taylor Bill, faintly
outlined in the distance, turned from the regular track, opened a great
door in the side of the tunnel, which, to all appearances, was nothing
more than the ordinary heavy timbering of a weak spot in the rocks,
pulled it far back, then swerved the tram within. Then, he stopped and
raised a portable switch, throwing it into the opening. A second later
the door closed behind him, and the sound of the tram began to fade in
the distance. Harry went forward, creeping along the side of the
tunnel, feeling his way, stopping to listen now and then for the sound
of the fading ore car. Behind him were Fairchild and Anita, following
the same procedure. And all three stopped at once.

The hollow sound was coming directly to them now. Harry once more
brought out his carbide to light it for a moment and to examine the
timbering.

"It's a good job!" he commented. "You could n't tell it five feet off!"

"They 've made a cross-cut!" This time it was Anita's voice, plainly
angry in spite of its whispering tones. "No wonder they had such a
wonderful strike," came scathingly. "That other stope down there--"

"Ain't nothing but a salted proposition," said Harry. "They 've
cemented up the top of it with the real stuff and every once in a while
they blow a lot of it out and cement it up again to make it look like
that's the real vein."

"And they 're working our mine!" Red spots of anger were flashing
before Fairchild's eyes.

"You 've said it! That's why they were so anxious to buy us out. And
that's why they started this two-million-dollar stock proposition, when
they found they could n't do it. They knew if we ever 'it that vein
that it would n't be any time until they 'd be caught on the job.
That's why they 're ready to pull out--with somebody else 's million.
They 're getting at the end of their rope. Another thing; that
explains them working at night."

Anita gritted her teeth.

"I see it now--I can get the reason. They 've been telephoning Denver
and holding conferences and all that sort of thing. And they planned
to leave these two men behind here to take all the blame."

"They'll get enough of it!" added Harry grimly. "They 're miners.
They could see that they were making a straight cross-cut tunnel on to
our vein. They ain't no children, Blindeye and Taylor Bill. And 'ere
's where they start getting their trouble."

He pulled at the door and it yielded grudgingly. The three slipped
past, following along the line of the tram track in the darkness,
Harry's pick handle swinging beside him as they sneaked along. Rods
that seemed miles; at last lights appeared in the distance. Harry
stopped to peer ahead. Then he tossed aside his weapon.

"There 's only two of 'em--Blindeye and Taylor Bill. I could whip 'em
both myself but I 'll take the big 'un. You--" he turned to
Fairchild--"you get Blindeye."

"I 'll get him."

Anita stopped and groped about for a stone.

"I 'll be ready with something in case of accident," came with
determination. "I 've got a quarter of a million in this myself!"

They went on, fifty yards, a hundred. Creeping now, they already were
within the zone of light, but before them the two men, double-jacking
at a "swimmer", had their backs turned. Onward--until Harry and
Fairchild were within ten feet of the "high-jackers", while Anita
waited, stone in hand, in the background. Came a yell, high-pitched,
fiendish, racking, as Harry leaped forward. And before the two
"high-jackers" could concentrate enough to use their sledge and drill
as weapons, they were whirled about, battered against the hanging wall,
and swirling in a daze of blows which seemed to come from everywhere at
once. Wildly Harry yelled as he shot blow after blow into the face of
an ancient enemy. High went Fairchild's voice as he knocked Blindeye
Bozeman staggering for the third time against the hanging wall, only to
see him rise and to knock him down once more. And from the edge of the
zone of light came a feminine voice, almost hysterical with the
excitement of it all, the voice of a girl who, in her tensity, had
dropped the piece of stone she had carried, to stand there, hands
clenched, figure doubled forward, eyes blazing, and crying:

"Hit him again! Hit him again! Hit him again--for me!"

And Fairchild hit, with the force of a sledge hammer. Dizzily the
sandy-haired man swung about in his tracks, sagged, then fell,
unconscious. Fairchild leaped upon him, calling at the same time to
the girl:

"Find me a rope! I 'll truss his hands while he 's knocked out!"

Anita leaped into action, to kneel at Fairchild's side a moment later
with a hempen strand, as he tied the man's hands behind his back.
There was no need to worry about Harry. The yells which were coming
from farther along the stope, the crackling blows, all told that Harry
was getting along exceedingly well. Glancing out of a corner of his
eye, Fairchild saw now that the big Cornishman had Taylor Bill flat on
his back and was putting on the finishing touches. And then suddenly
the exultant yells changed to ones of command.

"Talk English! Talk English, you bloody blighter! 'Ear me, talk
English!"

"What's he mean?" Anita bent close to Fairchild.

"I don't know--I don't think Taylor Bill can talk anything else. Put
your finger on this knot while I tighten it. Thanks."

Again the command had come from farther on:

"Talk English! 'Ear me--I'll knock the bloody 'ell out of you if you
don't. Talk English--like this: 'Throw up your 'ands!' 'Ear me?"

Anita swerved swiftly and went to her feet. Harry looked up at her
wildly, his mustache bristling like the spines of a porcupine.

"Did you 'ear 'im sye it?" he asked. "No? Sye it again!"

"Throw up your 'ands!" came the answer of the beaten man on the ground.
Anita ran forward.

"It's a good deal like it," she answered. "But the tone was higher."

"Raise your tone!" commanded Harry, while Fairchild, finishing his job
of tying his defeated opponent, rose, staring in wonderment. Then the
answer came:

"That's it--that's it. It sounded just like it!"

And Fairchild remembered too,--the English accent of the highwayman on
the night of the Old Times Dance. Harry seemed to bounce on the
prostrate form of his ancient enemy.

"Bill," he shouted, "I 've got you on your back. And I 've got a right
to kill you. 'Onest I 'ave. And I 'll do it too--unless you start
talking. I might as well kill you as not.--It's a penitentiary offense
to 'it a man underground unless there 's a good reason. So I 'm ready
to go the 'ole route. So tell it--tell it and be quick about it. Tell
it--was n't you him?"

"Him--who?" the voice was weak, frightened.

"You know 'oo--the night of the Old Times dance! Didn't you pull that
'old-up?"

There was a long silence. Finally:

"Where's Rodaine?"

"In Center City." It was Anita who spoke. "He 's getting ready to run
away and leave you two to stand the brunt of all this trouble."

Again a silence. And again Harry's voice:

"Tell it. Was n't you the man?"

Once more a long wait. Finally:

"What do I get out of it?"

Fairchild moved to the man's side.

"My promise and my partner's promise that if you tell the whole truth,
we 'll do what we can to get you leniency. And you might as well do
it; there 's little chance of you getting away otherwise. As soon as
we can get to the sheriff's office, we 'll have Rodaine under arrest,
anyway. And I don't think that he 's going to hurt himself to help
you. So tell the truth; weren't you the man who held up the Old Times
dance?"

Taylor Bill's breath traveled slowly past his bruised lips.

"Rodaine gave me a hundred dollars to pull it," came finally.

"And you stole the horse and everything--"

"And cached the stuff by the Blue Poppy, so 's I 'd get the blame?"
Harry wiggled his mustache fiercely. "Tell it or I 'll pound your 'ead
into a jelly!"

"That's about the size of it."

But Fairchild was fishing in his pockets for pencil and paper, finally
to bring them forth.

"Not that we doubt your sincerity, Bill," he said sarcastically, "but I
think things would be a bit easier if you'd just write it out. Let him
up, Harry."

The big Cornishman obeyed grudgingly. But as he did so, he shook a
fist at his bruised, battered enemy.

"It ain't against the law to 'it a man when 'e 's a criminal," came at
last. The thing was weighing on Harry's mind. "I don't care anyway if
it is--"

"Oh, there 's nothing to that," Anita cut in. "I know all about the
law--father has explained it to me lots of times when there 've been
cases before him. In a thing of this kind, you 've got a right to take
any kind of steps necessary. Stop worrying about it."

"Well," and Harry stood watching a moment as Taylor Bill began the
writing of his confession, "it's such a relief to get four charges off
my mind, that I did n't want to worry about any more. Make hit
fulsome, Bill--tell just 'ow you did it!"

And Taylor Bill, bloody, eyes black, lips bruised, obeyed. Fairchild
took the bescrawled paper and wrote his name as a witness, then handed
it to Harry and Anita for their signatures. At last, he placed it in
his pocket and faced the dolorous high-jacker.

"What else do you know, Bill?"

"About what? Rodaine? Nothing---except that we were in cahoots on
this cross-cut. There is n't any use denying it"--there had come to
the surface the inherent honor that is in every metal miner, a
stalwartness that may lie dormant, but that, sooner or later, must
rise. There is something about taking wealth from the earth that is
clean. There is something about it which seems honest in its very
nature, something that builds big men in stature and in ruggedness, and
it builds an honor which fights against any attempt to thwart it.
Taylor Bill was finding that honor now. He seemed to straighten. His
teeth bit at his swollen, bruised lips. He turned and faced the three
persons before him.

"Take me down to the sheriff's office," he commanded. "I 'll tell
everything. I don't know so awful much--because I ain't tried to learn
anything more than I could help. But I 'll give up everything I 've
got."

"And how about him?" Fairchild pointed to Blindeye, just regaining
consciousness. Taylor Bill nodded.

"He 'll tell--he 'll have to."

They trussed the big miner then, and dragging Bozeman to his feet,
started out of the cross-cut with them. Harry's carbide pointing the
way through the blind door and into the main tunnel. Then they halted
to bundle themselves tighter against the cold blast that was coming
from without. On--to the mouth of the mine. Then they stopped--short.

A figure showed in the darkness, on horseback. An electric flashlight
suddenly flared against the gleam of the carbide. An exclamation, an
excited command to the horse, and the rider wheeled, rushing down the
mountain side, urging his mount to dangerous leaps, sending him
plunging through drifts where a misstep might mean death, fleeing for
the main road again. Anita Richmond screamed:

"That's Maurice! I got a glimpse of his face! He 's gotten away--go
after him somebody--go after him!"

But it was useless. The horseman had made the road and was speeding
down it. Rushing ahead of the others, Fairchild gained a point of
vantage where he could watch the fading black smudge of the horse and
rider as it went on and on along the rocky road, finally to reach the
main thoroughfare and turn swiftly. Then he went back to join the
others.

"He 's taken the Center City road!" came his announcement. "Is there a
turn-off on it anywhere?"

"No." Anita gave the answer. "It goes straight through--but he 'll
have a hard time making it there in this blizzard. If we only had
horses!"

"They would n't do us much good now! Climb on my back as you did on
Harry's. You can handle these two men alone?" This to his partner.
The Cornishman grunted.

"Yes. They won't start anything. Why?"

"I 'm going to take Miss Richmond and hurry ahead to the sheriff's
office. He might not believe me. But he 'll take her word--and that
'll be sufficient until you get there with the prisoners. I 've got to
persuade him to telephone to Center City and head off the Rodaines!"

CHAPTER XXIV

He stooped and Anita, laughing at her posture, clambered upon his back,
her arms about his neck, arms which seemed to shut out the biting blast
of the blizzard as he staggered through the high-piled snow and
downward to the road. There he continued to carry her; Fairchild found
himself wishing that he could carry her forever, and that the road to
the sheriff's office were twenty miles away instead of two. But her
voice cut in on his wishes.

"I can walk now."

"But the drifts--"

"We can get along so much faster!" came her plea. "I 'll hold on to
you--and you can help me along."

Fairchild released her and she seized his arm. For a quarter of a mile
they hurried along, skirting the places where the snow had collected in
breast-high drifts, now and then being forced nearly down to the bank
of the stream to avoid the mountainous piles of fleecy white. Once, as
they floundered through a knee-high mass, Fairchild's arm went quickly
about her waist and he lifted her against him as he literally carried
her through. When they reached the other side, the arm still held its
place,--and she did not resist. Fairchild wanted to whistle, or sing,
or shout. But breath was too valuable--and besides, what little
remained had momentarily been taken from him. A small hand had found
his, where it encircled her. It had rested there, calm and warm and
enthralling, and it told Fairchild more than all the words in the world
could have told just then--that she realized that his arm was about
her--and that she wanted it there. Some way, after that, the stretch
of road faded swiftly. Almost before he realized it, they were at the
outskirts of the city.

Grudgingly he gave up his hold upon her, as they hurried for the
sidewalks and for the sheriff's office. There Fairchild did not
attempt to talk--he left it all to Anita, and Bardwell, the sheriff,
listened. Taylor Bill had confessed to the robbery at the Old Times
dance and to his attempt to so arrange the evidence that the blame
would fall on Harry. Taylor Bill and Blindeye Bozeman had been caught
at work in a cross-cut tunnel which led to the property of the Blue
Poppy mine, and one of them, at least, had admitted that the sole
output of the Silver Queen had come from this thieving encroachment.
Then Anita completed the recital,--of the plans of the Rodaines to
leave and of their departure for Center City. At last, Fairchild
spoke, and he told the happenings which he had encountered in the
ramshackle house occupied by Crazy Laura. It was sufficient. The
sheriff reached for the telephone.

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