Once more Derrick found his mother anxiously awaiting his return. He told her that the mine boss had been very kind to him, and that as he was not going to work the next day she need not waken him in the morning. Then he threw himself, all dressed as he was, upon his bed, and while trying to relate to her some of the events of his first day in the mine, fell into a profound sleep.

Meantime other events, equally thrilling with those just related, were taking place in the mine.

Bill Tooley's brutal disposition was mainly the result of his home training and influences, for he could not remember having had a single gentle or kind word spoken to him in all his stormy life. In spite of it he was troubled with some prickings of conscience, and a sort of pity that evening, as he reflected upon the unhappy condition of the lad whom he had left to wander alone amid the awful blackness of the abandoned gangway. He had not intended to do anything so cruel as this when he first left Derrick where he did. He thought the boy would certainly cry out for help, and after allowing him to suffer thus for a short time he meant to go to him and offer to release him upon condition of his joining the Young Sleepers. This plan had been upset by Derrick's disappearance, and then it was more to assert his authority over his companions than with the idea of inflicting further cruelty upon their victim that he had ordered him to be left for a while. Now he began to feel anxious concerning the fate of the lad, and eager to effect his release.

Feeling thus, as soon as he had finished an uncomfortable supper in his wretched home, filled with quarrelling children, and ruled by a slatternly, shrill-voiced mother, he hurried out to try and induce some of his companions to accompany him down into the mine in a search for Derrick. He had some difficulty in doing this, for the other boys were badly frightened by what had taken place, and dreaded to return into the mine. It was more than an hour after he started out before he had persuaded four of the boldest among them to join him in the proposed search.

As this little party gathered at the mouth of the slope, and prepared to descend in a car that was about to start down with some timbers for props, a timid voice said,

"Can't I go too, Bill? Please let me! I know you are going to look for Derrick. Please, Bill!"

It was Paul Evert, who, with an undefined feeling of dread and fear for the safety of his friend, had hung on the outskirts of various groups of boys in the village street until from their conversations he had learned the whole story. With senses sharpened by anxiety and love, he had discovered that Bill Tooley and his companions were going in search of the missing lad. Now, with his father's mine cap bearing its tiny lamp on his head, he begged to be allowed to go with them.

Bill hesitated for a moment, and then, for fear lest if he refused Paul would spread the story of what he had discovered, or perhaps, moved by some better feeling, he said, "Yes, pile in if yer want to, dough I don't see what good you can do."

Overjoyed to receive this permission, Paul hastily scrambled into the car just as it began to move, and in a few minutes was landed with the rest at the foot of the slope.

Some time before this Derrick had emerged from the old gangway, and turned into the travelling-road, up which he was now laboriously making his way.

There did not happen to be an overseer at the bottom of the slope just then, and to the one or two men who observed them the presence of boys in the mine at all hours of the day and night was too common to attract comment; so the little party had no difficulty in entering the old gangway without being noticed or questioned.

For some reason which he could not explain Paul had brought with him a new clothes-line, which he now carried, coiled and hung about his neck. Bill Tooley took the lead, and Paul, with the aid of his crutch, hobbled along close after him, while the others walked fearfully in a bunch at some little distance behind.

They had not gone far when Bill stopped and picked up a piece of cloth from the ground.

"Here's what was over his eyes," he said, "an' as it's a bit furder dan where we left 'im, it shows he's gone furder in."

The boys gazed at the cloth in awe-struck silence, as though it were something to be dreaded; and, when Bill called out, "Come on, fellers, yer won't never find nothing a-standin' dere like a lot o' balky mules," they followed him even more reluctantly than before.

Lighted by their lamps, they made far more rapid progress than poor Derrick had in the darkness, and soon approached the place where he had discovered the dim, reflected light above the mouth of the old air-shaft. Just here the oil in their leader's lamp began to give out, and its flame to burn with a waning and uncertain light.

All at once a strong draught of air extinguished it entirely. He took a step forward in the darkness towards a log which he had barely seen, and thought might be Derrick Sterling lying down. Then came a terrible cry, and Paul's light showed nothing in front of him save the yawning mouth of the shaft down which Bill Tooley had pitched headlong!



CHAPTER VII

A CRIPPLE'S BRAVE DEED

As Bill Tooley thus met the fate Derrick had so narrowly escaped, and the Young Sleepers who followed him were left without a leader, they were thrown into a sad state of confusion. Two of them started to run back, another threw himself on the floor and burst into loud lamentations, while the fourth stood motionless and silent from fear. Of them all, only Paul Evert, the crippled lad, retained his presence of mind.

As upon all such occasions he who retains full command of his faculties and remains calm at once assumes the position of a leader, so it was now.

In a voice that sounded loud and stern as compared with his ordinary gentle tone, Paul commanded the runaways to stop and return at once. They hesitated a moment and then obeyed him. He ordered the boy who lay upon the floor to cease his outcries and get up. Then the little fellow approached as close to the air-shaft as he dared, and lying down, with his head beyond its edge, he listened. In a moment he was rewarded for his pains, for he heard a faint moan. There came another more distinctly, and he knew that wherever Bill Tooley was he was still alive, and might possibly be saved.

Taking the lamp from his cap, and the coil of line from about his neck, where it seemed to have been placed for this very emergency, he tied the one to an end of the other and gently lowered it into the shaft. Before doing this he ordered two of the boys to hold him tightly by the legs, and thus prevent him from slipping over the edge. Quieted, and with some of their courage restored by his coolness, they did as he directed, and held him with so firm a grip that for many days afterwards his legs bore black and blue imprints of their fingers.

As the little lamp swung downward the draught of air caused it to flare and flicker as though it were about to be extinguished, but it was nearly full of oil, and the wick had just been pricked up, so it continued to burn and throw an uncertain light upon the glistening masses of coal that formed the sides of the shaft. It had not been lowered more than ten feet when its feeble rays disclosed a dark object, apparently suspended in mid-air, in the centre of the shaft. It was Bill Tooley, and Paul saw that by some means his downward plunge had been arrested, and that he was now clinging to an invisible support.

Hastily pulling up the lamp, Paul replaced it on his cap, and doubling his line, made one end of it fast to an old timber prop or support of the gangway roof that stood a short distance from the shaft. Knotting the loose end about his body, and bidding the boys place one of the old logs close to the edge of the shaft and hold it there to prevent the rope from being chafed or cut, the brave little hump-backed lad, who, like most of those in his condition, was unusually strong in his arms, swung himself into the dark hole. Down he slid into the blackness, slowly and cautiously, until he came to the object of his search. It was Bill Tooley's limp body hanging across a stout timber brace, which, extending from side to side of the shaft and firmly bedded in its walls at each end, had been left there by the miners who cut this air-channel.

As Paul's withered leg was of no assistance to him in clinging to the timber, he lashed himself securely to it before attempting to do anything for the boy who had so recently been his enemy and tormentor, and was now dependent upon his efforts for even a chance for life. Bill was not unconscious, though so weak from pain and fright as to be nearly helpless. Under the influence of Paul's cheering words, and after the line had been securely fastened about his body, he was induced to let go his desperate hold of the timber and grasp the rope. Then Paul called out to the boys above to pull up very slowly and carefully, as the least carelessness might result in dashing both Bill and him to the bottom of the shaft.

Bill Tooley was a heavy weight for the frightened boys at the top to manage, and several times, even in the short distance of ten feet, his upward progress was arrested, and Paul feared that they were about to let him slip back. Obeying his instructions, two of the boys walked away with the rope, instead of trying to pull up hand-over-hand, while the other two held the log at the edge in place, and made ready to catch hold of Bill's arm as soon as he should come within reach.

Finally his head appeared above the surface, and he was dragged, screaming with pain, over the edge, and laid groaning on the floor of the gangway. Then the rope was again lowered to the brave little fellow who was clinging in perfect darkness—for his light had at length blown out—to the timber brace in the shaft. He was drawn to the surface much more quickly and easily than Bill Tooley had been; but when he found himself once more in safety, a reaction from the nervous strain of the past half-hour set in. Throwing himself down beside Bill, he began to sob so violently as to greatly astonish the boys, who beheld but could not comprehend this weakness in one whose strong will had but a minute before so completely mastered theirs.

In a few moments Paul recovered his composure sufficiently to ask two of the boys to go to the chamber at the foot of the slope and procure assistance to carry Bill Tooley, who was evidently unable to walk. After a long delay these two returned, in company with several miners, who brought a stretcher such as is often kept in coal mines in readiness for the accidents that are so common to them.

From what the messenger boys had told them, these men knew most of the facts connected with the accident. They were so loud in their praise of Paul for his brave deed that he became greatly confused, though it must be confessed that praise from these great strong men, any one of whom would be proud to have done what he had, sounded very pleasantly to the crippled lad. In order to have a little time to think it all over, he hobbled on ahead of the others, who moved but slowly with their burden.

When he was thus alone with his thoughts, Paul suddenly remembered the object for which he had entered the mine. It had been completely lost sight of in the excitement of the past hour, but now he realized that they had discovered nothing concerning Derrick's fate. He grew faint and cold at the remembrance of the air-shaft. Did his dear friend's body lie at the bottom of it? He trembled as he thought how very possibly this might be the case, and waiting for the men to overtake him, he asked if they knew anything of Derrick Sterling.

"Yes," answered one of them, "I saw him come out of his mother's house as I was passing on my way to the slope, more'n half an hour ago."

"Are you sure?" asked Paul, in great surprise.

"Certainly I am. Why not? was there anything strange in that?"

"Yes, we thought he was lost in the mine, and have been hunting for him."

"Well, you were mistaken, that's all, and you've had your hunt for nothing."

Paul was made very happy by this news, though it greatly puzzled him. The other boys were relieved to hear that Derrick was safe, but greatly alarmed as to what fate was in store for them as a punishment for the injuries they had inflicted upon him. Judging from what they would have done under similar circumstances, they did not doubt that Derrick had already spread the story of his wrongs through the village, together with the names of all those who had persecuted him.

At length the party reached the foot of the slope, and Bill Tooley, with his head resting in Paul Evert's lap, and moaning with pain, was sent in an empty car to the surface. The bully had made himself so unpopular by his cruelty, and by his overbearing ways, that nobody except Paul felt very sorry for him. When it was learned that he had received his injuries in consequence of his persecution of Derrick Sterling, the general verdict was that he was rightly served.

The injured boy was carried to his home, whither Paul accompanied him; but the latter was so frightened by the outcries of Mrs. Tooley when she learned what had happened that he hurried away without entering the house. On his way home he stopped at the Sterlings' to inquire if Derrick were really safe, and was much comforted to learn that he had just come in and gone to bed—"Where you should be yourself, Paul," said Mrs. Sterling, kindly, as she bade him good-night.

As the tired but light-hearted boy hobbled into his own home, his father, who had sat up waiting for him, without knowing where he had been, roughly ordered him to bed, saying it was no time of night for lads like him to be prowling about the street.

The sensitive little fellow went up-stairs without a word, all his light-heartedness dispelled by this harsh reception, and the tears starting to his eyes. His back ached so from his unwonted exertions that even after he got to bed he tossed and tumbled feverishly for several hours before falling into a troubled sleep.

Tom Evert left his house earlier than usual the next morning, and went to the mouth of the slope, where he found a number of his friends assembled. They began to congratulate him, and continued to do so until in great bewilderment he exclaimed,

"What's it for, mates? Is it a joke?"

"For thy son, man."

"For my son? which of 'em?"

"Thy crippled lad, Paul, of course. Is the man daft?"

"No; but I think ye must be, to be running on in such a fashion about a lad that's not only a wellnigh helpless cripple, but I'm afeared is going bad ways. 'Twas nearer midnight nor sundown before he came in frae t' street last night, and I sent him to bed wi' a flea in his ear."

A perfect roar of laughter greeted this speech.

"Wellnigh helpless, is he?" cried one. "Well, if he's helpless I'd like to know what you'd name helpful?"

"Going to the bad, is he?"

"Out late o' nights! That's a good one."

"An' yez sint him to bed wid a flea in his ear, an' him just afther doin' the dade should mak' ye the proudest fayther in de place! Did iver I moind de likes of that?"

These and many similar expressions greeted the ear of the astonished miner, and from them he began to comprehend that his son Paul had done something wonderful, and had thereby become a famous character in the village. At length, after much effort, for they would not believe but that he knew the whole story, he learned of his boy's brave deed of the night before. Instead of going down the slope the miner hurried home, where he found Paul, looking very pale and languid, just sitting down to his breakfast.

Picking up the frail boy, and holding him in his strong arms as he used to when he was a baby, the delighted father exclaimed,

"Paul, lad, forgie me this time, and I'll never speak thee rough again. Thee's made me, I think, the proudest man in the state this day. Crippled and all, thee's proved thyself worth a score of straight lads, and to thy fayther thee's worth all the lads in the world. Mither, our Paul's done that any man in t' mine might be proud of, an' he's the talk of the colliery."

Thus was Paul more than repaid for all his suffering of the night before, and as he hobbled to his work in the new breaker that morning he was once more happy and light-hearted.

The evening before, Job Taskar had called Monk Tooley from his house, and as they walked away together he said, in a low but significant tone,

"That Sterling lad's not down in the mine, Monk."

"He must be dere, fer de Sleepers left him where he'd be safe, an' I know he's not come up de slope since."

"He's not there, I tell you; for I just now saw him going into Jones's house, and heard him say he had something important to tell him."

"If yer saw him and heerd him of course he must be up; but I don't see how he did it. If he's told de boss anything it must be a blab on de Sleepers, fer he can't know anything else."

"Whatever it is, he's dangerous to have round, and we must look out for him."

"All right! just leave him to me. I'll have de Sleepers fix him. Dey'll do anything my boy Bill tells 'em; he's got 'em under his thumb."

"Look sharp about it, then."

"Ay, ay, mate, I'll give Bill de word to-night soon as he comes in."

Then the two separated, and Monk Tooley went home, thinking over a plan by which the Young Sleepers, under his son Bill's direction, could effectually drive Derrick Sterling from the mine. As he opened his own door he called out in his loud, rough voice,

"Bill come in yet?"

Stepping into the front room, he stood still in amazement. The wife of a neighbor was holding up a warning finger towards him, and saying, "Sh—h!"

His own wife and two other women were bending over a bed in one corner, and the children, whom he had never before known to be quiet when awake, were standing or sitting silently in various frightened attitudes about the room.

"Who is it?" he asked, hoarsely, with an attempt at a whisper.

"It's Bill," answered one of the women. "He's badly hurted, falling down a shaft in the mine, and is like to die. They say Paul the cripple saved him."

"Bill! my Bill! You're lying!" cried the miner, fiercely. "Bill came out of de mine wid de day shift. I seen him."

Rough and cruel as he was, the man had, hidden somewhere in his being, a deep-seated affection for his son Bill. Although he had never been heard to speak other than harshly to him, Bill was the pride and joy of his hard life. A blow aimed at Bill struck him with redoubled force. His hatred of Derrick Sterling arose from the fact that the lad had thrashed his boy. Now to tell him that his boy Bill was so badly hurt that he was likely to die was like wrenching from him all that he held worth living for.

The women made way for the rough miner as he strode to where his son lay on a heap of soiled bedclothing, tossing and moaning, but unconscious, and in a high fever. One look was enough, and then Monk Tooley left the house, and set forth on a ten-mile walk through the night to fetch the nearest doctor.

By sunrise the doctor had come and gone again, having done what he could. He said the boy would live if he were kept quiet and had careful nursing, but that he was injured in such a way that he might be lame for the rest of his life.

When Monk Tooley went down into the mine that day—for he must now work harder and more steadily than ever to support this added burden—he was a silent, heart-broken man.

It was nearly noon before Derrick Sterling awoke after his first day of bitter experience in the mine. Though he was still sore and lame, hot water and sleep, two of nature's most powerful remedies in cases of his kind, had worked such wonders for him that he felt quite ready to enter the mine again, and face whatever new trials it might have in store for him.

After dinner the mine boss came to see him, and was amazed to find him looking so well and cheerful.

"You seem to come up smiling after every knock down, Derrick," he said. "I shouldn't wonder if you would even be ready to go down into the mine again to-morrow."

"Indeed I think I must, sir," said Derrick, earnestly. "I don't believe any one else can get along with Harry Mule as well as I can."

"Let me see. How many years have you been driving him?" asked Mr. Jones, gravely.

"Only one day, sir," replied Derrick laughing, "but I think he's very fond of me, and I know I am of him."

"All right; if you insist upon it, you shall go down again to-morrow to your bumping-mule. Now I want to talk to you seriously."

The conversation that followed was long and earnest, and it was ended by Mr. Jones saying, just before he left, "I must manage somehow or other to be there on the 27th, and I want you to go with me, for I don't know anybody else whom I dare trust. It only remains for us to discover a way."



CHAPTER VIII

DERRICK STERLING'S SPLENDID REVENGE

The new breaker, in which Paul Evert now worked as a slate-picker, was in general appearance very much like the old one, but its interior arrangement was different, and of such a nature as to make life much easier for those who worked in it. The greatest improvement was the introduction of a set of machines called "jigs." The coal from the mine, after being drawn to the very top of the breaker, first passed between great spiked rollers, or "crushers;" then through a series of "screens," provided with holes of different sizes, that separated it into several grades of egg, stove, nut, pea, buckwheat, etc. From the screens it was led into the jigs. These are perforated iron cylinders set in tubs of water, and fitted with movable iron bottoms placed at a slight angle. A small steam-engine attached to each machine raises and lowers or "jigs" this iron bottom a few inches each way very rapidly. The contents of the cylinders are thus constantly shaken in water, and as the slate is heavier than the coal, most of it settles to the bottom, and is carried off through a waste chute. The wet coal runs out through other chutes placed a little higher than that for slate, and extending down through the length of the breaker to the storage bins at its bottom. Along these chutes in the new breaker, as in the old one, sat rows of boys picking out the bits of slate that had escaped the jigs, and among them was Paul Evert.

When Derrick Sterling entered the new breaker on the afternoon of the day following that which had brought such memorable adventures, he was surprised at the comparative absence of coal-dust. It still rose in clouds from the crushers and screens, but there was none above the chutes. He understood the theory of jigs, but had never seen them at work, and now he was so greatly interested in watching them as almost to forget the errand on which he had come. It was only when Mr. Guffy spoke to him that he thought of it, and handed the breaker boss the note he had come to give him.

"All right," said the boss reading it. "I'm sorry to lose him, for he is a quiet, steady lad, and, could in time be made very useful as a picker. I doubt, though, if his back would hold out long at the work. Yes, you may take him along now if you want to."

Stepping over to where his friend sat, Derrick said, "Come, Paul, you're not to work any more to-day; I want to have a talk with you outside."

When they had left the breaker, Derrick said, "How would you like to go down into the mine, Paul, and be a door-tender, very near where I work, and get twice as much money as you can make in the breaker?"

"Of course I should like it," answered Paul, gravely; "but I don't think they want a cripple like me down there."

"Yes, they do want just exactly such a fellow as you are; they found out last night what you could do in a mine. Mr. Jones says that if you want to you can go down with me to-morrow morning, and begin at once without waiting for the end of the month. You are to go with me to the store this evening for your mine cap, lamp, and boots. See, here's the order for them."

Paul stared at the order for a moment as though he could not believe it was real. Then exclaiming, "Oh goody, Derrick! I'm so glad to get out of that hateful, back-aching breaker," he gave a funny little twirl of his body around his crutch, which was his way of expressing great joy.

Derrick shared this joy equally with Paul, and to see them one would have supposed they had just come into fortunes at least. To a stranger such rejoicings over an offer of monotonous work down in the blackness of a coal mine would have seemed absurd, but if he had ever been a breaker boy he could have fully sympathized with them.

The two boys were standing beside the check-board, near the mouth of the slope, and after their rejoicings had somewhat subsided Derrick said, "Let's see who's sent up the most to-day."

The check-board was something like the small black-board that hangs behind the teacher's desk in a school-room. It was provided with several rows of pegs, on which hung a number of wooden tags. Each of these tags, or checks, had cut into it the initials or private mark of the miner to whom it belonged. When a miner working in the underground breasts or chambers filled a car with coal and started it on its way to the slope, he hung on it one of his checks. When the same car reached the top of the slope the "check boss" stationed there took the check from it and hung it in its proper place on the check-board. At the end of working-hours the number of checks thus hung up for each miner was counted, and the same number of car-loads of coal credited to him.

Acting on Derrick's suggestion, the boys turned to the check-board, and quickly saw that there were more checks marked M. T. than anything else.

"Why, Monk Tooley has got the most by three loads!" exclaimed Derrick, counting them.

"He must have worked all through lunch-hour, and like a mule at that. I wonder what's got into him?"

"Perhaps he's trying to make up for what Bill won't earn now," suggested Paul, quietly.

"That's so," said Derrick. "I never thought of that, Polly; and I haven't thanked you yet for going down into the mine to look for me last night, or told you what a splendid fellow I think you are."

"Please don't, Derrick," interrupted Paul, with a troubled expression; "you mustn't thank me for anything I tried to do for you. Don't I owe you more than anything I can ever do will pay for? Didn't you bring me out of the burning breaker? and don't I love you more than most anybody on earth?"

"Well, you're a plucky fellow anyway," said Derrick, "and I'd rather have you down in the mine if there was any trouble than half of the men who are there. Let's stop and see how Bill Tooley's getting along on our way home."

"All right," assented Paul; "only if his mother's there I shall be almost afraid to go in."

As the boys walked away from the vicinity of the check-board, a man who had come up the slope but a few minutes before, and had been watching them unobserved, stepped up to it. He was Job Taskar the blacksmith, known to the men who met in the chamber at the bottom of the air-shaft, in the old workings, as Body-master of Raven Brook. The check boss had asked him to stop there a minute, and look out for any cars that might come up, while he stepped inside the breaker.

Casting a hurried glance around to see that no one was looking, Job Taskar slipped three of Monk Tooley's checks from their peg, thrust them into his pocket, altered the chalked figure above the peg, and resumed his place.

When Derrick and Paul reached the Tooleys' house it seemed to them even more noisy than usual. Several women sat gossiping with Mrs. Tooley in the door-way, while a dozen children and several dogs ran screaming or barking and quarrelling in and out of the room where the sick boy lay.

They asked his mother how he was, and what the doctor had said of his condition.

"Ye can go in and see for yourselves how he is," was the reply, "there's naught to hinder. Doctor said he was to be kept perfectly quiet and have nussin', but how he's going to get either with them brats rampaging and howling, and me the only one to look after them, is more than I know."

Accepting this invitation, the boys stepped inside, and picking their way among the children and dogs to the untidy bed on which Bill lay, spoke to him and asked him if there was anything they could do for him.

He was conscious, though very weak and in great pain, and on opening his eyes he whispered, "Water."

For more than an hour he had longed for it, until his parched tongue was ready to cleave to the roof of his mouth, but nobody had come near him, and he could not make himself heard above the noise of the children.

Taking the tin dipper that lay on a chair beside the bed Derrick went out to the hydrant to fill it with the cool mountain water that flowed there.

Paul drew a tattered window-shade so that the hot western sun should not shine full in the sick boy's face, loosened his shirt at the neck, smoothed back the matted hair from his forehead, and with a threatening shake of his crutch, drove a howling dog and several screaming children from the room.

These little attentions soothed the sufferer, and he looked up gratefully and wonderingly at Paul. When Derrick returned with the water he lifted his head, and stretched out his hand eagerly for it. At that moment Mrs. Tooley came bustling to the bedside to see what the boys were doing. Catching sight of the dipper she snatched it from Derrick's hand, crying out that it would kill the boy to give him cold water, "and him ragin' wid a fever." This so frightened the boys that they hurriedly took their departure, and poor Bill cast such a wistful, despairing glance after them as they left the house that their hearts were filled with pity for him.

At the supper-table that evening Derrick asked:

"Does it hurt people who have a fever to give them water, mother?"

"No, dear; I do not think it does. My experience teaches me to give feverish patients all the cooling drinks they want."

Then Derrick told her what he had seen and learned of Bill Tooley's condition that afternoon. He so excited her pity by his description of the dirt, noise, and neglect from which the sick lad was suffering that she finally exclaimed, "Poor fellow! I wish we had room to take care of him here!"

"Do you, mother, really? I wanted to ask you, but was almost afraid to, if he couldn't come here and have my room till he gets well. You see he's always treated Polly worse than he has me, and yet Polly risked his life for him. It isn't anywhere near so much to do as that, of course; but I'd like to give up my room to him, and nurse him when I was home, if you could look after him a little when I wasn't. I can sleep on the floor close to the bed, and be ready to wait on him nights. You know I always liked the floor better than a bed, anyway, and I believe he'll die if he stays where he is."

They knew each other so well, this mother and son, that a question of this kind was easily settled between them. Though both fully realized what a task they were undertaking, it was decided that if his parents would consent Bill Tooley should be brought to their house to be nursed.

When Monk Tooley came up from the mine that evening and examined the check-board to see how the numbers to his credit compared with the tally he had kept, he became very angry, and accused the check boss of cheating him. The latter said he knew nothing about it. There were the checks to speak for themselves. He had hung each one on the peg as it came up.

"Den dey've been stolen!" exclaimed the angry man, "an' if I catch him as done it, I'll make him smart for it, dat's all."

The check boss tried to show him how perfectly useless it would be for anybody to steal another's checks. "You know yourself it wouldn't do him any good, Tooley," he said. "He couldn't claim anything on 'em, or make any kind of a raise on 'em; besides I've been right here every minute of the day, barrin' a couple when I ran inside the breaker on an errand. Then I left Job Taskar, as honest a man as there is in the colliery, to keep watch, and he said nothing passed while I was gone."

"Well," answered Monk Tooley, "I'm cheated outer three loads, and you know what dat is ter a man what's worked overtime ter make 'em, an' has sickness and doctor's bills at home. But I'll catch de thief yet, an' when I do he'll wish he'd never know'd what a check was."

As he was walking down the street after supper, smoking a pipe and thinking of his sick boy, who seemed to have grown worse since morning, and of his lost checks, Monk Tooley was accosted by Derrick Sterling, who said,

"Good-evening, Mr. Tooley. How's Bill this evening?"

"None de better fer your askin'," was the surly answer, for the man felt very bitter against Derrick, to whom he attributed all his son's trouble.

"I'm sorry to hear that he isn't any better," continued the boy, determined not to be easily rebuffed.

"Well, I'm glad yer sorry, an' wish yer was sorrier."

This did not seem to promise a very pleasant conversation, but Derrick persevered, saying,

"It must be very hard for Mrs. Tooley to keep so many children quiet, and I believe the doctor said Bill must not be troubled by noise, didn't he?"

"Yes, an' if ye'd muzzle yer own mouth de whole place would be quieter."

"My mother wanted me to say to you that if you'd like to send Bill over to our house for a few days, it's so quiet over there that she thought it would do him good, and she'd be very glad to have him," said Derrick, plunging boldly into the business he had undertaken to manage.

"Tell yer mother ter mind her own brats an' leave me ter mind mine, den de road'll be wide enough for de both of us," was the ungracious answer made by the surly miner to this offer, as he turned away and left Derrick standing angry and mortified behind him.

"That comes of trying to do unto others as you would have others do unto you," he muttered to himself. "Seems to me the best way is to do unto others as they do unto you, and then nobody can complain. I declare if I had as ugly a temper as that man has I'd go and drown myself. I don't believe he's got one spark of human feeling in him."

Monk Tooley was not quite so bad as Derrick thought him, but just at that time everything seemed to go wrong with him, and he was like some savage animal suffering from a pain for which it can find no relief. He began to repent of his ugliness to Derrick almost as soon as the latter had left him, saying to himself, "Maybe de lad meant kindly arter all."

Going back to his untidy, noisy home, he entered the house, and standing by his son's bedside gazed curiously at him. The boy was evidently growing worse each minute, as even the unpractised eye of the miner could see. He was tossing in a high fever, calling constantly for the water which in her ignorance his mother would not give him, nor did he appear to recognize any of those who stood near.

"I fear me his time's come," said one of the neighbor women, several of whom, attracted by curiosity, came and went in and out of the house.

Although the remark was not intended for his ears, Monk Tooley heard it, and apparently it brought him to a sudden determination. Without a word he left the house and walked directly to that of the Sterlings. Entering the open door-way without the ceremony of knocking, which was little practised in that colliery village, he found the family gathered in their tiny sitting-room, Derrick poring intently over a plan of the old workings of the mine, Helen reading, and their mother sewing.

Bowing awkwardly to Mrs. Sterling, he said, "Derrick tells me, missus, dat you're willin' to take my poor lad in and nuss him a bit. His own mither has no knowledge of de trade, an' he's just dyin' over yon. If yer mean it, and will do fer him, yer'll never want for a man to lift a hand fer you and yours as long as Monk Tooley is widin call."

"I do mean it, Mr. Tooley, and if you can only get him here, I'll gladly do what I can for him," said Mrs. Sterling.

"I'll bring him, mum, I'll go fer him now;" and Monk Tooley, with another awkward pull at the brim of his hat, left the house.

In five minutes he was back, accompanied by another miner, and between them they bore a mattress on which lay the sick boy.

He was undressed, bathed, and placed in Derrick's cool, clean bed. Within an hour cooling drinks and outward applications had so reduced the fever and quieted him that he had fallen into a deep sleep.

Within the same time all the village knew, and wondered over the knowledge, that Monk Tooley's sick lad was being cared for in the house of the widow Sterling.



CHAPTER IX

SOCRATES, THE WISE MINE RAT

When Derrick and Paul found themselves descending the slope, together with a carful of miners, the next morning, it seemed to them a long time since they had traversed its black depths. So accustomed do the toilers of the colliery become to exciting incidents that elsewhere would furnish subject for weeks of thought and conversation, that often a single day suffices to divert their attention to something new. So it was with our two boys, in whose minds their recent adventures were already shorn of their terrors, and only thought of as something unpleasant, to be forgotten as quickly as possible. Therefore they did not speak of them as they talked together in low tones, but only of the present and the future.

"I think it's awful good of you and your mother to take Bill Tooley into your own house and nurse him," said Paul.

"Oh no," laughed Derrick, "it isn't so very good. Revenge is what we are after, and that is one way of getting it."

Hearing Bill Tooley's name mentioned between the boys, one of the miners who rode in the car with them had leaned forward to learn what they were saying. At Derrick's last remark this man started back and gazed at him curiously.

"He's got the very stuff in him to make a Mollie of," he thought. "To think he's so sly. He's got the fellow he hates into his own house, pretending that he wants to nurse him, and now he's going to take out his revenge on him. Perhaps he's going to poison him, or fix pins in the bed so they'll stick him. Anyway, I'll have to give Monk the hint of what he's up to." Then, admiringly, and half aloud, he muttered, still looking at Derrick, "The young villain!"

From the foot of the slope Derrick set off for the stable to get Harry Mule, while Paul waited for the making up of a train of empty cars, in which he was to ride to the junction near the blacksmith's shop. There Derrick was to meet him, take him to his post of duty, and tell him about opening and closing the door, and tending the switch of which he was to have charge.

In spite of the fact that he and Derrick had been friends but a single day, Harry Mule appeared to recognize his young driver, and gave him a cordial greeting as he entered the stable. At least he threw up his head and uttered a tremendous bray, which went "Haw! he-haw, he-haw, he-haw!" and sounded so absurdly like a laugh that Derrick laughed from sympathy until the tears ran down his cheeks. The mule gazed at him with a look of wonder in his big eyes, and stood so meek and quiet while his harness was being put on that Derrick thought perhaps his feelings had been hurt. To soothe them he talked to him, and told him that Paul had come down into the mine to work.

As they left the stable, and Derrick stopped to fasten the door, Harry started in the opposite direction from that in which he should have gone, and ran down the gangway, kicking up his heels and braying, as though he were a frisky young colt in a pasture instead of an old bumping-mule down in a coal-mine. Derrick ran after him, and for some time could see the reflection of the collar-lamp, which was swung violently to and fro by the animal's rapid motion. The disappearance of this light in the distance was followed by an angry shouting and a muffled crash.

Derrick was provoked that his mule should have made all this trouble, and was anxious to discover the full extent of the mischief done, but he could not help laughing when he reached the scene of confusion. The first object he saw was Harry himself, standing still and gazing demurely at him with the wondering look which was his most common expression. He was hitched in front of a string of mules which were attached to a train of empty cars, and was evidently prepared to act as their leader. The boy driver of these mules, with many muttered exclamations, was trying to disentangle their harness from the snarl it had got into, and in one of the cars stood Paul Evert, looking somewhat dilapidated and greatly disgusted.

"Hullo, Derrick!" he called out. "Where did that mule come from?"

"Why, that's Harry, my bumping-mule," answered Derrick as he came up laughing.

"Bumping-mule! I should think he was," said Paul. "He made these cars stop so quick that I was almost bumped out of 'em, and the skin's all knocked off my nose. I don't see what he wanted to come bumping along this way for."

"Why, I told him you were coming," said Derrick, "and I suppose he wanted to welcome you to the mine."

"Well, I'm sorry you told him, and—"

Just then the driver shouted "Gee up!" and Harry Mule, anxious to do his duty in his new position, started ahead so briskly as to pull the other three mules promptly into line and give a violent jerk to the cars. Losing his balance with this unexpected motion, Paul sat suddenly down in the bottom of the car he was in, and there he wisely decided to remain.

When they reached the junction, Derrick asked Paul to wait for him until he and Harry Mule had distributed the empty cars to their several destinations. Attracted by its cheerful light, Paul stepped inside the blacksmith's shop, where Job Taskar, who was hammering away as busily as usual, glanced up as he entered, but paid no further attention to him. A minute later the smith, who had just begun his day's work, and still wore his coat, pulled it off and flung it to one side. Something dropped from one of its pockets unnoticed by him as he did so, and Paul was on the point of calling his attention to it. He did not, however, because the smith's helper, a slim, dreary-looking young man, to whom nobody ever paid much attention, also noticed the falling object, and picked it up without being seen by Job. Gazing at it curiously for a moment, he restored it, as Paul thought, to the pocket from which it had fallen. In reality, he slipped it into a pocket of his own coat which lay under that of his boss.

Derrick now came back, and with him Paul went to the door that he was to tend. Just inside of it, on a platform laid above the ditch of black, rapidly flowing water, stood a rude arm-chair made out of rough boards. Above it hung a board full of holes into which several pegs were thrust. Derrick told Paul that with these pegs he must keep tally of the number of loaded cars that passed this station, and that he must always be ready to answer promptly the call of "Door." Within reach from the chair was a lever by means of which the switch was moved. Paul was told that after each door call there would come another explaining on which track the approaching cars were to go, and that he must listen carefully for it and set the switch accordingly. After showing him the large oil-can from which he might refill his lamp, Derrick bade him good-by and returned to his own work.

This morning passed much more pleasantly to the young mule-driver than the first one had. Not only did Tom Evert greet him cordially, and thank him for what he had done for Paul, but Monk Tooley gave him a gruff "Mornin', lad," and most of the other men spoke pleasantly to him, as though to atone in a measure for his previous suffering. Above all, he occasionally had to pass Paul's station, and the mere sight of his faithful friend leaning on his crutch and holding open the door was a source of joy.

As Paul had much spare time on his hands, he occupied it in becoming acquainted with his surroundings, and was especially interested in the curious markings on the black slate walls of the gangway near his door. Many of these were in the form of exquisite ferns, others of curious leaves such as he had never seen, quaint patterns like the scales and bones of queer fishes, or the ripplings of water on a smooth beach. In one place he found tiny tracks, as though a small bird had run quickly across it, and had stamped the imprint of its feet on the hard surface.

It was Paul's first lesson in geology, and it gave him his first idea that this hard slate, and the veins of coal enclosed between its solid walls, might have had a previous existence in another form. He pondered upon the length of time that must have passed since those ferns grew, and since that running bird made those footprints, and finally concluded to ask Derrick if he knew.

At noon, after Harry Mule had been sent jingling to his stable, Derrick rejoined his friend, and they ate lunch together. As they talked of the strange markings on the walls, and Derrick confessed that he knew no more concerning their age than Paul, the latter suddenly paused, and with a slight gesture directed attention to something in the roadway.

Looking in the direction indicated, Derrick saw, sitting bolt-upright on its hind-legs, and gazing steadily at them, an immense rat. He was quite gray, and evidently very old; nor did he seem to be in the least bit afraid of them.

"Doesn't he look wise?" whispered Paul.

"As wise as Socrates," answered Derrick.

Not having had Derrick's education, Paul did not know who Socrates was, but the name pleased him, and he said it over softly to himself—"Socrates, Soc, Socrates. That's what I'm going to call him, Derrick—'Socrates.' I've seen him round here two or three times this morning, and every time he's sat up just like that, and looked as if he knew all that I was thinking about. I believe he could tell how old the ferns are."

"I don't believe they're as old as he is," replied Derrick, laughing.

The rat did not seem to like this, for at Derrick's laughter he gave a little squeak and darted away, disappearing beneath the door.

Within five minutes Paul pointed again, and there sat the rat in precisely the same position as before.

"Perhaps this is what he wants," said Paul, throwing a bit of bread towards the rat. Approaching it cautiously, the beast first smelled of it, and then seizing it in his mouth again darted beneath the door. Several times did he thus come for food, but he always carried it away without stopping to eat even a crumb.

"He must have a large and hungry family," said Derrick.

"Or else it isn't his dinner-hour yet, and he is waiting for the proper time to eat," laughed Paul.

Always after this Socrates the rat was a regular attendant upon the boys at lunch-time, and he never failed to receive a share of whatever they had to eat. Often at other times, when no sound save the steady gurgle of the black water beneath him broke the tomb-like silence of the gangway, Paul would see the little beady eyes flashing here and there in the dim lamplight, and would feel a sense of companionship very comforting to his loneliness. At such times Paul would talk to the rat about the queer pictures on the walls, and ask him questions concerning them. For hours he talked thus to his wise-looking companion, until he began to believe that the rat understood him, and could really answer if he chose.

Sometimes when he was asked a question he could not answer, he would reply, "I don't know, but I'll speak to Socrates about it"; and at the first opportunity he would explain the whole difficulty to his gray-whiskered friend. Frequently, by thus thinking and talking the matter over, he would arrive at some conclusion, more or less correct, and this he would report as "What Socrates thinks."

At noon that day Monk Tooley, as usual, ate his lunch and smoked his pipe with Job Taskar in the blacksmith's shop; but he was very quiet, and not inclined to be talkative as was his habit. When he left, the blacksmith's helper slipped out after him, and saying, "'Ere's summut I think belongs to you, Mr. Tooley," handed him three bits of wood, on each of which was deeply scored M. T.

"My lost checks!" exclaimed the miner. "Where'd yer get 'em, Boodle?"

"They dropped out hof Taskar's pocket when 'e flung hoff 'is coat this mornin', and hi picked 'em hup unbeknownst to 'im."

"So he's de one as stole 'em, is he?" began the miner in a passion. Then, changing his tone, he added, "But never mind, Boodle; of course he only took 'em for de joke, and we'll say no more about it. Yer needn't mention havin' found 'em."

"Hall right, Mr. Tooley, hit shall be has you says," replied the helper, meekly, though he was really greatly disappointed at this turn of affairs. He disliked as much as he feared his boss, and had hoped that this little incident might lead to a quarrel between him and the miner whose lost property he had just restored.

Monk Tooley went back to his work muttering to himself, "All dis means summut; but we'll just lie low a bit, and mebbe Body-master an me'll have a score ter settle yet."

The Young Sleepers had been so badly demoralized by the incidents following their attempt to extract a treat from Derrick, and especially by the mishap of their leader, that they had not the courage to repeat the experiment. Derrick and Paul therefore left the mine that evening without being molested. They took pains, however, not to be very far behind two brawny pillars of strength in the shape of Tom Evert and Monk Tooley when they reached the foot of the slope.

Before going home Monk Tooley walked with Derrick to the Widow Sterling's, to inquire after his boy, and was much pleased to learn that he was getting along nicely.

"It lightens my heart ter hear yer say dat, missus," he said to Mrs. Sterling, "an' it's not one woman in ten thousand would do what yer doin' fer my poor lad."

"Derrick proposed it," said Mrs. Sterling, with a mother's anxiety that her son should receive all the credit due him. "Without his help I'm afraid I should not have been able to invite Bill to come here."

"He's a fine lad, missus," replied the miner, "an' if de time ever comes dat I can serve you or him, my name's not Monk Tooley if I don't jump at de chance."

After sitting a while with Bill, and doing what lay in his power to make him comfortable, Derrick again got out his father's plans of the old workings of the mine, and pored over them intently. Finally he exclaimed, "It's all right; I am sure of it!"

"What are you so sure of, my son?" asked his mother, looking up from her work.

"Something I have been trying to find out for Mr. Jones, mother, but he does not want a word said about it; so I must keep the secret to myself, at any rate until after I have seen him."

"Seems to me that you and Mr. Jones have a great many secrets together. You really are becoming quite an important young man, Derrick."

Although Derrick only smiled in reply, he thought to himself that his mother was about right, and hoped others would take the same view of his importance that she did.

Selecting some tracing-paper from among the things left by his father, the boy made a tracing from the plan he had been studying. He followed all the lines of the original carefully, except in one place where the plan was so indistinct that he could not tell exactly where they were intended to go. Being in a hurry, and feeling confident that they should be continued in a certain direction, he drew them so without verifying his conclusions.

When he had finished he left the house, and went directly to that of the mine boss, taking the tracings he had just made with him.



CHAPTER X

IN THE OLD WORKINGS—MISLED BY AN ALTERED LINE

Mr. Jones was expecting Derrick that evening, and was waiting somewhat impatiently for him. When the boy at last arrived he was taken into the library, where, as soon as the door was closed, the mine boss asked:

"Well, Derrick, have you heard anything more about the meeting?"

"Not a word, sir."

"To-morrow is the 27th, you know."

"Yes, sir, I know it is."

"And my fate, and perhaps yours too, may be decided within twenty-four hours from now."

At this Derrick started; he had not realized that he was in any particular danger.

"Do you think, sir, they would pay any attention to a boy like me?" he asked.

"I certainly do," replied the mine boss. "They would pay attention to anybody or anything that stood in their way, or seemed likely to interfere with their plans. I am afraid, from what Job Taskar said the other day, that they consider your presence in the mine as dangerous to them. I am sorry that my liking for you, and efforts to promote your interests, should have placed you in such an unpleasant position. If you like I will try and get you a place as errand boy in the main office of the company, where you will be in no danger."

"Oh, no, sir!" exclaimed Derrick. "Please don't think of such a thing. I'd rather take my chances with the Mollies in the mine than go into an office. There I should never be anything but a clerk; while here I may some day become an engineer, as my father was. Don't you think I may, sir?"

"Yes," answered the other, smiling at the boy's earnestness, "I think any boy of ordinary intelligence and blessed with good health can in time occupy any position he chooses, if he directs his whole energy in that direction, and makes up his mind that no obstacle shall turn him from it."

"I have made a beginning, sir," said Derrick, much encouraged by these words from one who was so greatly his superior in age, knowledge, and position, and whose opinion he valued so highly.

"Have you?" asked the mine boss, with a kindly interest. "In what way?"

"I am studying my father's books, and trying to work out problems from some old plans I found among his papers. One of them is a plan of the very oldest workings of this mine, and I have brought a tracing of a part of it to show you."

"Very good," said Mr. Jones, glancing at the tracing carelessly. "I have no doubt that in time you will become a famous engineer."

Although this was spoken kindly enough, it was evident that the speaker's thoughts were far away, probably trying to devise some means for being present at the approaching meeting in the mine.

Noting this, Derrick said, "I did not bring the tracing just to show what sort of work I could do, sir, but because I think it will lead us to where we can hear what they say at that meeting."

Instantly the mine boss exhibited a new interest. "Explain it," he said.

Then Derrick told him of the old drift-mouth he had discovered, and said he felt confident that if they followed the gangway leading in from it they would reach the top of the old air-shaft into which Bill Tooley had fallen, and up which had come the voices of the Mollies at their previous meeting.

"If we could get there by this back way it would be capital!" exclaimed the mine boss. "In that case my presence in the mine would be unknown and unsuspected; whereas, if we should go in as you did, from the other end of the old gangway, we could hardly escape discovery. If that route proves practicable a great load is lifted from my mind; for, somehow or other, I must find out what these Mollies are up to. You are of course sure of the correctness of the plans?"

"My father drew them," answered Derrick.

"I was not questioning your father's accuracy; I only wanted to know if this tracing was an exact copy of the original."

"Yes, sir, it is," answered Derrick, though with a slight hesitation in his voice as he thought of the one place he had not been quite sure of. This was where the plan had been somewhat blotted and blurred, so that he could not see whether or not two lines joined each other. Having made up his mind that they ought to be joined, he had thus drawn them on his tracing. It was such a small thing that he did not consider it worth mentioning. Thus, without meaning to make a false statement, he said that his tracing was an exact copy of the original, and by so doing prepared the way for the serious consequence that followed.

Derrick was a fine, manly fellow, and was possessed of noble traits of character, but like many another boy he was inclined to be conceited, and to imagine that he knew as much if not a little more than his elders. Nor was he backward in parading his knowledge, or even of allowing it to appear greater than it really was.

In the present instance he was proud of the confidence reposed in him by the mine boss, and of the skill with which he had prepared the plan of operations they were now discussing. It really seemed to him that he was about to become the leader in a very difficult enterprise in which the other was to be a follower.

The mine boss, with a quick penetration of human character, gained by years of study and experience, suspected something of this weakness on Derrick's part, but did not consider that either the proper time or opportunity had yet come for warning him against it.

So Derrick's plan was discussed in all its details, and before they separated that night it was adopted.

In order that the mistake made by Derrick in his slight alteration of the plan of the old workings, as shown in his tracing, may be understood, a few words of explanation are necessary.

The old drift-mouth, that he had discovered almost hidden beneath a tangle of vines and bushes, was on a mountain side above a deep valley. Farther down was the mouth of a second drift, which he had not discovered, and knew nothing of. On the opposite side of the mountain was another valley, the bottom of which was on about the same level as the higher of these drifts. The old workings ran from them through the mountain, and under this valley in which the present colliery was located.

When the gangway from the upper of the two drifts had been opened as far as the valley, the vein that it followed took a sudden dip. The gangway was in consequence changed into a slope, which finally led into the workings beneath. Some time after they had been abandoned a great "break" or cave-in of the ground above there had occurred at the edge of the valley, and by it an opening was made into the lower set of workings. It was on the opposite side of the valley from this break that the new workings were now being pushed; and somewhere between it and them was the old air-shaft and the chamber that the Mollies had selected as their place of secret meeting.

Now Derrick had got hold of a plan of the lower set of these old workings which he knew nothing of, and thought it was a plan of the upper set, which in reality only extended to the edge of the valley. He knew that the upper drift-mouth was on about the same level as the top of the old air-shaft, and thought he had a plan showing that the two were connected. He reasoned that by entering the old gangway at the break, and following it under the valley, they would not only save distance, but would be conducted directly to the top of the air-shaft which they wished to reach. By the joining of those two lines at the blurred place on the plan it was made to conform so perfectly to this theory that he felt satisfied his conclusions were correct, and consequently made his confident statements to Mr. Jones.

The latter had been connected with the Raven Brook Colliery but a few months, and knew nothing of its old and abandoned workings, not yet having found time to study their plans or explore them. He did know, however, that Mr. Sterling had been one of the company's most trusted engineers, and that Derrick had long been interested in poring over and tracing his father's plans of these very workings. When, therefore, he had carefully examined the tracing that the boy had made, and now assured him was an exact copy of the original plan, and found that it showed a system of galleries by which the top of the air-shaft might be gained from the break, he had no hesitation in saying that they would make the attempt to reach it from that direction. Had he sent for the original plan he would have quickly discovered Derrick's error. He thought of doing this, but did not, for fear of wounding the lad's feelings by appearing to mistrust him.

It was arranged between them that Mr. Jones should leave the village on the afternoon of the 27th, as though bound on some distant expedition, and have it understood that he might possibly be absent all night. An hour before sundown he was to be at the break, prepared to explore the old gangway to which it gave entrance. Here Derrick was to meet him, after having left the mine an hour earlier than usual, gone home for supper, and told his mother that he should be out late on some business for the mine boss.

This plan was successfully followed, without suspicion being aroused, and the young mine boss met his boy companion at the appointed time and place. They both had safety-lamps, and each carried a small can of oil, for they did not know how long they might have to remain in the mine.

In the break they found a rickety ladder that had been placed there for the use of the village children, who were accustomed to come here with baskets, and in a small way mine coal for home use from the sides of the old gangway. Descending this, they lighted their lamps at the bottom, and entering the black opening began to follow the path marked out on Derrick's tracing.

For some distance the way was comparatively smooth, and they made rapid progress. Then they began to encounter various obstacles. Here a mass of rock had fallen from the roof, and they must clamber over it. In another place a quantity of waste material had so dammed a ditch that for nearly a quarter of a mile the gangway was flooded with cold, black water, through which they had to wade. It was above their knees, and, filling their rubber boots, made them so heavy as to greatly impede their progress. In several places where the old timber props had rotted out, such masses of rubbish choked the gangway that they were compelled to crawl on their hands and knees for long distances through the low spaces that were still left. Once they were on the point of turning back, but animated by the importance of their errand they kept on, cheering each other with the thought that they would not be obliged to come back this same way in order to leave the mine.

During the earlier portion of the journey, as they encountered these obstacles, the mine boss urged, almost commanded, Derrick to go back and leave him to continue the undertaking alone. In spite of some faults the lad was no coward, and he begged so earnestly to be allowed to keep on that the other consented, on condition that no greater danger presented itself.

At length they had overcome so many difficulties that the road behind them fairly bristled with dangers, and the young man felt it would be an act of cruelty to send the boy back to encounter them alone.

Now and then, as they crawled over piles of fallen debris, and there was but little space between them and the roof, the flames within their safety-lamps burned faint and blue, and they breathed with great difficulty. The mine boss knew they were passing through spaces filled with the deadly "fire-damp," and he urged Derrick to make all possible haste towards more open places where they could keep below its influence.

They passed through a door in a fair state of preservation, but fairly covered with the pure white fungus growth of glistening frost-like sprays, which in the mine are called "water crystals." Everywhere were the signs of long neglect and decay, and unenlivened by the cheering sounds of human toil the place was weird and awful. The very drippings from the roof fell with an uncanny splash that struck a chill into Derrick's heart. Long before they reached the end of their journey he regretted having planned and proposed it; but he bravely kept his fears and regrets to himself, and plodded sturdily on behind his companion. As for the latter, his thoughts were also of a most dismal character. He realized even more fully than Derrick the dangerous position in which they had placed themselves, and felt that his experience should have warned him against such an undertaking.

Meantime those who were to meet in the old chamber at the bottom of the air-shaft were already gathered together, and were earnestly discussing the affairs of their order. Job Taskar, as presiding officer, made a long speech. In it he denounced the mine boss for discharging several of their members, and refusing to take them back, though petitioned to do so by a large number of those who remained at work. He also charged him with placing a spy in the mine in the person of Derrick Sterling, and of having removed the son of one of their most prominent members to make room for him. At this point he looked steadily at Monk Tooley.

"Don't yer say nothin' agin Derrick Sterling," growled that miner, "fer I won't hear ter it. He's doin' fer my lad this minute what dere isn't anoder man in de meetin' er in Raven Brook Colliery, nor I don't believe in de State, would ha' done in his place."

"Do yer know what he's doing it for?" interrupted another member, springing to his feet. "No, yer don't, an' yer can't make a guess at it; but I can tell yer. It's for revenge, an' nothing else. I heerd him say it his own self to Paul the cripple, coming down the slope, only yesterday morning. 'I'm taking out my revenge on him,' says he; them's his very words."

"All right," replied Monk Tooley, "if yer heerd him say it, den he's doin' it fer revenge, and it's de biggest kind of revenge I ever knowed of a man or a boy ter take out on anoder. Do yer know dat he's give up his own bed ter my Bill, an' dat he sets up nights awaitin' on him an' a-nussin' of him? No, yer don't know nothin' about it, an' I don't want ter hear anoder word from yer agin him. I'm his friend, I am."

An awkward silence followed this announcement, for the members thought that perhaps if Monk Tooley were Derrick Sterling's friend, he might also be a friend of the mine boss, whom they had almost decided should be put out of the way.

The silence was finally broken by Job Taskar, who asked sarcastically if Monk Tooley knew who stole his three checks from the check-board two days before.

"Yes, I do," answered the miner, promptly.

"Then you know it was this same sneaking boss's pet, Derrick Sterling."

"No, I don't."

"I tell you I saw him do it!" cried Job, in a rage. "Him and the hunchback went up to the board together, and when the boss stepped away, so they thought nobody wasn't looking, the pet slipped 'em into his pocket. I saw it with my own eyes."

"An' I tell yer yer lie!" shouted Monk Tooley. "Here's de checks, an' dey come outen yer own pocket, yer black-hearted old scoundrel!"

At these astounding words Job Taskar sprang towards Monk Tooley with clinched fists, as though to strike him, and all present watched for the encounter in breathless suspense.

Just then the door behind them was pushed open, and standing on its threshold they saw the mine boss and Derrick Sterling.



CHAPTER XI

A FATAL EXPLOSION OF FIRE-DAMP

At this startling apparition of the last two persons in the world whom they would have expected to see in that place, the assembled miners remained for some moments motionless with astonishment. Having stationed a trusty sentinel at the end of the gangway nearest the new workings, who was to give them instant warning of the approach of any outsider, they imagined themselves perfectly safe from interruption. They had not considered the possibility of an approach from the rear through the abandoned workings, for they were generally believed to be impassable owing to deadly gases and the quantity of material that had fallen in them. Thus the unannounced appearance of the very persons whose fate they had just been discussing seemed almost supernatural, and a feeling of dread pervaded the assembly.

On the other hand, Mr. Jones and his companion were equally, if not more greatly, dismayed. Having approached the door during a momentary silence among the miners, they had not been warned by any sound of what they should find beyond it. Thinking that they were upon an upper level, and separated from their enemies by many feet of solid rock, they suddenly found themselves in their very midst.

At the first view of what was disclosed by the opening door, Derrick uttered a little frightened cry, and involuntarily drew back as though about to run away. It was only a momentary impulse. In an instant his courage returned, the hot blood surged into his face, and stepping boldly forward he stood beside the mine boss, determined to share whatever fate was in store for him.

Among the Mollies the first to recover from his stupefaction was Job Taskar, who crying "Here they are, lads! Now we've got 'em!" made a spring at the mine boss, with clinched fist still uplifted, as it had been to strike Monk Tooley.

The black muzzle of a revolver promptly presented to his face by the steady hand of the young man caused him to stagger back with a snarl of baffled rage. Taking a couple of steps forward, which motion Derrick followed, and standing in full view of all the Mollies, with the revolver still held in his hand where it could be plainly seen, the mine boss said:

"My men, I want you to excuse this interruption to your meeting, and listen to me for a few minutes. I think I know why you are thus assembled in secret. It is to decide upon some means of getting rid of me and of my young friend Derrick Sterling. You have been taught by this man that we are your enemies, and are working against your interests. Let me give you a few facts that will serve to show who are your real enemies, and who are your true friends.

"Job Taskar is, I believe, your Body-master and leader. He had told you that this lad is a spy, sent into the mine to discover your secrets and work against you. He hates Derrick Sterling. Why?

"A few years ago Job Taskar was blacksmith to a distant colliery in another district. This lad's father was engineer in the same mine. Taskar was paid by the men for sharpening their tools, so much for each one. They were compelled to go to him by the rules of the colliery. He so destroyed the temper of the drills and other tools brought to him as to make them require sharpening much oftener than they would if he had done his work honestly. He was thus stealing much of the miners' hard-earned wages. Mr. Sterling found this out, procured Taskar's discharge from the works, and had an honest man put in his place. When the same gentleman found the same dishonest blacksmith working in this mine he warned him that if he caught him at any of his old tricks he would have him discharged from here. Now Taskar hates that engineer's son, and wants to have him put out of the way. Do you wonder at it?

"He wants me removed for a much more simple reason. It is that he would like to be mine boss in my place. This would so increase his influence in your society that he might in time be made a county delegate, and live without further labor upon money extorted from hard-working miners."

At this point the members glanced uneasily at each other. They were amazed at the knowledge showed by the mine boss of their affairs.

"Now, my men, a few more words and I am through," continued the speaker. "In regard to those of your number whom I discharged, and refused to take back, although petitioned to do so, you know who they are, and I needn't mention names. I will only say that they were detected in an attempt to injure the pumps and destroy the fans. Had they succeeded the colliery would have been closed, and all hands thrown out of work for an indefinite length of time. You would have been in danger from fire-damp and water. Probably some lives would have been lost. They were unscrupulous men, and had they succeeded in their villainy you would have been the greatest sufferers.

"As for you, sir," he said, sternly, turning to Job Taskar, "I have long had my eye on you, and have come to the conclusion that this mine and all employed in it would be better off if you should leave it. I therefore take this opportunity to discharge you from this company's service. If after to-night you ever enter this mine again it will be at your peril."

The man was too thoroughly cowed by the boldness of this proceeding to utter a word, and when the young mine boss, saying "Come, Derrick," and "Good-evening, men," suddenly stepped outside the door and closed it, he stood for an instant motionless. Then with a howl of "Stop 'em! Don't let 'em escape!" he tore open the door and sprang into the gangway beyond. It was silent and dark, not even a glimmer of light betraying the presence or existence of those who had but that moment left the chamber.

For a brief space the man stood bewildered, and then began to run towards the door that opened into the new workings. Several of the miners followed him until they came to where their sentinel stood. He, watchful and on the alert, as he had been ever since they left him there, was greatly surprised at their haste and the impatient demands made of him as to why he had allowed two persons to pass. Of course he stoutly denied having done so, and declared he had seen no living being since taking his station at that place.

"Then they're back in the old workings, lads, and we'll have 'em yet," cried Job Taskar. "They can't get out, for the gangway's choked beyond. They must have been hid yonder near the place of meeting since lunch-time, waiting for us, and they're hid now, waiting till we leave, so's they can sneak out. But they can't fool us any more, an' we'll get 'em this time."

With this the man, fuming with rage and disappointed hate, turned and retraced his steps up the gangway, followed by four of his companions. The rest of the Mollies, feeling that no more business would be transacted that evening, and having no inclination to join in the human hunt, dispersed to different parts of the new workings, or went up the slopes to the surface. Monk Tooley stayed behind, not for the purpose of joining in the pursuit of the mine boss and his companion, but with a vague idea of protecting Derrick from harm in case they should be caught.

Led by Job Taskar, the four Mollies eagerly and carefully explored every foot of the gangway, and even climbed up into several worked-out breasts at its side, thinking the fugitives might be hidden in them.

After surmounting several minor obstacles, they finally came to one that was much more serious. It was a mass of fallen debris that filled the gangway to within a couple of feet of its roof, and extended for a long distance. Thinking that perhaps it completely choked the passage a few yards farther on, and that he might now find those whom he sought in hiding, like foxes run to earth, Taskar eagerly scrambled up over the loose rocks and chunks of coal, reaching the top while his followers were still at some distance behind.



Suddenly there came a blinding flash, a roar as of a cannon discharged in that confined space, a furious rush of air that extinguished every light and shrouded the gangway in a profound darkness, and the rattling crash of falling rocks and broken timbers. The Mollies who followed Job were hurled, stunned and bleeding, to the floor of the gangway. Even Monk Tooley, who was at a considerable distance behind them, was thrown violently against one of the side walls. As for Job Taskar, he lay dead on the heap of debris over which he had been climbing when the uncovered flame of his lamp ignited the terrible fire-damp that hung close under the roof. He was burned almost beyond recognition, and the clothes were torn from his body. Among the fragments of these afterwards picked up was found a portion of a letter which read:

"It will be impossible to obtain the position until position must be supported by a number of votes wh when you become mine boss.

"You know as well as anybody that a county delega

When the battered and bruised miners had recovered their senses, relighted their lamps, and ascertained the fate of their leader, they were content to drag themselves out from the gangway without pursuing any further the search in which they had been engaged. Fortunately for them the quantity of gas exploded had been small, else they might have been instantly killed, or the gangway so shattered as to completely bar their way of escape, and hold them buried alive between its black walls. As it was, it brought down a great mass of debris on top of that already fallen, and so choked the passage beyond where Job Taskar's body lay that it was effectually closed.

Although Derrick and the mine boss were far in advance of their pursuers, and had already passed most of the obstacles to their rapid progress, they were very sensible of the shock of the explosion when it occurred. The rush of air that immediately followed was strong enough to extinguish their safety-lamps, and cause them to stagger, but it did them no injury.

When these two had so suddenly stepped from the presence of the Mollies, and slammed the door in their faces, they had instantly extinguished their lamps, and started on a run back through the gangway by which they had come. Of course, in the utter darkness, they could not run fast nor far, but they were well beyond the circle of light from Job Taskar's lamp when he sprang out after them, and that was all they wanted. When they saw the little cluster of flickering lights borne by the Mollies disappear in the opposite direction from that they were taking, they felt greatly relieved, and a few minutes later ventured to relight their own lamps and continue their retreat.

"Looks as if we'd got to go out the way we came in, after all, doesn't it, sir?" said Derrick, who was the first to speak.

"It does rather look that way," answered the mine boss, "but I'd rather risk it, under the circumstances, than face those fellows just now. They have had a chance to recover from their surprise at our appearance, and some of them are as mad as hornets to think they let us go. A moment's hesitation when we opened that door and found ourselves among them would probably have cost us our lives. Our very boldness was all that saved us. A danger boldly faced is robbed of half its terrors.

"By-the-way, Derrick, our coming on those fellows as we did was a most remarkable thing. I thought your tracing was leading us to the top of the air-shaft instead of to the chamber at its bottom. We must be on a lower level than we thought. How do you account for it? Can you have made a mistake in regard to the plans?"

Derrick's heart sank within him as he remembered the weak spot in his tracing; but he answered, "I don't think so, sir; though it does look as if something was wrong."

Here conversation was interrupted by the difficulties of the road, for they had reached the mass of fallen debris that blocked Job Taskar's way a little later.

As they crawled on hands and knees over the obstruction, the mine boss said, hoarsely, and with great difficulty, "Hurry, boy! there's gas enough here to kill us if we breathe it many minutes. If we had naked lights instead of safeties we'd be blown into eternity."

After they had safely passed this danger he said, "I hope with all my heart that those fellows won't come that way looking for us; there's sure to be an explosion if they do. I don't believe they will, though," he added, after a moment's reflection; "they're too old hands to expose themselves needlessly to the fire-damp."

They had again waded through the icy water, which the mine boss said he must have drawn off before it increased so as to be dangerous, and were well along towards the opening into the break, when the muffled sound of the explosion reached their ears.

"There's trouble back there!" exclaimed Mr. Jones, as he relighted their lamps, which the rush of air had extinguished, "and I'm afraid that somebody has got hurt. You go on out, Derrick, and I'll go back and see. No, I won't, either. I can get there as quickly, and do more good, by going round outside and down the slope. Come, let us run."

In a few minutes they had reached the bottom of the break, climbed the rickety ladder, and once more they stood in safety beneath the starlit sky of the outer world.

"Eight o'clock," said Mr. Jones, looking at his watch. "We've been in there three hours, Derrick, and seen some pretty lively times. What I can't understand, though, is how we got in on that lower level. Never mind now; we must run, for I'm anxious about that explosion."

The news of the disaster in the mine had already reached the surface, but nobody knew exactly how or where it had taken place. A crowd of people, including many women and children, was rapidly gathering about the mouth of the slope, anxious to learn tidings of those dear to them who were down in the mine with the night shift.

The voice of the mine boss calling out that the explosion had occurred in an abandoned gangway, and that nobody who was in the new workings was hurt, gave the first intimation of his presence among them. His words carried comfort to the hearts of many who heard them, but filled with dismay the minds of those who had seen him but a short time before at the underground meeting. They had thought he must surely be still in the mine, and could in no way account for his presence, for they knew positively that he had not come up by the slope or the travelling-road.

While the mine boss was speaking, Derrick felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning, he saw Paul Evert, who exclaimed, joyfully, "Oh, Derrick, I'm so glad! I was afraid you were down in the mine, and I was going to help hunt for you."

"No, Polly, I'm all right, as you can see; but I wish you'd run home and tell mother I am—will you?"

Paul went willingly to do this, and Derrick prepared to follow the mine boss once more into the underground depths, to render what assistance he could.

They were about to step into an empty car and start down the slope, when the signal was given from below to pull up a loaded car, and they waited to see what it might contain. As it came slowly to the surface, and within the light of their lamps, they saw in it Monk Tooley and four other miners, who, battered and bruised, had evidently suffered from the explosion.

When the first of these was helped carefully from the car, and his glance fell upon the mine boss, with Derrick Sterling standing beside him, a look of fear came into his face, he uttered a loud cry, staggered back, and would have fallen had not Monk Tooley caught him.



CHAPTER XII

THE MINE BOSS IN A DILEMMA

The companions of the Mollie who exhibited such consternation at the sight of the mine boss were almost as frightened as he to see those for whom they had been so recently searching through the old workings, and who they thought must surely have been killed by the explosion, standing before them. They shrunk back as the young man stepped towards them; but reassured by his cheery words, they allowed him to help them from the car, and were almost ready to believe that it was not he, but some other who had confronted them so boldly at the meeting. He could not have been kinder to them if they had been his dear friends; and from that hour they ranked among his firmest supporters and adherents in the colliery.

Derrick caught hold of Monk Tooley, and insisted upon taking him, as he said, to see Bill, and show him that he was all right. In reality he wanted to give the man a chance to rest, and recover somewhat from his recent trying experience, before meeting with his wife and children.

Bill Tooley, under kind care, amid quiet and pleasant surroundings, and aided by his own strong constitution, was in a fair way to recover his health and strength. The fever had left him, and he was able to sit up for a few minutes at a time. The only serious trouble seemed to be with his right leg. It gave him great pain, and was threatened with a permanent lameness. He already seemed a different boy from what he had been, and would hardly be recognized for the bully of a short time before. He gave way to occasional outbursts of impatient anger, but these were always quieted by the gentle presence and soothing words of either Mrs. Sterling or little Helen; and in his rough way he would express sorrow for them by saying, "Don't yer mind me, mum; I don' mean nothin'; only dis ere blessed leg gits de best of me sometimes." Or to Helen, "Don't yer be afeared, sissy; I know I talks awful ugly; but I ain't. It's only de pain of de leg breakin' out in bad words."

The meeting between father and son that night, when Derrick persuaded Monk Tooley to go home with him, was curious to witness. Bill was as fond of his father, in his way, as the latter was of him, and had been very anxious when he knew he was in the mine at the time of the explosion. Both were much affected when Monk stepped to his son's bedside; but they had no words to express their feelings. The father said,

"Well, lad, how goes it?"

Bill answered, "Middlin', feyther. I heerd yer got blowed up."

"Well, yer see I didn't. Job Taskar's killed, though."

"Better him nor anoder."

"Yes. Yer want ter be gittin' outen dis, son. Times is hard, an' idlin's expensive."

"All right, feyther; I'll soon be in de breaker agin."

This was all; but the two were assured of each other's safety and well-being, and for them that was enough.

Monk Tooley accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Sterling, and departed with a very warm feeling in his heart towards those who were doing so much for his boy.

His wife and the neighbor women, who as usual were gathered in her house, were loud in their exclamations of pleasure and wonder at seeing him safe home again from "the blowing up of the mine," but he gruffly bade them "be quiet, and not be making all that gabble about a trifle."

The mine boss took an early opportunity to examine the plans of the old workings, and soon discovered the slight difference between them and Derrick's tracing that they had followed in their recent expedition. Summoning the boy, he pointed it out, and asked him whether he had made a mistake in copying the plan, or had purposely made the alteration that had led to such serious consequences.

Derrick confessed that he had added a little to one line of the plan, because he thought the line was intended to go that way, and when he drew it so it seemed to make everything come out all right.

"Well," said Mr. Jones, "the result shows that instead of making everything come out all right, you made it come all wrong. Now, Derrick, I want this to be a lesson that you will remember all your life. By making that one little bit of a change in a single line you placed yourself and me in great peril. In consequence of the situation to which it led one man has lost his life, and several others came very near doing so. You thought you knew better than your father who drew that plan, and in your ignorance undertook to improve upon his work.

"I won't say that good may not come out of all this, for I believe that with the loss of their leader the society of Mollies is broken up, in this colliery at least, for some time to come, but that does not make your fault any the less.

"Remember, my boy," he added, somewhat more gently, as he saw great tears rolling down the lad's cheeks, "that the little things of this life lead to and make up its great events, and it is only by paying the closest attention to them that we can ever hope to achieve good results."

This was all that was ever said to Derrick upon this subject, but it was enough, and he will never forget it. When he left the presence of the mine boss he was overwhelmed with shame, and was angry to think that what he considered so trifling a thing as to be unworthy of mention should be treated so seriously. For an hour he walked alone through the woods back of the village, and gave himself up to bitter thoughts. Gradually he began to realize that every word the mine boss had said was true, and to see what he had done in its proper light. He thought of all the kindness Mr. Jones had shown him, and the confidence reposed in him. Finally he broke out with, "I have been a conceited fool, and now I know it. If I ever catch Derrick Sterling getting into a scrape of this kind again for want of paying attention to little things, or by thinking he knows more than anybody else, he'll hear from me, that's all."

This was only a vague threat, but it meant a great deal, and from that day to this neither of these failings has been noticed in the young miner, even by those most intimately acquainted with him.

Nearly two weeks after this, upon returning home one evening from his day's work in the mine, Derrick found a message from Mr. Jones awaiting him. It asked him to call that evening, as the mine boss wished to see and consult him upon business of importance.

Mrs. Sterling was greatly pleased at this, for it showed that her boy still enjoyed the confidence of the man who had it in his power to do so much for him, and that his favor was not withdrawn in consequence of the recent affair of the tracing. Derrick had told his mother the whole story, without making any effort to shield himself from blame; and though she had trembled at the resulting consequences of his fault, and the knowledge of how much worse they might have been, she had rejoiced at the manner in which he accepted its lesson. She had only feared that Mr. Jones, upon whom so much depended, would never trust her boy again, or take him into his confidence as he had done.

Derrick was made equally happy by the message; for since the day on which the mine boss had pointed out the weak spot in his character, and delivered his little lecture on the wickedness of neglecting details, he had held no conversation with him. He made haste to finish his supper, wondering all the while, with his mother and Bill Tooley, who was now able to sit at the table with them, what the business could be.

"There's some ladies over there," said little Helen; "they came to-day, and I saw them."

"Where?" asked Derrick.

"At Mr. Jones's."

Now as the young mine boss was a bachelor, and lived alone, with the exception of an old negro servant, this was startling information, and her hearers thought Helen must have made some mistake. However, on the chance that she might be right, Derrick was more particular than usual in getting rid of every particle of grime and coal-dust, and dressed himself in his best clothes. These, though much worn, nearly outgrown, and even mended in several places, were scrupulously neat, and made him appear the young gentleman he really was.

Although Derrick had been away to boarding-school, and was very differently brought up from the other boys of the village, he was not at all accustomed to society, especially that of ladies, and he felt extremely diffident at the prospect of meeting these strangers, if indeed Helen's report were true.

As he approached the house of the mine boss he saw that it was more brilliantly lighted than usual, and just as he reached the door a shadow, apparently that of a young girl, moved across one of the white window-shades.

Instead of ringing the bell the boy walked rapidly on, with a quickly beating heart, for some distance past the house.

"Supposing it should be a girl," he thought to himself, "I should never dare say anything to her, and she'd find it out in a minute; then she'd make fun of me. I wish I knew whether I was going to see them, or see Mr. Jones alone. I hope he won't make me go in and be introduced."

Undoubtedly Derrick was bashful, and while he had apparently been brave in the burning breaker, and in various trying situations, was only a coward after all.

Again he approached the house, and again he walked hurriedly past it. As he turned and walked towards it for the third time somebody came rapidly from the opposite direction, and stopped at the very door he was afraid to enter. They reached it at the same moment, and the somebody recognizing him, said heartily, "Ah, Derrick, is that you? I'm glad I got back in time. I was unexpectedly detained by business, and feared you might get here before me. Walk in."

There was no help for it now. Wishing with all his heart that he were safely at home, or down in the mine, or anywhere but where he was, and trembling with nervousness, Derrick found himself a moment later inside the house, and—alone with Mr. Jones in the library.

"Sit down, Derrick," said the latter, as he stood in front of the fireplace. "I have sent for you to ask you to help me out of a sort of a scrape."

So he was not to be asked to meet strange ladies or girls after all, and his fears were groundless. What a goose he had been! Why should he be afraid of a girl anyhow? she wouldn't bite him. These and other similar thoughts flashed through Derrick's mind as he tried to listen to Mr. Jones, and to overcome a feeling of disappointment that in spite of his efforts presently filled his mind.

"It is this," continued the mine boss. "For some time past my only sister, Mrs. Halford, who lives in Philadelphia, has been threatening to bring her daughter Nellie on a trip through the Lehigh Valley into the coal region to see me, and be taken down into a mine. They arrived unexpectedly this afternoon, and have got to return home the day after to-morrow; so to-morrow is the only opportunity they will have for visiting the mine. Of course I had made arrangements to take them around, and show them everything there is to be seen; but now I find I can't do it. Two hours ago I received a telegram telling me that an important case, in which I am the principal witness, is to be tried in Mauch Chunk to-morrow, and I must be there without fail. Now I want you to take my place, act as guide to the ladies, and show them all the sights of interest about the colliery, both above-ground and in the mine. Will you do this for me?"

Derrick hesitated, blushed, stammered, turned first hot and then cold, until Mr. Jones, who was watching him with an air of surprise and amusement, laughed outright.

"What is the matter?" he asked at length. "Ain't I offering you a pleasanter job than that of driving a bumping-mule all day?"

"No, sir—I mean yes, sir; of course I will, sir," said Derrick, finally recovering his voice. "Only don't you think one of the older men—"