Night In a Mine
IT was a long, steep climb over barren clay soil till they reached the entrance of the mine.
“I wonder how those kids made it,” Nelson speculated, as he slipped and went down on his hands, but quickly righted himself and struggled onward.
“Probably they didn’t come this way. They may have followed the ridge of the hills.”
“What about Alice? You think she could have made it? I know mules go down the Grand Canyon, but I don’t think that’s as slippery as this.”
“Well, we didn’t see Alice. She may not have come this way at all.”
“But the kids did, and that must mean they thought she came this way.” Apparently Nelson had accepted the fact that they were following the Llewellyn children.
They reached the entrance to the mine, and paused to look around. The entrance had been boarded up at one time, but the boards had rotted or been broken off. They doubted this was the main entrance to the mine, for there were no facilities for unloading coal or checking in workers. That was probably down at a lower level and invisible from where they stood.
A sign read:
DANGER—NO TRESPASSING
“We don’t have any choice, do we, Ted?” asked Nelson.
“No, I guess not.”
Once inside they took a dozen steps, then paused once more to allow their eyes to adjust to the gloom. The daylight from the entrance stretched ahead down the corridor, appearing ever more feeble. There was no sign of the children, but there was a turn a little way ahead of them. No doubt Joyce and Johnny—if it was they—had made the turn and were now in the darker, deeper portions of the mine.
Nelson switched on his flashlight, and the beam was feeble enough in the dim glow of daylight. But after they had made the turn, the light seemed stronger and they proceeded more confidently. Looking back they could see a patch of light at the turning, and that was all.
Though he kept the beam aimed mostly at the ground, Nelson occasionally flashed it around the walls. They did not seem to be made of coal. Evidently there had been no mining here—this was merely a corridor cut to reach the seams of coal. Their way led gradually downhill. So far, though there was still no sign of the children, they could not have gone wrong, for there were no branches off the corridor.
“Think that roof will hold up?” asked Nelson, turning the light momentarily on the ceiling of the tunnel.
“It’s been there a good many decades. I hope it’s good for another hour or two. I don’t think we’re in any trouble about air, either. There seems to be a draft through here. It’s possible that this is an air tunnel, built to carry air down to the lower portions of the mine.”
“Wouldn’t a tunnel like that be vertical?”
“Maybe, unless this is a double-purpose tunnel.”
“Then I suppose the bigger the tunnel the more air you get, and the bigger the tunnel the more likely it is to collapse. How do you decide what to do?”
“I guess it’s a good idea to know what you’re doing.”
They made another turn, and now had lost all touch with the daylight. The walls were beginning to take on a darker hue, as though this were nearing the main lode or vein. How far they had come along the corridor they did not try to guess, but estimated that they were some thirty to fifty feet lower than the entrance. The slope was quite steep, possibly too steep for railway cars, and anyway there was no sign of tracks.
The walls grew progressively blacker, and suddenly they had to make a decision. The corridor branched off in two directions. Apparently this was the point where the mining had begun.
“Which way do we go, Ted?”
“I don’t know. Do you think those kids could have a light?”
“They must have. How could they have come this far without one?”
“We never saw a flicker, and they couldn’t have been very far ahead of us.” He hesitated, indecisive. “Let’s try calling.”
“OK, but maybe they don’t want to hear.” However, as Ted began to call, “Joyce, Johnny,” Nelson joined him. It was a weird sound, though. The calls seemed to echo and reverberate, so that it was impossible to tell from which direction the sound came, or even to recognize the voice of the person calling.
Then they waited silently for a minute or two, hoping for an answer, but none came.
“Probably scared them half to death,” Nelson muttered, “if they even heard us.”
“If they’re within quarter of a mile of us, they heard us,” said Ted grimly.
“Well, which way?” Nelson said again.
“Don’t you think a right-handed person is more likely to turn to the right?”
“How do we know they’re right-handed?” Nelson asked practically. “This corridor to the left looks a little larger, as though it’s the main corridor and the other one just a branch.”
Shrugging, Ted turned to the left, Nelson close beside him. In a short distance they found themselves in a room from which coal had obviously been taken. They had expected that there would be numerous pillars supporting the ceiling, but now they saw that there were none. The walls of the rooms seemed to act as ceiling props.
“I suppose somebody had to figure out how thick to make the walls and how close together they had to be,” Ted observed.
“I’m glad I’m not the one who had to do it,” Nelson returned. He flashed his light all about the room, perhaps thirty feet long in its greater dimension. There was no sign of the children, although an opening at the far end of the room apparently led on into another room. “Wait, Ted.” He laid a restraining hand on his arm, as Ted seemed to take a step in that direction. “Let’s not go any farther. It isn’t going to help any if we get lost, too. I’ve already lost my sense of direction, and if we go much farther I won’t even know how far up or down we’ve come.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right,” said Ted, reluctant to give up, but knowing Nelson was right. “There’s nothing more we can do except go for help.”
“You mean the police?”
“What else?”
“I suppose you’re right, Ted. We have to tell the police, just on the chance it is the Llewellyn children. But I’m not so sure any more. It could have been adults. Adults can walk faster, and if they know where they’re going, they could have got way ahead of us. I don’t see how children could have done that. At least we should have seen their light.”
“Don’t you suppose adults might have heard us shouting?”
“Maybe not, if they were far enough ahead. Anyway, why should they answer? They didn’t need help.”
“Wouldn’t it sound like maybe we needed help?”
“Hm—well, I suppose they would have answered, if they heard us, and if they were here for a legitimate purpose. But just suppose they were up to no good. Then they wouldn’t have answered, that’s sure. After all, what would adults be doing in an abandoned mine?”
“Maybe they’d like to ask us the same question.”
They returned to the point where the corridor divided, and Ted shouted again just for luck. Hardly had the reverberations quieted down when a small voice answered, almost at his elbow:
“Here we are.”
Nelson turned the light down, and they saw the two children crouching in a little hollow against the wall, just around the turn to the right. They did not seem frightened, though they smiled a little doubtfully.
“Didn’t you hear us calling you before?” asked Ted, as the children left the wall and joined them.
“Yes,” Joyce answered. Though the girl and boy were about the same size, she made it clear by taking the lead that she was the older of the two. “But we didn’t know who you were.”
“I thought you were ghosts,” Johnny explained. “I mean, at first I thought that.”
“Mother told us there aren’t any ghosts,” Joyce went on, “but Johnny thought maybe you were a new kind that Mother didn’t know about yet.”
“Where’s your light?” asked Nelson suddenly.
“We don’t have any light,” Joyce returned. “It was awfully dark. That’s why we thought we’d better answer you.”
Ted and Nelson looked incredulously at the small girl and boy. It seemed impossible that they could have come this far in what was obviously almost pitch dark, and yet that was exactly what happened.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ted decided. They would all feel better when they were out of this darkness. Even Nelson’s flashlight didn’t seem as bright as it did before, and feeling their way back to the surface, even though there was no possibility of losing their way, was not appealing.
Nelson took Johnny’s hand and led the way, while Ted took Joyce’s hand and followed a few steps behind.
“Why did you go into the mine, Joyce? You’re not allowed to play in here, are you?”
“No, but we were looking for Alice—she’s our mule.”
“Yes, I heard about Alice over the radio. Did you see Alice go into the mine?”
“No, but we thought she might be in there. And then, when we were walking through the tunnel, we thought we heard her, so we kept on going.”
“They must have heard us coming,” Nelson explained, turning his head back to Ted, “but they couldn’t tell which direction the sound was coming from. It’s tricky down here.”
Ted felt that Nelson was probably right. Surely the children, no matter how brave, would not have had the nerve to keep going into the blackness unless they felt that Alice was just in front of them.
“Alice wears a bell around her neck,” Johnny told them.
“Only the bell doesn’t always ring, if she walks very slowly,” Joyce went on.
“What made you think Alice went into the mine?” Ted inquired.
“Because she used to work in the mine before it closed down.”
“Did Alice work with your father?”
“No, we don’t have a father. He was killed in the mine.”
“Oh.” Ted was sorry he had asked this question. “Does Alice like to wander off and go back to the mine?”
“She likes to wander everywhere, I guess. Sometimes she goes to the mine, and sometimes she goes other places. But she always comes back when she gets ready, so maybe she’ll come back this time. Did you see her anywhere?”
“No, but we weren’t really looking for her. We’ll keep our eyes open from now on, and if we see her we’ll tell you.”
As they approached the mouth of the mine, they suddenly realized that they were not going to get away as soon as they thought. The storm had broken while they were down in the pits. Now the sky was nearly black, thunder pealed, and the rain was pouring down.
“What do we do, Ted?” asked Nelson as they stood at the entrance and watched the storm.
“We can’t take the children out now, that’s for sure.”
“I know, but don’t you think one of us had better go and notify the police?”
“On that slippery clay in the dark? You’d break your neck.”
“Their mother will be frantic.”
“It’s better to let people worry than it is to give them something to worry about.”
“If that’s the way you feel about it, then we’d better plan on staying all night. This rain doesn’t look like it’s going to let up very soon.”
The evening was growing more chilly, and Nelson soon removed his sweater and Ted his jacket, which they gave to the children to wear. Then there was nothing more to do except try to get a little sleep while waiting for morning.
The children had no objection. They curled up on the floor of the corridor, where they soon dropped off to sleep. Sleep was more difficult for Ted and Nelson, who found themselves growing colder, and walked about or occasionally did jump-ups to try and keep warm. The children seemed comfortable enough, though, and oblivious to the hard ground.
The rain had settled down to a steady downpour, and there was no use thinking about leaving before daybreak.
“Well, Ted,” Nelson observed, “I’d say you’ve got a good start on your story already.” He nodded back toward the children.
“I guess so,” Ted agreed, “but where does it go from here? We’ve got some digging to do when we get out of this mine in the morning.”
“I thought you dug in a mine,” Nelson said, and ducked a jab from Ted.
Then they sat down with their backs against the wall, and dozed off a little.