Chapter XII: “keep Your Chin Up!”

Jerry thought he heard a gasp from Tom, but he wasn’t certain, and after a brief instant of silence the latter spoke.

“You mean I’m――to lay hold of the――ladder?” he asked.

“Yes, if you get it under your shoulders it’ll float you. I’m going back up, Tom. I’ve got to get that pick, I reckon, to pry a length of this loose. Then I’ll drop it. It――it’s a chance, Tom, because if it hit you――――”

“You shout before――you let go,” answered Tom, “and I’ll duck under――the water. I’ll take the chance, Jerry!”

“Good! I’ll try to drop it close to this side. Reckon, if you have that to keep you afloat there’ll be time to go get a rope. I’ll hurry, Tom.” Jerry was already climbing back up the ladder. “I won’t be long. You――you keep your chin up!”

“I’m――all right,” declared Tom gaspingly. “Don’t you worry――about me――Jerry!”

There was new hope and fresh courage in Tom’s voice, and Jerry, conquering rung after rung with fair speed, felt as if a ton weight had been taken from his heart. It would be, he realized, no child’s play to wrest one of those uprights from the shaft wall, but he was certain that, with the pick head to aid, it could be done. He tried to count the ladder rungs as he ascended, that he might know how great a length of rope would be needed, but his thoughts took his mind from the task and after twenty he lost count. Sooner than he expected his reaching hands encountered empty air and he was back at the tunnel level. He pulled himself over the edge and cautiously stood upright. Then, not daring to more than turn his head, he shouted back reassuringly that he was up, and Tom’s voice responded faintly. After that Jerry took four long paces and reached for the tunnel wall. It was there beside him, and counting his steps, he went back along the tunnel. He wished he could remember how far along the tunnel he had picked up the pick and set it down again. He had, he recalled, leaned it against the right-hand wall, facing the shaft, and presently, still counting paces, he crossed the track and, as he went, swept the space between floor and wall with his left foot. A moment later he stumbled over an obstacle and almost fell headlong. It was the fragment of ore, lying between rail and wall. He had forgotten that, but now he remembered that they had found the ore after discovering the pick, and went on, certain that he had not passed the latter. And presently his foot struck it and knocked it over, and then he had it in his hand and had turned back toward the shaft.

He had counted seventy-one paces since leaving the shaft, and knew that they had been short ones. Now, returning, he tried to make his steps of the same length. But his eagerness to get back constantly lengthened them, and, realizing it, he paused when he had counted fifty, and pondered. The danger was in overwalking and sharing Tom’s fate. After a moment he went on slowly, testing the ground ere he set foot on it. Ten paces so, and he lowered himself to hands and knees and continued the journey in that manner. And finally, when he had begun to wonder if he had somehow got turned around and was crawling toward the tunnel’s mouth instead of toward the shaft, his hand fell on the edge of the opening, and, with a little gasp, he stopped. Exploring, then, he found the ladder ends, but before he set to work he called again down the shaft. Tom’s voice came back to him amongst the echoes and he shouted again cheerfully. Then, peeling off his coat and vest, he lowered himself, pick in hand, down the ladder. Presently he found the lower end of the right hand upright, some dozen feet below the tunnel level. Shifting his feet well to the left of the rung he was on, he managed to get his left arm through behind a higher rung, and thus assured against losing his grip, he began his task.

What worried him most was the fear of losing his hold on the pick head, for without that his efforts would be useless, and every time he changed his grip on it his heart stood still. He had to hammer a blunt point many times against the outer edge of the rough joist before he obtained a purchase. Fortunately, the joist was pine or some other soft wood, and repeated blows finally yielded a crevice. Then, putting all his strength on the other end of the pick, he strove to pry the joist away from the wall. At first there was no give and his heart began to sink within him. Perspiration trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. If he could have had both hands to work with the task would have been far easier, but with only one the pressure he was able to exert on the lever was slight and for a long minute the joist resisted his efforts. Then, when hope had nearly vanished, there came a faint creaking sound and the pick head moved back toward the wall. With a heart that beat fast, Jerry strained with all the strength of his right arm, and, suddenly, the joist gave easily and the pick, released, almost fell from his hand!

Had he had to force the old wrought-iron nails from the planks he would never have succeeded in his task, for they were many inches long, spikes rather than nails, and they held firmly. But the joist was old and soft and the long nails pulled through it as it was pried outward. Moving the pick a foot further along, Jerry again applied his strength. Now the task grew easier and the joist came away completely at the bottom and rested on the nail-heads. Before moving upward another rung, Jerry leaned downward and pried loose the rung below his feet. This was far simpler work, for the nails were shorter and came away readily enough from the loosened upright. After that, he paused for breath and sent a panting inquiry down through the blackness of the chasm.

“All right,” was the answer from below. “How much――longer?”

“Just a minute, Tom!” He fell to with redoubled effort. Once again in his eagerness to end his task, he nearly lost his hold on the pick, and he worked more cautiously then. But, although he spent far more than a minute completing the work, at last he was able to crawl over the edge again and lie for a brief instant tired and inert on the floor of the tunnel. But that rest was only the matter of a few long-drawn breaths. Then he was kneeling by the edge of the shaft, pushing and prying, and a moment later the twelve-foot length of pine was free, dangling from his grasp. He steadied himself and called his warning.

“All ready, Tom! I’m going to drop it!”

“All right!” was the answer. From the depths came the sound of a faint splash. Jerry leaned over, held the joist as close to the wall as he dared, lest it strike the ladder in falling, and let go. A second’s silence followed. Then came a distinct, louder splash as the beam struck the water far below. Jerry waited a second and then called.

“Tom!”

“Yes! All right――Jerry――I’ve got it!”

“Will it hold you up?”

“I think――――” There was a moment of silence. Then: “I’m on it!――It’s fine――Jerry!”

“I’m going for help, Tom. I’ll be back as quick as I can. Will you be all right?”

“Yes.” Tom’s voice sounded fainter than ever, as though reaction had him. “Don’t hurry.――I can stay――like this――for hours.”

“You won’t have to!” For the first time Jerry laughed. Reaction had him, too, and the laugh was weak and trembling. “I’m off, Tom! So long! Keep your chin up!”

Greatly, then, Jerry longed for a match, anything to light the gloom of the long tunnel. He tried to run, but he was too weak for that, and he stumbled and staggered so that he had to slow his pace to a kind of jogging walk. Presently a white fleck brightened and widened and grew nearer and showed itself as the tunnel mouth, a roughly square opening bisected by a vertical black line that was the maple tree whose no trespassing sign they had failed to heed. Then he was out in the pale sunlight again, out with the friendly trees and the little green vines, free from the horrible nightmare of darkness back there. For a moment Jerry had to stop and shade his eyes, for the daylight hurt them intolerably. Then he was off, straight over the edge of the bank before the tunnel, running fleetly down the sloping hill, dodging between the trees deftly, avoiding the tangles with a faculty born of much wandering in the forests.

The school lay a mile or so away, in an easterly direction, and he kept the faint shadows of the trees across his path as he went, certain that by so doing he would emerge on the road west of the school or on the field over which they had started their journey. Perhaps in combating the instinctive tendency to bear to the left he bore too much to the right, for when, in a few minutes, he came to the edge of the woods the curving red-clay road was before him, and the school buildings lay a quarter of a mile distant, the tower of Founders’ Hall gleaming white above the tree tops. But the road had been rolled hard by many wheels, and, although he was fast getting out of breath, he made good time. As he went he mentally listed what was needed: a lantern――two would be better,――a hundred feet of stout rope, plenty of matches and at least two more pairs of strong arms to pull on the rope.

On his right the trees ceased and the school hedge took their place along the road. There were the tennis courts and, just behind, the stable. And between courts and stable were two boys, walking slowly across the turf. On the instant Jerry’s plan to go straight to Doctor Heidler was abandoned. To find the Doctor would consume time, and time was precious. In the stable were lanterns, as he knew, and rope as well, and within hail was all the assistance he needed. He shouted and the boys turned inquiringly as Jerry leaped the hedge. Not until then did he recognize them. One, the taller of the two, was Wayne Sortwell. The other was Loring Browne. Too much out of breath now to shout, he waved, and they hurried toward him as he made for the back of the stable, his haste and the fact that he was coatless and hatless plainly indicating something amiss.

“What’s the matter?” called Lory as they came.

“Tom!” gasped Jerry. “He’s fallen down――the old mine shaft! Got to have lanterns――rope! You fellows come along――pull him out!”

“Tom Hartley?” asked Lory as they hurried to the stable. “Where, Benson?”

“Old mine on the Ridge. ’Bout a mile. Find the lanterns. I’ll get some rope.”

He thrust the door open with a bang that nearly shook it from its hinges and plunged into the harness room. The lanterns had been rescued by Cicero after the hazing episode and fitted with new chimneys, and, although somewhat battered, they were ready for service, as Lory determined as he seized them. There was rope in plenty, rope of many lengths and sizes, and Jerry chose a new coil of three-quarter inch manila that hung on a wooden peg. “Got any matches?” he demanded. Lory and Wayne between them produced seven. “’S enough, I reckon. Come on!”

On the way Jerry supplied a brief story of the accident, avoiding superfluous details since he needed all the breath that was left to him. “But I never heard of any mine,” marveled Lory as he trotted along. “Did you, Wayne?”

“No. Can Hartley come up without help, Jerry? How bad is his arm hurt?”

“’Fraid he’s busted it. I’m going down. I’ll have to tie the rope around him, I reckon.”

“Gee!” said Wayne. “That’s rotten! There goes the best third baseman we’ve had in years!”

“Guess you’ve done your share, Benson,” said Lory. “Better let one of us go down.”

Jerry shook his head. “I’ll go,” he panted. “Better not talk. Save your breath. Got to hurry.” He led the way into the woods and they trotted behind him as he wound between the trees. He was wondering whether he could find the mine again without a long search. He believed that he could, but there was always the chance that he might miss it at first, and that worried him. Taking his advice, the others toiled behind him in silence, soon finding that rowing and baseball training did not necessarily fit them for running uphill through a forest! It wasn’t long, though, before Jerry had to moderate his pace to a hurried walk, and soon after that he began to peer anxiously about him.

“Much farther, Jerry?” panted Wayne.

“Reckon it’s nigh here somewheres.” Jerry stopped and looked around, seeking some remembered landmark. Then he gave a grunt of satisfaction. They were on the edge of a streak of younger growth trees that led uphill to the left, and Jerry followed it assuredly. A minute later the little plateau of mine dumpings loomed above them and he led the way up its bank and, without pause, plunged into the mouth of the tunnel. Inside, however, he stopped.

“Better light up,” he gasped.

Lory and Wayne obeyed, and then they went on. With the light of the two lanterns their progress was easy. Although Lory and Wayne wondered at what they saw they did so in silence, saving their breath for a better purpose. Near the end of the tunnel Jerry turned and took the lantern that Wayne carried. Then they were beside the shaft, its blackness looking strangely ominous in the flickering yellow glow. Jerry stepped to the edge of the hole, opened his mouth and closed it again without a sound. He stepped back and leaned tiredly against a wall. “You,” he whispered to Lory.

So it was Lory’s voice that awoke the very echoes of the dark abyss. “_Tom!_” he called. And then, when the echoes had died to faint whispers, “_Tom!_” he called again. “_Tom!_” They listened with loudly beating hearts, but no answer came from the dark depths. Jerry groaned. Wayne shouted at the top of his healthy lungs. “_Hartley! Tom Hartley!_” But still, save for the mocking echoes, the shaft yielded only silence. Jerry stooped and fairly ripped off his shoes. “Lay hold on the rope, you fellers!” he gasped. “I’m goin’ down!”

But he was trembling so with fear and exhaustion that Lory pushed him back. “Not you, Benson,” he said firmly. “You’re all in. I’ll make it. Give a hand, Wayne.”

“Hold on,” was the answer. “I’m twenty pounds lighter than you, Lory. That’ll count in getting me up.” He threw aside his coat and vest and unlaced his shoes. “Better tie a loop in the end, Lory, and I’ll put my foot in it.”

Jerry sank back again against the wall, too weary to protest had he wanted to. But he didn’t, for he realized that Lory was right. In less time than it takes to tell it, Wayne was ready, a little nervous, I think, but eager nevertheless. Lory tested the remaining upright of the ladder and twisted the rope about it, letting the end of the latter hang a few feet over the edge of the shaft. Wayne lay down and squirmed backward, Jerry holding a hand, until he had found the loop in the rope with one stockinged foot. Jerry handed him one of the lanterns. Then:

“Lower away!” he said quietly.

“If you need help,” said Lory, “shout and I’ll come down, too. We can look after ourselves all right, I guess, until Benson finds some one to pull us up. And――and let’s know how he is――if you find him!”

“All right. Go easy at first. I’m likely to spin a bit, I reckon. Soon’s I get my bearings I’ll call and you can lower faster. Let go!”

Lory and Jerry, bracing themselves, let the rope pay out slowly. The one twist about the upright took much of the pull and their task was easy. After a moment Wayne called back: “All right, fellows! Faster now!”

They obeyed in silence. Only the rasping of the stout rope about the joist broke the stillness until, with something like a sob, Jerry said: “Reckon he couldn’t keep ahold of the timber, Lory. I――I oughtn’t never to have left him!”

“You did all you could, Benson,” was the reply. “Maybe Wayne’ll find him all right. Maybe he’s too done up to answer us. We’ll soon know.” But Jerry, staring miserably at the rope as it descended from sight over the timbered edge of the shaft, would not be comforted. At intervals a little sharp intake of breath showed Lory that he was suffering, and after another moment the latter spoke again. “You couldn’t have helped any by staying down there with Tom, Benson. You did the one thing that could be done. Whatever happens, you mustn’t take any blame for it.”

“I oughtn’t have let him go near the edge,” answered Jerry miserably. “I was afraid to go myself and I let him go!”

At that instant there was a shout from far below. “Easy, fellows! Go slow! I’m down! Hartley’s here. I can see him! Slow!”

A long silence followed while the rope payed out inch by inch. Then: “That’s enough!” came Wayne’s voice faintly. Another silence, filled for Jerry with a horrible suspense and dread. Finally: “He’s all right,” called Wayne. “Just fainted, I think. I’m getting the rope around him. Lower a little more!”

There was a gasp from Jerry and a chuckle from his companion. “Guess the poor chap just sort of keeled over when he found he was all right,” said Lory. “We’ll have him up in a jiffy, Benson.”

“Yes,” said Jerry with a sniffle. “We――we’ll have him up right quick now. Reckon we can pull him, don’t you?”

“Surest thing you know,” answered Lory heartily. “He doesn’t weigh much, anyway. Was that Wayne? Listen!”

“Haul away!” came the word. “But go easy fellows! All right!”

Lory had unslipped the turn about the upright and now, as they pulled, the rope bound badly against the edge of the timbering and made their work harder. Tom weighed about a hundred and forty, and to that weight was now added many pounds of water-soaked clothing, and the boys at the rope soon found that theirs was no slight task. Yet the rope came toward them slowly. Lory, eighteen and with muscles hardened by rowing, soon found the perspiration starting on his forehead. Jerry panted as he pulled, hand over hand. Suddenly Lory’s voice broke the silence there.

“Benson,” he gasped, “how are we going to manage when we get him up? One of us will have to pull him over the edge. Can one hold the rope alone?”

“Golly!” panted Jerry. “We never thought! We’ll have to work to the ladder there somehow and snag the rope round it.”

“We never could,” answered the other desperately. “Wait! Take a look behind you. Isn’t that timber away from the wall a bit?”

Jerry looked as bidden, but in the dim light of the lantern the shadow of the supporting beam made the question one hard to answer. But, “I think so,” Jerry said. “We can find out if we move over that way together.”

They did so, shuffling across the tunnel floor until Jerry, bracing his feet against a rail, ran a cautious hand behind the prop. Then: “Yes!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Kick the rope this way and I’ll work the end through!”

After a somewhat breathless moment it was done, and then, while, doubtless, Tom, if he was conscious, felt a most sickening sensation as he dropped back a foot or so in the shaft, they found new holds on the rope where it had passed around the prop. Although they stepped further back up the tunnel, the new arrangement had added more resistance, and the burden came toward them slower yet. Now they could feel the rope jerk at times as Tom’s body struck against the ladder. But the end of their task came at last, and holding the rope tightly around the upright, Jerry saw Lory rush to the edge and, exerting all his strength, heave the still unconscious body of Tom to the tunnel floor.