CHAPTER XVI
A RETURN TO THE DAY
Burke knew better than to attempt running; three steps in the midst ofsuch blinding darkness would have dashed him against unyielding rock.Instantly, his teeth gripped like those of a bulldog, he clutched atWinston's throat, trusting to his great strength for victory.Instinctively, as one without knowing why closes the eyes to avoidinjury, the engineer dodged sideways, Burke's gripping fingers missedtheir chosen mark, and the two men went crashing down together indesperate struggle.
His revolver knocked from his grasp in the first impetus of assault,his cheek bleeding from forcible contact with a rock edge, Winstonfought in silent ferocity, one hand holding back the Irishman'ssearching fingers, the other firmly twisting itself into the softcollar of his antagonist's shirt. Twice Burke struck out heavily,driving his clinched fist into the other's body, unable to reach theprotected face; then Winston succeeded in getting one groping footbraced firmly against a surface of rock, and whirled the surprisedminer over upon his back with a degree of violence that caused hisbreath to burst forth in a great sob. A desperate struggle ensued, madand merciless--arms gripping, bodies straining, feet rasping along theloose stones, muttered curses, the dull impact of blows. Neither couldsee the other, neither could feel assured his antagonist possessed noweapon; yet both fought furiously,--Burke enraged and merciless,Winston intoxicated with the lust of fight. Twice they reversedpositions, the quickness of the one fairly offsetting the burlystrength of the other, their sinews straining, the hot breath hissingbetween set teeth. Pain was unfelt, mercy unknown.
In the midst of the blind _melee_, following some savage instinct,Winston clinched his fingers desperately in the Irishman's hair, andbegan jamming him back against the irregularities of the rock floor.Suddenly Burke went limp, and the engineer, panting painfully, layoutstretched upon him, his whole body quivering, barely conscious thathe had gained the victory. The miner did not move, apparently he hadceased breathing, and Winston, shrinking away from contact with themotionless body, grasped a rock support and hauled himself to his feet.
The intense blackness all about dazed him; he retained no sense ofdirection, scarcely any memory of where he was. His body, bruised andstrained, pained him severely; his head throbbed as from fever. Littleby little the exhausted breath came back, and with it a slowrealization of his situation. Had he killed Burke? He stared downtoward the spot where he knew the body lay, but could perceive nothing.The mystery of the dark suddenly unnerved him; he could feel his handstremble violently as he groped cautiously along the smooth surface ofthe rock. He experienced a shrinking, nervous dread of coming intocontact with that man lying there beneath the black mantle, thathideous, silent form, perhaps done to death by his hands. It was arevolt of the soul. A moment he actually thought he was losing hismind, feverish fancies playing grim tricks before his strained,agonized vision, imagination peopling the black void with a riot ofgrotesque figures.
He gripped himself slowly and sternly, his jaws set, his tinglingnerves mastered by the resolute dominance of an aroused will.Compelling himself to the act, he bent down, feeling along the groundfor the foreman's hat having the extinguished lamp fixed on it. He wasa long time discovering his object, yet the continued effort broughtback a large measure of self-control, and gave birth to a certainclearness of perception. He held the recovered lamp in his hands,leaning against the side of the tunnel, listening. The very intensityof silence seemed to press against him from every direction as thoughit had weight. He was still breathing heavily, but his strained earscould not distinguish the slightest sound where he knew Burke layshrouded In the darkness. Nothing reached him to break the dread,horrible silence, excepting that far-off, lonely trickle of drippingwater. He hesitated, match in hand, shrinking childishly from thecoming revealment of his victim. Yet why should he? Fierce as thestruggle had proved, on his part the fight had been entirely one ofdefence. He had been attacked, and had fought back only inself-preservation. Winston harbored no animosity; the fierceness ofactual combat past, he dreaded now beyond expression the thought thatthrough his savagery a human life might have been sacrificed. The tinyflame of the ignited match played across his white face, caught thewick of the lamp, and flared up in faint radiance through the gloom.Burke, huddled into the rock shadow, never stirred, and the anxiousengineer bent over his motionless form in a horrid agony of fear. Theman rested partially upon one side, his hands still gripped as instruggle, an ugly wound, made by a jagged edge of rock, showing plainlyin the side of his head. Blood had flowed freely, crimsoning the stonebeneath, but was already congealing amid the thick mass of hair,serving somewhat to conceal the nature of the injury.
Winston, his head lowered upon the other's breast, felt confident hedetected breath, even a slight, spasmodic twitching of muscles, andhastily arose to his feet, his mind already aflame with expedients.The foreman yet lived; perhaps would not prove even seriously injured,if assistance only reached him promptly. Yet what could he do? Whatought he to attempt doing? In his present physical condition Winstonrealized the utter impossibility of transporting that burly body;water, indeed, might serve to revive him, yet that faint trickle offalling drops probably came from some distant fault in the rock whichwould require much patient search to locate. The engineer had assumedgrave chances in this venture underground; in this moment of victory hefelt little inclination to surrender his information, or to sacrificehimself in any quixotic devotion to his assailant. Yet he must givethe fellow a fair chance. There seemed only one course practicable,the despatching to the helpless man's assistance of some among thatgang of workmen down in Number One. But could this be accomplishedwithout danger of his own discovery? Without any immediate revealmentof his part in the tragedy? First of all, he must make sure regardinghis own safety; he must reach the surface before the truth became known.
Almost mechanically he picked up his revolver where it lay glitteringupon the floor, and stood staring at that recumbent form, slowlymaturing a plan of action. Little by little it assumed shape withinhis mind. Swanson was the name of the missing miner, the one Burke hadgone back to seek,--a Swede beyond doubt, and, from what slight glimpsehe had of the fellow before Brown grappled with him in the path above,a sturdily built fellow, awkwardly galled. In all probability such aperson would have a deep voice, gruff from the dampness of long workinghours below. Well, he might not succeed in duplicating that exactly,but he could imitate Swedish dialect, and, amid the excitement anddarkness, trust to luck. Let us see; Burke had surely called one ofthose miners yonder Ole, another Peterson; it would probably help inthrowing the fellows off their guard to hear their own names spoken,and they most naturally would expect Swanson to be with the foreman.It appeared feasible enough, and assuredly was the only plan possible;it must be risked, the earlier the better. The thought never onceoccurred to him of thus doing injury to a perfectly innocent man.
He looked once more anxiously at the limp figure of the prostrateBurke, and then, holding the lamp out before him, moved cautiously downthe passage toward the main tunnel. Partially concealing himself amidthe denser shadows behind the displaced falsework, he was enabled tolook safely down the opening of Number One, and could perceive numerousdark figures moving about under flickering rays of light, while hisears distinguished a sound of voices between the strokes of the picks.He crept still closer, shadowing his lamp between his hands, andcrouching uneasily in the shadows. The group of men nearest him wereundoubtedly Swedes, as they were conversing in that language, workingwith much deliberation in the absence of the boss. Winston rose up,his shadow becoming plainly visible on the rock wall, one hand heldbefore his mouth to better muffle the sound of his voice. The hollowechoing along those underground caverns tended to make all noiseunrecognizable.
"Yust two of you fellars bettar come by me, an' gif a leeft," heventured, doubtfully.
Those nearer faces down the tunnel were turned toward the voice insudden, bewildered surprise, the light
s flickering as the headsuplifted.
"Vas it you, Nels Swanson?"
"Yas, I tank so; I yust want Peterson an' Ole. Meester Burke vas gothurt in the new level, an' I couldn't leeft him alone."
He saw the two start promptly, dropping their picks, their heavy bootscrunching along the floor, the flapping hat-brims hiding their eyes andshadowing their faces. For a moment he lingered beside the falsework,permitting the light from his lamp to flicker before them as a beacon;then he hid the tiny flame within his cap, and ran swiftly down themain tunnel. Confident now of Burke's early rescue, he must grasp thisopportunity for an immediate escape from the mine. A hundred feet fromthe foot of the shaft he suddenly came upon the advancing tram-car, adiminutive mule pulling lazily in the rope traces, the humping figureof a boy hanging on behind. The two gazed at each other through thesmoke of a sputtering wick.
"Hurry up," spoke Winston, sharply. "Burke's hurt, and they'll needyour car to carry him out in. What's the signal for the cage?"
The boy stood silent, his mouth wide open, staring at him stupidly.
"Do you hear, you lunk-head? I 'm after a doctor; how do you signalthe cage?"
"Twa yanks on the cord, meester," was the grudging reply. "Wha was ye,onyhow?" But Winston, unheeding the question, was already off, hisonly thought the necessity of immediately attaining the surface insafety, ahead of the spreading of an alarm.
The cage shot speedily upward through the intense darkness, past thedeserted forty-foot gallery, and emerged into the gray light of dawnflooding the shafthouse. Blinking from those long hours passed in thedarkness below, Winston distinguished dimly a number of strange figuresgrouped before him. An instant he paused in uncertainty, his handshading his eyes; then, as he stepped almost blindly forward he camesuddenly face to face with Biff Farnham. A second their glances met,both alike startled, bewildered, doubtful--then the jaw of the gamblerset firm, his hand dropped like lightning toward his hip, and Winston,every ounce of strength thrown into the swift blow, struck him squarelybetween the eyes. The man went over as though shot, yet before he evenhit the floor, the other had leaped across the reeling body, anddashed, stumbling and falling, down the steep slope of the dump-pile,crashing head first into the thick underbrush below.
Beth Norvell: A Romance of the West Page 16
