by Janette Oke
Clark stayed long enough to hold him for a moment. “It’s okay. We’ll git ’em. Are there any shovels?”
The boy shook his head. “We can use our hands,” he snuffled.
“Yer not comin’ back in,” said Clark, seeing the terror in the boy’s face.
“But I gotta,” he said through sobs. “I gotta.”
“No, yer needed here. They’re gonna come from the ranch. Ya need to tell ’em where to go. They’ll have shovels. Ya tell ’em, too, ’bout those rotten timbers. Ya hear?”
The boy nodded. Clark hoped the youth would be able to wait calmly without further panic.
Clark gently pushed him to a sitting position on a nearby rock. “Ya jest stay right there an’ wait fer those men. Now, it might seem a long time till they come, but they’ll be here. Ya jest keep watchin’ fer ’em an’ wave ’em on over here. Ya okay now?”
The boy nodded again, affirming that he was. His face was still white beneath the smears of dust and tears.
Clark turned and headed for the mine. The door was low, and he had to stoop to enter. Old beams above his head appeared as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The supports looked fairly stable in some places and sagging and broken in others. Clark moved away from the light at the entrance and felt his way along the passage. He had not gone far when he found the first tunnel off to the right just as the boy had described. He continued on, feeling his way with his hands and his feet. A low-hanging beam caught him by surprise, and he banged his head against the knotted lumber. For a minute he felt dizzy with the pain, but he steadied himself until he had his bearings. From then on he went forward with one arm outstretched above his head.
Clark ducked his way past other obstructions. How he wished for a light. He figured the boys must have used some kind of torches or lanterns to find their way around. Clark discovered the second right-hand tunnel. Only one more to go, he told himself. The tunnel should soon swing to the left. After several yards of total darkness, Clark felt the tunnel veer sharply. The smell of dust was heavy in the air now. Clark was forced to stop and tie his handkerchief over his nose. He started down the left fork and soon came to one of the steep places the boy had described. Before he knew what was happening, his feet had slipped out from under him, and he felt himself sliding downward on his back. The rocks cut into him, scraping away shirt and skin. After he had come to a halt and felt cautiously about, Clark regained his feet and pressed slowly forward, testing carefully with his foot before he put his weight on it. Again and again the tunnel took a downward turn, but Clark was ready for them, most only a step or two. And then, just ahead of him, Clark thought he heard a groan. He fell to his hands and knees and felt his way forward.
“Hello,” he called. “Hello. Do you hear me? Hello.”
Another groan answered him, and Clark crawled on.
Soon he was in contact with a slight body. “Do you hear me?” he asked, reaching for the boy’s wrist and the pulse. The boy stirred. Clark felt a faint pulse beat and breathed a prayer of thanks.
“Son,” he asked anxiously, “son. Can you hear me? Are ya awake?”
In answer the boy began to cry. “Ya came,” he sobbed. “Ya came.”
“It’s all right.” Clark soothed him, brushing his hair back out of his face and feeling the dirt and debris falling off his head. “It’s all right. Where are ya hurt? Can ya get up?”
“My ankle,” sobbed the boy. “It’s caught under thet beam.”
“We’ll git it out. We’ll have it out in no time. Ya jest hang in there.”
“Abe,” said the boy. “Did ya git Abe yet?”
“Not yet,” answered Clark.
Clark began to feel around in the darkness. He had to discover just what was holding the boy’s leg. He found the beam, a big piece of timber, too thick and too long for him to tackle without some kind of tool.
He went on searching, feeling his way in search of the other boy. Carefully he made his way over the rubble and back again, the sharp stones cutting into the flesh of his palms. Nothing. He crawled on. He nearly missed it, but just as his hand slid over some rocky debris, he felt something smooth to the touch. It was a boot. Clark allowed his hand to search out the area. The boy was almost totally buried under the cave-in. Clark began to dig away at the rock and dirt, trying not to dislodge any more of the tunnel wall in his haste.
At length he could feel an arm. He dug on, frantically searching out the place where the head might be, eventually uncovering it. He longed for a light. If only he could see the condition of the boy. His hands traced over the temple, the face, the back of the head, and back again. They told him all that he needed to know. Clark crawled back to Andy.
“Andy,” he said. “Andy. Ya still with me, boy?”
The boy groaned his answer.
“Andy, I’ve gotta try to git yer leg out. Now, I can’t move thet there beam. It’s too big an’ heavy an’ I don’t have anything to cut it with. I’m gonna have to try to dig out from under yer leg and git it out thet way. It’s gonna hurt, Andy. Can ya take it?”
Andy was crying again. “Yeah,” he said. “We gotta git out. These timbers keep creakin’ like they’re gonna break again.”
Clark crawled around, feeling for a sharp rock. He found one he thought would make a tool of sorts and began to dig around the boy’s leg. At first he worked far enough away from the boy that the digging did not bother him, but as the rubble was gradually cleared away, the leg began to shift and the boy moaned in pain. This turned into a tortured scream, but Clark dug on, trying his hardest to be as gentle as he knew how. He must get him out, and quickly, for the boy was right. Clark, too, could hear the timbers snapping and creaking and feared at any time they might give way and pour forth more rocks and earth on top of them.
It seemed forever to Clark until he had a hole clawed away beneath Andy’s foot deep enough to coax the boy’s ankle out. He would have to slip off the boot in order to make the foot squeeze under. Pulling off the boot made Andy scream again in pain. Clark almost succumbed to the cries and stopped twisting, but he knew he would be signing the boy’s life away if he did. He had dug away the earth to sheer rock. He could make the opening no bigger for the injured ankle to pass through. If Andy was to be freed, he must pull him loose now. Clark gritted his teeth, took the foot as gently as he could, and forced the leg out from under the beam. Mercifully, Andy fainted. Clark wiped dirt from the boy’s face and loosened his collar. Then he picked him up gently and started carefully back up the tunnel.
Stumbling along in the darkness, feeling his way with an outstretched toe, bumping against rocks and beams that obstructed the path was treacherous going. The steep incline was the most difficult. One time he had to slide the boy up ahead of him, then claw his way up behind him and go on again. On and on he stumbled and fought until at least he could sense, more than see, the tunnel to his right. He breathed a thanksgiving prayer and hurried on. The tunnel floor was smoother now and walking was easier. Soon Clark passed the second tunnel, as well. If only the men from the ranch would be there with a light and some shovels.
And then, just ahead, Clark saw the opening of the mine. He hastened forward and burst out to fresh air and glaring sunshine. The boy was sitting in the shade on the same rock where Clark had seated him. He sprang to his feet when Clark made an appearance.
“Ya found Andy!” he cried. “Andy. Andy, ya okay?” He was crying again. “Is he dead, mister?”
“Naw,” said Clark. “He’s okay. He’s got a busted ankle, but he’ll be okay. Run over there to my saddle an’ git thet there canteen. He needs a drink.” The boy ran away in a flash.
Clark laid the boy gently on the ground in the shade. He stood to full height and looked off in the direction of the ranch. In the distance he could see whirls of dust. They were on their way. He couldn’t wait. The timbers might give way at any moment and then the other boy, Abe, would be buried deep within the mine shaft.
He turned to the boy who was kneeling
beside his friend Andy, trying to help him with a few swallows of water.
“Listen,” he said. “They are on their way here now. See thet dust over there? It’s gonna take ’em a while to git here. I want ya to take good care of Andy till they come, an’ when they git here you just tell ’em to wait out here fer me. Ya understand? I know where Abe is, an’ I’m gonna go git ’im.”
The boy nodded his head and Clark turned and hurried back into the old mine. Traveling more quickly this time with a better idea of what was ahead of him, he still protected himself with a raised arm and a groping foot. But he moved with less caution because he knew that time was a major factor.
As he felt and slipped his way down the left tunnel, he prayed that he might get to Abe before the whole mine collapsed. The dust still hung heavily in the air, but Clark didn’t think it was any worse than before. It appeared there had been no further cave-ins.
He came to the last steep slide and let himself down carefully, trying hard not to disturb any more of the rock around him. At the bottom, he dropped on all fours and felt his way forward to where he had left Abe. In the darkness he found the outstretched arm and the near-buried face, and he began to dig methodically, painstakingly, lifting away the debris from around him. It was slow work. Some of the rocks that buried the boy were boulder sized, and it took all of Clark’s strength to move them to the side. He clawed and pushed, pulled and scratched, tore and pried until at last he had the boy freed from his prison.
He stopped for only a minute to catch his breath, and then he lifted the boy tenderly and once again began the climb to the outside world. Just as he pushed Abe ahead of him up the steep slope, there was a terrifying crack and a monstrous roar, and the ceiling of the cavern collapsed all around him. Pain seared through Clark as a heavy timber fell with sickening impact upon his leg, and then merciful blackness.
The men in the wagon had just pulled up and began to throw questions at the boy when the roar from within the cave burst upon them. Another cave-in! The boy crumpled to the ground with a cry of despair, and Andy, who lay on the ground shivering in shock, began to whimper.
“Someone look after thet boy,” barked Scottie, and Lane moved forward to examine the youngster and ordered some blankets brought from the wagon.
Willie headed for the mine entrance and was stopped by Scottie’s hands.
“I’m goin’ in,” Willie told his foreman.
“No, ya ain’t. Nobody’s goin’ in there till we know thet it’s finished fallin’.”
Willie hesitated and stood listening to the rumbling inside the hillside.
The dust began to sift out of the entrance as they stood and stared, straining their ears. Willie turned to the sobbing boy.
“Did the man who came with ya go in there, boy?”
The boy nodded his head.
“Has he been out a’tall?”
“He brought Andy out.”
“Where is he now?”
“He went back in fer Abe.”
It was exactly as Willie knew it would be, yet he had dared to hope it might not be so.
The rumbling gradually stopped. Willie headed for the wagon and came back with a lantern and a rope. Again Scottie stepped forward and without a word took the lantern from him and lit it.
“Lane,” Scottie instructed, “grab these shovels an’ follow me.”
Willie moved to fall in line.
“Mr. LaHaye,” said Scottie, “you ain’t goin’ in there.”
“What ya talkin’—” Willie began, but Scottie interrupted.
“I’m talkin’ ’bout you,” said Scottie firmly. “You an’ yer missus an’ those two little boys.”
“But—”
“No buts. Thet there mine might give again. Ya know thet, an’ I know thet.”
Scottie then turned to Lane. “I’m not askin’ any man to take chances,” he said. “You stay several feet behind me an’ iffen ya hear a rumble, then run fer it. Now, boy, where do we find ’em?”
The youngster moved forward and was able to again intelligently give the men directions, and then Scottie and Lane moved through the mine opening.
Willie fidgeted at the entry. He wanted to go in and help with the search for Clark. He would go in. And then he thought of Missie. Of Missie and his two sons. If anything should happen to her father, she would need her husband even more.
Praying, he paced back and forth before the mouth of the mine and then went over to see if there was anything he could do for the young boy who lay groaning on the ground.
He turned to the one who leaned against the rock outcropping, staring at the gaping hole that had caused all this misery.
“Boy,” he said, “do ya live ’round here?”
“In town,” he answered.
“This yer brother?” asked Willie, indicating Andy on the ground.
“My friend. My brother—he’s still in there.”
“Yer folks be worryin’?”
“I reckon.”
“Do ya think ya should ride on home an’ tell ’em? Yer pa might want to git on over here an’ help git yer brother out.”
The boy looked surprised that he hadn’t thought of that.
“Yeah,” he said and headed for his grazing horse.
“An’ git word to the folks of this here boy, too, will ya, son? They can come over and see what they can do to make ’im more comfortable.”
The boy cast a backward glance at his friend and hurried off.
From then on, there was nothing for Willie to do except watch the entrance of the mine and pray there would be no more cave-ins. Occasionally he talked to the half-conscious boy or gave him sips of water. The broken ankle was painful, but as Willie examined it with his eyes, not wanting to move it, he thought it looked as though it might heal properly. He could see no protruding bones or broken skin.
There was nothing to speed up the minutes as Willie waited. Time after time he started down the mine tunnel, only to think of Scottie’s words and turn back.
After what seemed like an eternity, another wagon pulled up. A man whom Willie had seen only once before jumped to the ground before the wagon even stopped rolling. He stopped briefly to touch the face of Andy and give a brief nod to Willie, and then he ran into the entrance of the mine. He did not even carry a lantern.
A woman approached more slowly. Already her face was tear-streaked and her eyes swollen from weeping.
“Is this yer son?” asked Willie with concern in his voice.
The woman knelt beside the boy and smoothed his hair with her hand and wiped the dust from his face with an edge of her simple gown.
“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s my boy still in there.”
“I’m sorry,” said Willie.
“We’ve told ’em—over an’ over we’ve warned ’em. ‘Don’t go near those mines,’ we’ve said. ‘They’re not safe.’ But bein’ boys they jest gotta find out fer theirselves.” She was sobbing softly, not bothering with the tears that ran down her cheeks.
“Somebody should do something ’bout those caves,” the woman went on. “Ya never know whose child might be next.”
Willie thought of his own two boys. “We’ll git a permit to dynamite ’em, ma’am, jest as soon as we git these folks out.”
The boy stirred and the woman spoke to him. “It’s okay, Andy. Casey has gone fer yer ma an’ pa. They should be here anytime now. They’ll git ya on home an’ look to thet ankle.”
Andy, looking relieved in spite of his pain, closed his eyes again.
Willie scanned the hills once more and could see another wagon approaching in the distance. It was not long until Andy’s folks arrived and the mother was running to him with shrieks and cries. Willie feared she was going to turn hysterical, but her husband calmed her. She fell on the ground beside her son and alternated between scoldings and endearments. The man knelt over the foot and began to prod the ankle. The boy cried out in pain, and the father grimaced and then went about preparing a ma
keshift splint. It was not a pleasant task. The boy screamed again and again as the foot was placed at the right angle and bound. Everyone present had broken into a cold sweat before the ordeal was over. At length the father’s gruesome task was done, and he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. And still there was no sign of life from the mouth of the mine.
“How long they been in there?” asked one of the mothers.
“I’ve long since lost track of time,” answered Willie. “Seems forever. At least there’s been no more rumbles. Thet’s a good sign.”
He paced back and forth and again ventured into the cave a short distance. Then he heard the scraping and sliding of scuffling feet, and as he strained forward he could see the faint light of a lantern reflecting off the tunnel wall.
He pushed forward more anxiously and soon was face-to-face with Scottie. Scottie carried the front end of a makeshift stretcher made from broken timbers, and Lane stumbled along behind carrying the other end. On the stretcher lay Clark. His face was deathly white and blood smeared, and the arm that dangled at his side swung lifelessly back and forth.
“Oh, dear God,” prayed Willie, and then to the men, “Is he dead?”
Scottie did not answer. Lane finally dared to voice a quiet “Not quite.”
Willie took the lantern that swung from one corner of the stretcher and led the way. As he turned to check on the progress of the men behind him, he noticed the third man. It was the boy’s father, and he, too, bore a burden. In his arms he carried his boy. Willie’s eyes asked the question, and this time Scottie answered. “No” was all he said.
Ten
A Day of a Million Years
They took Clark to the ranch on a makeshift bed in the wagon. Even in his unconscious state, he groaned occasionally. They tried to drive as carefully as they could, but the jarring vehicle was distressful at best and a torment at worst.
