by Janette Oke
“Well, then,” said Clark, “why don’t we jest go on out fer a look-see?”
Nathan’s eyes sparkled in anticipation. He hurried through his meal and bounced down from the table.
“What horse shall I tell Scottie to saddle for ya, Grandpa?” he asked with excitement.
“Nathan,” said Willie quietly, indicating Nathan’s empty chair.
Nathan crawled back up reluctantly and looked over at his mother, then back at his father. “May I be excused, sir?” he asked, subdued.
Willie nodded and Nathan swung down from the chair.
“What horse—” he began, but Clark stopped him with a laugh.
“I think Scottie’s busy enough without worryin’ none ’bout me. I’ll saddle ol’ Turk when I git down there.”
Nathan spun around and was gone. “I’ll get Spider,” he called over his shoulder as he ran out the door, then followed it with, “Too bad Joey’s too little.”
“Joey?” questioned Marty.
Missie laughed. “I thought and thought of a name for my second son that wouldn’t be all chopped up in a nickname. I thought I had one, too. Josiah. Surely no one could shorten that. But I wasn’t counting on Nathan. He’s called him Joey since the day he arrived.”
“I think it’s rather nice,” Marty mused.
“Well, I guess it’s all right—you know what I’ve decided? I’ve decided that almost any name is all right as long as it’s spoken with love.”
Marty smiled her agreement.
Clark finished his coffee and turned to Willie. “Well, cowboy, it looks like you’ll jest have to do yer best wranglin’ without me today. I’ve got me another pardner.”
Willie grinned. “Wish I could come with ya, but I promised Hugh Caly thet I’d ride on over and take a look at some new stock he brought in. Yer lucky to be missin’ thet ride. It’s a long, hot one, an’ to save some miles, we pass right through some bad cactus territory. Near scratches the clothes right off ya.”
“Thet there west ridge sounds better ’n better to me.” Clark smiled.
“Nothing much of danger on the west ridge. Thet’s why we allow Nathan to ride there. Pretty lifeless over there. Ya’ll be lucky to even spy a rattler slitherin’ off.”
“Well, iffen there be a rattler, I do hope it slithers off, all right,” said Clark. “I haven’t grown overfond of ’em.”
“Jest don’t surprise ’em,” said Willie, “an’ you’ll be all right.”
When Clark reached the barn, Scottie was unobtrusively giving Nathan a hand with the saddling of Spider. Clark went into the corral to bring out Turk. He still wasn’t too handy with the rope, but he managed to get the horse on the second try.
They saddled up and left the yard, Missie calling to them as they rode out to make sure they both had full canteens.
“Ma always worries,” confided Nathan in a loud whisper, to which Clark responded, “Thet’s what mas are for.”
They rode to the west, then turned toward the south and followed the ridge for a few miles. There really wasn’t much new to see but an occasional glimpse of the mountain chain as it topped one of the nearer hills. Often they could look out to the east and see cattle, as Willie’s herd fed its way across the prairie. Once or twice they spotted a cowboy as he hazed the cattle. The sun was high in the sky when Clark suggested they pull over in the shelter of some big rocks and eat the lunch Missie had sent along. Nathan seemed to like the idea. The eating time was the most important part of any trail ride. Nathan crawled down from Spider and ground-tied him. Clark did likewise with Turk, looking around cautiously to make sure there were no rattlers sharing the rocks with them. He noticed Nathan doing likewise.
“If rattlers are here, Grandpa, they’ll be in the sun ’stead of on this shady side,” he said. “But still Pa says ya always got to check to be sure.”
Clark was pleased with the boy’s knowledge of his environment and his carefulness.
“How much further we goin’?” asked Clark as they munched their sandwiches.
“Not much, I guess. Nothin’ to see down there ’cept some ol’ hills with holes in ’em.”
“Ol’ hills with holes?”
Nathan nodded.
“What kind of holes?”
“Pa says they used to mine it.”
“Mine it?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of mine?”
“Dunno. Pa says fer me to stay away from the holes. He says they are dang’rous. Some stuff is gittin’ rotten or somethin’.”
“Best we stay away from ’em, then,” agreed Clark, but he planned on asking Willie about the old mines when he got home.
They had just finished their lunch and were gathering things together when they heard an approaching horse. The rider was coming full gallop, and Clark stood up to see what the reason might be. One did not usually ride at such pace in the heat of the midday sun.
A young rider approached them, his legs beating at the sides of his horse and his unruly hair flying in the wind. Clark could hear him shout now and then, but he couldn’t understand a word he was saying.
“Who’s thet?” Clark asked the young Nathan.
For a moment Nathan just stood and stared without answering.
“Who is he? Ya know?” Clark asked again.
Nathan roused then, shaking his head.
The rider pounded closer, and Clark could plainly hear him sobbing now. Clark stepped forward to be ready to stop the horse when the boy drew near.
“You gotta come!” the frantic boy screamed even before he reached them. “You gotta come quick! Andy and Abe, they—” He had reached them, and Clark hauled in the lathered horse.
“Whoa, there,” he said, reaching up in one smooth movement both to pull the horse to a halt and to run a quieting hand over its neck.
“You gotta come—” The boy’s voice was agitated and hoarse with emotion.
Clark moved a hand to the boy. “Jest take it easy. Take it easy. We’ll come. Now ya calm down some ’n’ tell—”
“Abe an’ Andy!” cried the boy, tears making tracks down his dust-covered cheeks. “Abe an’ Andy are in there.”
“Take it easy,” Clark said again. “Jest tell it slow like.”
“We gotta hurry!” the boy barked impatiently.
“We’ll hurry,” said Clark. “But first we gotta know where to hurry to.” Clark’s purposeful calm seemed to have its effect, and the boy took a big breath before continuing.
“The mine. The ol’ mine shaft—they’re in there. It fell on ’em. They’ll never git out.”
“Where?”
“Over there. We were lookin’ ’em over, an’ the timbers broke an’ the mine fell in—”
But Clark was already gathering the reins of his horse. “Nathan,” he said, “can ya ride home alone? Does yer pa ever let ya do thet?”
“Sure,” said Nathan, his eyes wide.
“Look, son,” said Clark, pulling the boy close. “I want ya to ride on back to the ranch. Tell Scottie, or whoever is around, thet some boys are trapped in a mine. Tell ’em to bring shovels an’ a wagon an’ come on the double. Ya got thet?”
Nathan nodded his head in agreement, his eyes wide with the importance of his mission.
“Now ya ride on home. Take yer time—do ya hear? Don’t try to go fast. Jest take yer time an’ be careful. I’m gonna go with this here boy an’ help those kids. All right?”
Clark boosted Nathan onto his pony and watched as the small boy headed back to the ranch on the familiar path. He was not concerned about the boy becoming lost. Nathan knew the way well. Clark was worried that panic might cause him to travel too fast and maybe end up in a spill. Nathan turned once to look back at his grandfather. “Remember. Go slow,” Clark called to him, and the boy waved his hand.
The sobbing of the boy beside him brought Clark’s head around.
“Okay, son. You lead the way. Take it easy. A fall with yer horse won’t help yer friends none.”
The boy still wept sporadically. He pushed his horse as fast as the poor creature could go. When they finally reached an opening in the side of a hill, he threw himself off.
“They’re in there!” he cried. “We gotta git ’em out.”
Smoke-colored dust still lingered in the air, evidence of a recent cave-in.
“You know this mine?” he asked the boy.
“Some,” the boy admitted with downcast eyes, and Clark could see that he knew it was forbidden territory.
Some boards that obviously had closed off the cave entrance had been pried off and discarded at the side of its open mouth.
“Tell me ’bout it,” Clark said, and as the boy hesitated, Clark took his arm. “Yer friends are in there. Remember? Now, I don’t know one thing about thet there cave. Tell me ’bout it. Does it have more than one branch? How far back were ya? Did the timbers collapse more’n once?”
The boy responded. “It has three main tunnels. The first one takes off real quick to the right. It’s a short one. Don’t think the miners found anything there, so they jest left it. The second one goes off to the right, too. But the fellas are in the left one. It’s the biggest an’ was used the most. The timbers’re really bad in there. The shaft goes down deeper in the left one. Sometimes the steps are real steep an’ slippery. We was climbin’ up an’ we kept slippin’, so we grabbed hold of the side timbers to pull ourselves, an’ thet’s when it …” He couldn’t continue but put his face in his hands and sobbed.
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 boyhad 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 le
g 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.
