"This should be familiar then. Does Daisy know? About the tunnels?"
"It never came up," the Duc replied, but his tone suggested it had never come up for a reason.
"Sensible man," Trey muttered. Daisy had a way of making her feelings known on a subject, a circumstance of which Trey was fully aware.
Bringing enough dynamite with them to assure opening the crosscut, the four men loaded the wooden box and drills on the cage and lowered themselves to the 2433 level of Alaska shaft. They made their way to the extremity of the new tunnel, cutting through to the adjacent shaft where Hazard and the other miners were battling the flood waters. As they neared the rock wall separating the two mines, the muffled turbulence of surging water was audible.
"What do you estimate—ten or twelve feet between us and the Pacific shaft?" Trey asked, recalling his earlier conversation with the foreman.
"Fifteen feet, at the most," Trewayne clarified.
"No more than six feet then for the drill holes?"
"Six would be safe. Anything more, the water might bust through before we can dynamite and get the hell out." Trewayne's voice was emotionless, as though their discussion didn't carry the imminent threat of death 2433 feet below the surface of the earth. And the men set to work, running the two-man drills, slowly cutting into the granite. The time required seemed an eternity although only fifteen minutes passed until they had enough holes drilled, loaded with dynamite, and primed to accomplish their task.
With sweat dripping from their faces, their clothes wet from the water they'd been working in for the past hour, the four men surveyed the four neatly packed drill holes attached to the seven-foot fuses stretching out from the wall.
"Good luck, gentlemen," Trey said, his voice grave for a moment as he considered their chances of outrunning the deluge. "And thank you." He smiled suddenly. "Any wagers on the race to the hoist?"
Their hat-lamps shone dimly on the underground scene, the nearest station lamps beyond the curve of the tunnel, the damp heat almost smothering, like the darkness barely kept at bay. In the shadowed gloom, the men's smiles shone white against their dirt-smeared faces.
"Let's just say, last one there buys beer at Skala's," Trewayne quipped.
And they bent to the task of lighting the fuses, the masculine sportive crisis management discharged and preempted now by more pressing concerns.
After waiting just long enough to make certain the fuses were burning well, the men sprinted down the rough tunnel toward the main passageway leading to the hoist. The ground shuddered under their feet forty seconds later when the dynamite exploded prematurely, and a moment later they all heard the ominous thundering explosion of rushing water.
The glow of the lit cage station seemed minute and distant, the roar of the water menacingly close, their speed inadequate against the equation of distance and water velocity. A cool mist drifted over them, the deafening rush of water intensified, preface they all knew to the engulfing tide.
The cage was a hundred yards away now. Life and a future beckoning… if they could reach it.
Then seventy yards.
Running full-out, agonizing pain stabbed their rasping lungs as they gasped for air, every man's eyes on the cage, all thoughts on the essential need for speed.
Fifty yards left.
The lights shone vividly now behind the metal mesh protec-tive covers, the cage door invitingly open, the lever required for ascent brilliant red. Their goal and salvation.
Only thirty yards to go.
Each man's heart thudded in his chest, and the smallest man, Trewayne, was keeping pace with the longer stride of the other three only by sheer gutsy determination.
Ten yards.
The light mist had altered to dense fog, the lights almost concealed although they were near, the tumultuous roar behind them booming in their ears.
Trewayne's boot caught on a rough outcropping and he stumbled. As Etienne's peripheral vision discerned the flashing lurch, he instinctively checked his speed.
Trewayne's arms flailed out in a jerky spinning flutter and he caught himself—in the next split second—almost… as Etienne tried to reach him—then losing his battle with gravity, toppled over, falling in a staggering sprawl.
Trey and Lund, running a few places ahead, were unaware of the accident until they'd reached the cage. Turning back, they observed with horror the fallen Trewayne—Etienne in a crouch, reaching for him. Behind them a dark glistening wall of water, roof-high and black as hades, rushed toward them.
"Signal up!" Trey shouted above the deafening sound of the water before sprinting back toward the two men. Seconds later, adding his strength to Etienne's, they swept Trewayne up, and supporting him under his arms, ran toward the cage.
"The door! The door!" Trey screamed, gesturing with his free hand to start swinging it shut.
And the cable began slowly revolving, the cage lifting the first few inches off the 2433 level.
Five seconds more and they would have been safe. Five seconds more and the cage door would have been closed on them.
But the wall of water hit them two strides short of their destination, hurling Trey and Trewayne into the slowly rising cage.
Sweeping Etienne away… past the steel cage, past the shaft, into the tunnel extending westward from the hoist. Into pitch-black darkness as the station lamps went out. Into a suffocating maelstrom of swirling water.
As powerless as a leaf in a flooding torrent, the surging force took him away. Twenty-four hundred feet below the ground, he realized with horror. And if the pumps in Pacific shaft went under, it would be months before the mine could be reopened—he'd be buried twenty-four hundred feet beneath the surface in a watery grave.
Holding his breath, he controlled the panic screaming through his mind. He wasn't dead until he was dead, dammit! But unnerving images flashed through his mind, vignettes of his past life, of Daisy, his children, his mother… those fearful prognosticated final moments of existence.
His lungs felt like they were going to burst when the powerful suction took hold of him, and moments later he was swept into a narrow opening of some kind because he was being smashed and buffeted against solid rock. Protecting his head with his arms as he was dashed back and forth by the hurtling pressure, he wondered if he'd black out first from the suffocating pain in his lungs or still be alert when he was compelled to draw the breath that would drown him.
With an obstinate determination, he forced himself to contemplate the image of the holy men in central Asia who sat for days without moving, hardly breathing in their meditation of God, willing his mind away from the agony in his lungs, willing his thoughts to a tranquility that would see him face death with a calm serenity.
But beyond his effort to suppress both pain and fear, his final conscious thoughts were irrepressibly of Daisy. She was smiling at him across the dinner table, wearing his oversize nightshirt, her hair tumbled in shining splendor on her shoulders, her lips dusted with sugar. I love you… I'll always love you, he promised.
He could vividly see the love in her eyes… as her image floated closer, nearer… he could almost touch her now…
Drawing his arms away from protecting his head, he reached out to embrace her. The pain in his lungs was agonizing. Unbearable. A lacerating blow tore into his shoulder, overwhelming the torment of his lungs, and then his head violently crashed into the unyielding rock. Death hovered.
And darkness closed over him.
* * *
Trey, Lund, and Trewayne fell out of the cage on level six and lay on the ground panting, the first two hundred feet of their ascent an underwater breath-held panic before they rose above the flooded tunnels.
No one spoke for a moment, their lungs still bereft of adequate air, and when Trewayne finally uttered the first gasping words, they reflected everyone's thoughts. "I owe him my life. Poor devil."
"Even if… we could go back… down there," Lund added, his breath expelled in little puffs of phrases, "he'd be…
dead… by now."
They all knew, no one would be able to return in any event—not for weeks… even if the water pouring in had definable limits.
Heartsick at the tragedy, at the awful consequences resulting from a few lost seconds, Trey pulled himself to his feet, brushing his wet hair from his face with both hands in a rough, sweeping gesture. Although stricken with anguish, the bitter reality of the continuing peril in Pacific shaft didn't even allow them time to grieve now; the flooding that killed Etienne could be the cause of more lives lost if the water couldn't be stopped in the other shaft. They had to return immediately to give what help they could to the men manning the pumps.
Bloody hell, he thought, oppressed and disheartened, obliged to force his weary legs to move. They'd all understood the risks involved. But, damn. Only a few seconds more and Etienne wouldn't have been swept away. He felt like crying. What could he say to Daisy?
"Sorry, boss," Trewayne quietly said, keeping pace with Trey as he began moving down the tunnel, his gaze on Trey's distrait face, his own feelings even more guilt-racked. "He should have let me go."
"It's not your fault, Billy. None of us knew if we'd make it back. He understood the odds." There was no point in conjecturing or assigning blame. The Duc was dead. If resurrection were a possibility, he'd gladly pay penance and accept the blame for letting him come along. Not that de Vec would have listened to him anyway. He was a man who made his own decisions.
But God above, what was Daisy going to do? Desolation swept over him.
When Trey stepped out of the cage on 2200 level of Pacific shaft, a miner shouted, "The water's stopped! You did it!"
Hazard swiveled around when he heard the shouted greeting, his face lighting up in congratulatory response. But his dark eyes immediately took in the diminished ranks in a quick fleeting count. Had the Duc returned to the surface already was his first hopeful wish. He could have resurfaced through the Alaska shaft. But further observation correctly read the anguish in his son's face and all his elation at saving the mine abruptly disappeared.
Desperately hoping he was wrong, he inquired, "Is Etienne… ?"
Trey shook his head. "The water took him." His gruff voice broke, his pain visible. "Just as we reached the cage."
Hazard had seen his share of death: in the Civil War; on raids in his youth; in the smallpox scourge that had killed his parents and half their tribe; his own young children's deaths were never forgotten. But death always struck one like a blow to the heart.
Brutal and unexpected.
The thin sound of wailing whistles carried only faintly to Clear River Valley, but Daisy was attuned to the signal. When the mine whistles blew in chorus, everyone knew disaster had struck. Or perhaps some sixth sense roused her as the unpropitious warning pierced the air and floated across the morning sky. Aware some catastrophe had occurred, she threw back the covers and was already partially dressed when the phone rang.
How many times before had she answered emergency calls from the mine? But Etienne was at the site today and she steadied her nerves before picking up the receiver.
"The mine's flooding," Blaze said, "with a shift still underground—our men included." With conscious effort Blaze forced her voice to remain calm, without a trace of hysteria or fear.
Calling on an inner strength, Daisy answered with equal composure, but subliminal emotion unrestrained by conscious repression had triggered panic from the moment she'd first heard the siren. "I'm leaving now." She didn't waste time in asking questions; she understood the calamity in flooding.
And her hand was shaking as she set the receiver back in its cradle.
When Daisy arrived at the mine, others drawn by the distress signal were gathered around the base of the skip tower, waiting for news, watching for the cage to surface, fear for their loved ones etched on every face. Mothers with young children clinging to their skirts prayed for their husbands' safety; old men who knew what it was like underground hoped their sons would be on the cage because the next one might not operate if the water overtook it; older children, their apprehension for their fathers vivid on their young faces, tried to comfort their younger siblings; old women, who knew it would be a miracle if everyone came up alive, cried.
Blaze and Empress stood with the group, the night foreman at their side, waiting with the others for the cage to surface. The bell signaling ascent sounded again, focusing all eyes on the mine entrance. Some prayed, their lips silently mouthing the words of salvation, others moved from foot to foot, unable to composedly stand and wait the few remaining minutes. A small child cried, only to be hushed by its mother, and then a young boy's elated voice shouted, "Pa!" and a welcoming cheer rose as the men began walking out of the cage. The crowd surged forward in a wave of hope, each family searching for their loved one.
Scanning the men as they exited, Daisy's fingers unconsciously tightened on the reins, her breath in abeyance as she watched for Etienne. But he wasn't aboard the lift, nor was her father or brother. Beating down the ominous fear flooding her mind, she reminded herself that any number of reasons accounted for their absence, and she tried to enumerate the procedural steps required when water broke through. She knew as well as anyone a crew was left behind to operate the pumps. Dismounting, she skirted the happy families embracing the miners, and walked over to Blaze and Empress.
"Ten men are still down there, but the flooding's checked," Blaze said, not specifically naming their men but reiterating what Daisy already knew. "Come out of the wind." She indicated the timekeeper's structure, a small building adjacent to the mine entrance. And as they stood on the lee side, out of the wind, she filled Daisy in on what details she knew.
"2666 and 2433 levels are flooded out. Water started showing in the drill cores on the 2666 east drift early this morning."
"They've brought pumps down to 2200 level," Empress added, the fur hood of her coat framing her pale face.
"The crew's on 2200?"
"That's what Joe says. They're still monitoring the pumps. Do you think you should wait in town?" she added, worried about Daisy standing out in the cold.
"No." Daisy's tone of voice didn't allow for discussion.
"I had hot coffee and food brought out. It's been set up in the engine house. Why don't you wait inside," Blaze offered.
Daisy shook her head to all the offerings. "I'm warm. I'd like to go down."
"George isn't letting anyone down. On your father's orders," Blaze added as Daisy's expression turned obstinate.
"I'll talk to him."
But George Stuntz was adamant… polite, but firm. Hazard would have his skin if he allowed his daughter underground in the existing circumstances. He'd skin him first and then kill him. "Sorry, Miss Daisy," he repeated. "Your pa won't allow it."
So the three women waited at the mine entrance together with the families who still had men underground.
The inactivity was wearing on emotions, as was the uncertainty—not knowing what was going on thousands of feet underground. Not knowing if the rising water was gaining on the pumps. The unrelenting rhythm of the huge motors set up near the shaft was at least reassuring, as was the steady flow of water pouring out of the large pipes into the drainage ditches.
Since Joe Sherwood, the night foreman, and George stayed with them, the conversation centered on aspects of the salvage efforts. Daisy paced, unable to sustain the composure of Blaze, or the polite conversation of Empress. A more volatile personality, she balked at her uselessness. With her background, she understood mining operations as well as her father and brothers; she could help if George weren't so intractable. A sense of frustration augmented the anxiety gripping her senses, driving her restless tread. With long strides of her leather-trousered legs, she crossed and recrossed the area in front of the entrance to the mine, the skirts of her coat swinging out behind her as she traversed the rough ground.
Although it seemed an eternity, less than an hour had passed when the skip bell rang and the steel cables began humming�
�indication of an ascending cage. An interminable interval passed�each second stretching endlessly as the hoist brought the lift up the shaft.
Steam rose from the wet clothes of the men exiting the cage as they walked out into the brisk autumn air, their faces barely recognizable beneath the grime, their shoulders sagging with weariness. Seven men, immediate calculation computed in dozens of brains. As though the counting brought everyone up safely.
"The water stopped," the first man said, "just short of the pumps." Oddly, his voice held no elation.
He was too tired, Daisy thought, to show enthusiasm. But where were the rest? Where were their men?
"Where's Hazard?" Blaze demanded, her composure shaken, her voice taut with terror.
"He'll be up soon," a man answered.
"And Trey?" Empress queried, her voice equally fearful.
"He's with him."
Empress sagged against Blaze's shoulder.
Daisy's eyes met those of the man answering Empress, and her own words of inquiry caught in her throat.
He avoided her gaze after their initial contact, his glance sliding away.
"Etienne?" Daisy's voice barely carried over the sound of the motors, a suffocating dread already filling her throat, closing off her breath.
"They're looking for him."
Only sheer willpower kept her standing.
* * *
Hazard and Trey came up to the surface twenty minutes later, after a new crew had gone down to man the pumps, after they'd carefully explored the Alaska shaft at the 2200 level—a futile exercise under the circumstances with four hundred feet of water flooding the mine. But they had to make the effort, however futile, against the remotest chance.
When they stepped out of the cage, the people remaining outside were subdued. Word of the tragedy had spread.
Daisy stood with Blaze and Empress, her red wool coat a splash of color against the earth tones of the mine landscape, a contrast as well to the dark fur wraps of the other women. At the sight of the men, she immediately rushed toward them, tears glistening on her cheeks, the only sign of emotion in the controlled mask of her face.
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