by Alison Hart
Men begin streaming down the narrow stairs, all black from head to toe with coal dust. I race over, touching each one with my nose, trying to find Thomas. Then I hear him call, “Finder!”
He clomps down the steps and falls to his knees. His arms wrap around me, and I lick his face, leaving a clean stripe. “Why didn’t you go home?” he scolds, but then he grins. “I’m glad you didn’t. It was lonely down there.”
The men cluster in the shade of the buildings and dig into their lunch buckets, which smell like boiled eggs and sweet potatoes. Thomas finds a spot away from the others. I watch as he opens his bucket.
“What have we here?” He smacks his lips, teasing me. I slobber excitedly. “Aunt Helen packed a little extra today—she knew you would be here.” Ripping off a chunk of ham, he tosses it to me.
“Howdy, Thomas.” Alex Deans sits beside us and opens his lunch bucket. His brother Bobby sits down as well, grunts a hello, then concentrates on his lunch.
“Hi there, Finder,” Alex says and pats my head with a coal-dusty hand. “Me, I like dogs. But lots of the miners are superstitious. Bobby told me one time a stray showed up at lunch, and that afternoon a mule kicked Samuel Spencer in the head. Sam died on the spot.”
Thomas stops chewing. “What did the stray dog have to do with it?”
Alex shrugs. “Nothing. Like I said, miners are a superstitious lot.”
“My pa died in the mine,” Thomas says.
“I remember. Last summer, right?” Bobby asks with his mouth full. “The timbers gave way. Your pa was just walking in the tunnel when the roof caved in. Uncle John said it was bad luck.”
Alex points a piece of cheese at his brother. “We’re orphans too. Live with our sister and her family. Our folks didn’t die in the mine, though.” He pops the cheese in his mouth. “Cholera got ’em.”
“Do you believe in bad luck and superstitions?” Thomas asks.
Bobby nods vigorously. “Always.” The whistle blows, and the brothers close their lunch pails. “See you below.”
Thomas scrambles to his feet. I bark, ready for us to go home. “No, Finder. I have to go back to work. You can’t hang around the mine like a stray. I don’t need any more bad luck. I’ve had enough of that already.”
Fishing in his pocket, he pulls out one of the metal tags. “Mr. Powers assigned me the number 160. That was Pa’s number too, and…well…he died.” Thomas points in the direction of home and yells, “So go home, Finder! Go!”
Head down, I trot off, casting glances over my shoulder until I see that Thomas is gone from the mine yard. When I reach the house, I lap water from the pan under the pump and then lie down in the grass where I can keep an eye on the lane. I can see the tower in the distance, rising into the sky.
Thomas’s hard voice echoes in my ears. Many times he’s told me to go home, especially when I followed him to school. Never has he talked to me so harshly.
Sighing, I rest my head on my outstretched front legs. A fly buzzes around my ears but I don’t snap at it. The air is warm and soothing, and finally I fall asleep.
“Finder!” Thomas’s call wakes me. I scramble to my feet and greet him with enthusiastic licks. “What a sight for coal dusty eyes.” Laughing, he pushes me away when my tongue tickles his neck.
“Come on.” He drops his cap on the ground, lifts one foot, and unlaces his boot. “Let’s wash in the stream. I want to stay outside in the sun.” A shudder runs through him. “After lunch, I assisted Mr. McKinney in the third vein—five hundred feet below the surface. Not even a bat would go that deep, Finder. Mr. McKinney’s been mining his whole life.” Thomas shakes his head. “Not me. No sir. When the debt is paid off, I won’t work underground any longer.”
We run though the grass to the stream. Thomas doesn’t take off his clothes like he usually does, but wades quickly into the shallow water. I see a frog and dive in after it. “Whoa!” Thomas cries as he loses his balance and falls in. Streaks of soot run down his face, making black swirls in the water. With a whoop, he lies back, his arms and legs sprawled. I splash and dig, glad to hear his laughter.
Someone on the bank clears his throat and I look up. Uncle stands there, a rifle held loosely in the crook of his arm. “The mine must not have been too terrible,” he says.
Thomas sits up, water dribbling down his forehead.
“Out of the stream, both of you. You earned your keep today, Thomas. Now it’s the cur’s turn.”
I stop splashing. The solemn tone in Uncle’s voice means “no nonsense.” The gun in his hand means “time for training.” Obediently, I climb from the stream and sit by his leg. “It’s time Finder quits running off whenever I shoot,” Uncle adds as Thomas sloshes from the water.
We head into the field. Thomas, wet and barefoot, takes careful steps while Uncle’s stride is determined. I trot ahead, nose to the ground. I want to please Uncle and Thomas. I want to be a good hunter.
“You need to practice shooting as well,” Uncle says to Thomas. “Perhaps the dog will take better to the gun if it’s you pulling the trigger. If that doesn’t work, I’ll try a more effective cure.”
“A cure?”
“Yeah. Tie him up, put his food bowl down, and shoot over his head. If he shies, the food bowl gets picked up. The dog only eats if he doesn’t run from the sound.”
Thomas stops walking and stares at Uncle. “What if he doesn’t eat?”
“He will when he’s hungry enough.”
Thomas gives me a worried glance. “Isn’t there another way?”
“There is—he goes back to Campbell’s and they beat him every time he shies from the gun. Soon he fears a beating more than the shot.” Uncle suddenly puts a finger to his lips. “Shhh. I see a rabbit.” Crouching, he points and silently hands the rifle to Thomas.
I smell the rabbit first, then see it. It’s hunkered in the dry grass, ears flat, blending in. I take off after it. The rabbit zigzags toward a stand of trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Thomas raise the gun. I hear the boom. The rabbit flies in the air and falls limp. I smell death.
I skid to a stop. The boom echoes in my ears, confusing me, and I forget that I am supposed to be training. I forget that I want to do a good job for Uncle and Thomas, and I race blindly in the other direction.
CHAPTER 6
A New Job
September 19, 1909
It’s been a week since the last training. The rope has rubbed my neck raw. My belly rumbles. The sun beats down on the side of the shed. I’m hidden underneath the slatted floor in the dirt hole I’ve dug in my misery.
“No food until you stop shying from the gun,” Uncle declares every morning. He brings my pan of food but he also brings the rifle. When I go to eat, he shoots into the air, and I dive into my hole and tremble.
It’s not just the sharp noise and hollow belly that make me miserable. I miss Thomas. Every day he leaves in the morning. When he comes home, his legs drag. Sometimes he cries, burying his head in my fur. I clean the sores on his hands with my tongue. We don’t amble in the field, dig potatoes, or play fetch anymore. So my heart aches along with my belly.
Today the sun is low in the sky when Thomas walks down the lane. His head hangs; his lunch bucket bangs against his leg. My tail wags at the sight of him. He doesn’t look up as he stoops over the tub of water at the pump. I bark, reminding him I am here. But he turns his back on me, and his boots thump on the porch. I hear Aunt greet him, then a door slams. I wait, hopeful, but Thomas doesn’t come out.
I crawl under the shed.
Later, Uncle calls me and I poke my head from my hole.
“Supper, Finder,” he says heartily, but he’s carrying the rifle. Crouching, he places the bowl where I can smell it. “Rabbit stew.”
My nose tells me that it would taste delicious and I drool hungrily. Still, I back deeper into the hole away from Uncle and his gun, and I hear him sigh with frustration.
Then I hear the rustle of Aunt’s skirts. “George Eddy! This is n
ot working! Finder is as stubborn as you. Anyone else would have realized by now that he is not going to eat.”
“Well, if this cur doesn’t eat soon, I’ll be taking him straight back to Campbell’s.”
“He’s not going back to Campbell’s, Mr. Eddy. You love Finder too, even if he is not the hunter Daisy was. I know the dog needs to earn his keep, and I think there may be another way. Thomas and I were discussing it before you came home.” Aunt bends and peers into my hole. “Come on out, Finder. There will be no shooting tonight.”
Aunt pushes the pan closer.
Scooting forward, I give her a toothy smile and she unties the rope. When it drops to the ground, I twirl joyfully, then lunge at the pan and eat the meaty stew in hungry gulps. After licking the pan clean, I run to the house where Thomas is sitting on the porch steps. I flop into his arms and he holds me close despite my wiggling.
Aunt joins us, standing at the bottom of the steps. “Hear Thomas out, Mr. Eddy,” she says to Uncle. “He has an interesting proposition.”
Thomas clears his throat. “Sir, I have thought about this since I’ve been working in the mine with Mr. McKinney. He sends me deep into the narrowest tunnels. Sometimes I have to belly crawl to reach the end. I usually find coal, but once I fill the sledge it is hard for me to push it down the tunnel to the coal car. It takes so much time I’ll never fill enough cars to pay off my father’s debt.”
Uncle nods but his brows are furrowed.
“Here’s my idea, Uncle. Finder is small enough to fit in a tunnel with me.” Hearing Thomas say my name, I bump him with my muzzle. “He can pull a loaded cart. After I fill the sledge, he could haul it to the coal car. Mr. McKinney says he’s worked a mine where they used goats. And in England they use ponies. Why not a dog then?”
Crossing his arms, Uncle raises one brow.
“I told Mr. McKinney about Finder. He said he’d speak to you and Mr. Norberg.” Thomas pauses and looks at Uncle. “Together, Finder and I could haul more coal, earn better wages, and pay off Pa’s debt sooner.”
For a long moment, Uncle is silent. Finally, he uncrosses his arms. “I will think on this and then speak to Mr. McKinney and Mr. Norberg.”
Thomas’s face brightens. “Thank you, sir!”
“Now, Mrs. Eddy, perhaps we can eat our share of that stew that Finder so enjoyed.” Holding out his hand, Uncle helps Aunt up the steps. “Wash up now, Thomas.”
When the front door slams behind them, Thomas leans down and whispers, “Don’t worry, Finder. Uncle just has to say yes.” He heads over to the pump, still talking. “Mr. Norberg and Mr. McKinney will agree because it means money in their pockets. I know it won’t be fun like rambling in the fields, but at least you’ll have a job and we’ll be together again.”
I trot beside him, wagging my tail. My belly is full, and I am happy to be free of the rope, the shooting gun, and the hole under the shed. I am even happier when Thomas begins whistling as he washes his arms and hands.
It’s a joyous sound I have sorely missed.
CHAPTER 7
Into the Mine
September 22, 1909
The steel cage rattles up through the hole in the tower and creaks to a stop. The gate lifts, and a man pushes two coal cars onto the tracks. Once the cage is empty, workers wearing canvas hats surge onto the platform. This time I am one of them. I am wearing my harness, so I know that I am going to work. I have no idea where this cage will take me or what my new job will be. Right now, all that matters is I am no longer tied to the shed and I am with Thomas.
Thomas lightly holds my collar. “It’s all right, Finder,” he reassures me. “Just brace yourself.”
Alex and Bobby Deans step into the cage and flank us. “Dog’s in for a mighty big surprise,” Alex says with a chuckle. “My first time down I almost peed myself.”
Two bells ring and the cage suddenly drops. I lurch sideways and my stomach rises into my chest. Boot heels squash my toes. As we’re dropping, another cage holding two coal cars rises, passing us on its climb to the top. I look up—the only light above me glows like a moon, then disappears.
Moments later the cage jerks to a halt, throwing me against Alex’s leg. When the gate lifts, several miners push past. Some of them eye me suspiciously, then move on.
“This is the main entrance into the mine’s second vein, Finder,” Thomas explains. “The miners call it ‘the big bottom.’”
A line of empty coal cars sits on one of two sets of narrow tracks running to and from the cage. I pant nervously. Lightbulbs jutting from the stone walls cast a golden glow, so I can see Alex, Bobby, and the other men walking down the tunnel in different directions. I am used to the dark of the night, but outdoors I can see shapes. Here in the mine, beyond the lights, the miners fade into blackness.
An older man with a grizzled face strides up to Thomas. “Make sure to introduce your dog to the mules. I don’t want a fuss later when they meet. I’ll join you at the sump and we’ll head to the air shaft to take the cage to the third vein.”
“Yes, Mr. McKinney. Come, Finder.”
I stay by Thomas’s side as we leave the big bottom and walk down a short passageway. My nose fills with a mixture of smells: sweat, oil, coal, and dirt. It is similar to the slag pile except for the added odors of hay and manure, and…something else. When we pass a car stacked high with hay bales, I hear a growl and scoot sideways. What is it? Two round eyes stare at me from under the car, and I recognize the animal: cat.
Thomas laughs. “That’s Snow White. She keeps the rats away from the mule feed. She used to be white but the coal’s turned her fur gray.”
I give Snow White a wide berth. Thomas stops in front of a long row of stalls. I see the broad rumps of mules—just like the ones I remember from Campbell’s farm when I was a pup—their heads buried in the feed bins in front of them. A trough of running water stretches the length of the stable. Pausing, I stand on my hind feet for a quick drink. A few men are brushing the animals or harnessing them, but most of the stalls are empty.
“Mr. McKinney told me there are forty mules here; they stay underground until they’re too old to work. They don’t see the sun their whole lives.” Thomas shakes his head. “That won’t be us, Finder. I don’t want to be shoveling coal my whole life.”
A driver leads a mule past us. A bell around its neck rings with each step. We walk past the stable to the sump, a marshy area covered with wood planks. Mr. McKinney is waiting by a canvas curtain. “The pump room’s in there,” Thomas tells me.
We follow McKinney along a single coal car track that leads down a passage to the air shaft. The air is fresher here and I breathe deeply.
“Hello, pup,” Bobby greets me. He’s shoving a loaded coal car onto the track from a cage smaller than the one we rode from the tower. A boy is helping. “This ‘ere is the other Alex. Thomas and Finder, meet Rosenjack,” he says.
Rosenjack nods. In the dim light his face gleams with sweat, though the air is damp and chilly.
Once they’ve emptied the cage, we step onto the platform with a group of five men. High above me, I hear a loud whirrrr. I look up and cock my head to listen. “There’s a giant fan atop us, Finder,” Thomas tells me. “It pushes fresh air into the mine.”
Two bells ring and the cage drops. This time I brace myself against Thomas’s leg. The ride ends quickly as the cage jerks to a stop.
“This is the little bottom,” Thomas says, his voice slightly hushed. “It’s the entrance to the third vein, where we’ll work all day.”
It’s darker in this tunnel except around the stable, which is smaller than the one on the second vein. Mr. McKinney checks some writing scrawled on a slate hanging on a wooden wall. “Weak timbers in the east tunnel,” he reads. “Engineers are replacing them.”
Thomas hangs one of his number tags on a peg alongside others. Before leaving the bottom, everyone lights the lamps on their hats. Mr. McKinney leads the way, holding a safety lantern high before him. When I glance be
hind me, I can see Bobby and Rosenjack pushing another loaded coal car onto the platform. Then we turn a corner and we lose sight of them.
We come to a large wooden door blocking the passageway. A boy sits perched on a rock ledge by the door. He is holding a string tied to a piece of cheese, I hear a squeak and then see that a rat is sitting up on its hind legs, nibbling at the cheese.
“Morning, Seth,” says Mr. McKinney. He pulls a wrapped piece of toffee from his pocket and tosses it to the boy, whose eyes are on me. The candy bounces off the rock and falls to the ground.
Seth scrambles off his perch to pick it up. “A dog in the mine, sir?” he inquires as he unwraps the toffee. He pops the candy in his mouth and opens the heavy door.
“I see you have a pet rat to keep you company,” Thomas says.
Seth grins. “That I do.”
The door closes behind us. A long, dark passageway stretches ahead. The glow from the lantern flickers on the rock walls, and I startle at the rippling shadows.
We walk alongside tracks and past empty coal cars waiting to be filled. I step around fresh manure, so I know the mules travel this way as well.
Gradually, the miners stop off at their work stations until only Mr. McKinney and Thomas are still walking. My ears pick up clinking, banging, and grinding noises. Then I hear a faraway boom, softer than a gunshot. Still, I cringe.
“Don’t worry, Finder,” Thomas says. “It’s not a gun. The miners use gunpowder to break up the tunnel walls. Then diggers like me have to shovel and pick through the blasted rock.”
We finally stop. Mr. McKinney pushes aside a canvas curtain and motions Thomas through. “I’ll check on you at the lunch whistle,” he says, handing Thomas the lantern. A second lantern is hanging from the wall and he lights it with a match.
A coal car waits on the track outside the curtain. “Let’s hope your dog will help you fill this today,” Mr. McKinney adds before taking the second lantern and striding down the passageway.