by Alison Hart
All day we work hard, taking only a brief lunch and no break. Thomas doesn’t quit even when the last whistle rings. By the time he tops the fourth coal car, my legs are shaking with weariness.
“Done,” Thomas finally announces. His face is black except for his weary-looking eyes. “We filled four cars ourselves, Finder,” he says, his voice thick with dust and fatigue. “Uncle and Mr. McKinney will be proud.”
With a tired smile, he hangs his tag on the front of the coal car. Then he unhitches me and gathers his things.
The passageway is quiet. The others have all gone. Thomas turns off his lantern and leaves it on the wooden shelf by the office. I peek into the stable and see Dominick washing Letty. The mule’s eyes are closed as the water streams down her face, rinsing away the dust.
Snow White darts from under the hay car and bats at my tail with her paw. When I jump, she glares at me but doesn’t hiss. Ducking down, I give her a friendly bark.
Bobby waits at the little bottom to take the last of the workers up to the second vein. I greet him with a wag and he scratches behind my ears. He looks as weary as we do.
“How’s Seth?” Thomas asks.
“The lad came to as we were carrying him to the hospital,” he says. “He asked if his rat was all right.” Bobby is reaching for the bell for the engineer to hoist the cage when suddenly the lights go out. The mine is plunged into utter darkness. I tilt back my head, but it is black above as well. For a second there is no sound except for the drip of water.
Thomas fumbles for a match and lights the lamp on his hat. The faint sunshine sputters. Bobby is staring at him, his mouth open. “What in tarnation happened?”
“The electric lights went out,” Thomas says.
“Can someone bring me a lantern,” Dominick calls, “before my mule steps on my foot?”
“Be right there,” Thomas replies as he hurries off the cage, me on his heels. Behind us, Bobby mutters, “I fear the bad luck is just beginning.”
Thomas grabs my collar, as if needing me to guide him to the stable—though it is no darker than the room where we work. “Let’s hope Bobby is wrong, Finder,” he whispers. I can hear the worry in his voice. Turning my head, I let out an encouraging whine.
The startled snorts of mules and the muffled voices of other miners fill the mine like ghosts. Thomas’s fingers tremble, and as I lead him to Dominick, I wish there was more I could do to ease his fear.
CHAPTER 10
Payday
October 16, 1909
Uncle George.” Thomas says as we stride down the lane, “as soon as the first telegraph comes through, hurry to the mine and let us know the scores of the World Series.”
Uncle chuckles. I feel his high spirits, though he has been up all night checking the mine. “And who are you betting on to win it all?” he asks. “The Pirates or the Tigers?”
“The Tigers, of course.”
“Okay. As soon as I get any word, I’ll head to the mine. The bosses are as eager to know as the workers.” Stopping, Uncle places his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “You’ve worked like a man these past weeks. I am proud of you.”
Uncle veers off to the tavern, where talk of the World Series must be reaching fever pitch. For a week, the only talk in the mine has been about baseball.
When we near Dominick’s house, Thomas calls out. His friend runs from his cottage, buttoning his jacket against the chilly fall air.
I race to the front porch to say hello to Lucia. Her dark hair cascades from under her scarf. She stoops to pat me, but her gaze is on Thomas. He glances her way, shyly smiles, and then shouts, “Stop being a pest, Finder!” Bounding off the porch, I leap from one boy to the other, snapping at their sleeves.
“Today’s payday!” Dominick whoops. “And it’s Saturday, which means a day off tomorrow. A double winner.”
Thomas grins. “For me it’ll be a triple winner when Detroit beats the Tigers.”
“Oho. You mean a triple win for me when Honus Wagner outhits Ty Cobb!” He punches Thomas on the arm, who playfully returns the punch.
I run ahead. The breaker boys usually wait for me by the tower for a game of fetch before the morning whistle blows. But today they are playing baseball with a stick and a rolled-up sock, calling themselves the Pirates and Tigers.
“Hey, Thomas, take my picture!” the batter yells.
“Not today,” Thomas yells back. “Uncle put the Brownie away on a kitchen shelf,” he tells Dominick. “He says I can have it back when Pa’s debt is paid.”
Dominick shakes his head. “You’ll be an old man by then.”
Trotting up the stairs, I climb into the tower and wait by the cage. I know the routine. This is my life now—I am a coal miner like Thomas and the others, hurtling deep into the earth each day.
When the cage arrives, we all step in. It stops at the second vein, where the smell of burning kerosene is strong. Since the electricity went out, the passageways are lighted by kerosene torches that flicker and sizzle. Mr. McKinney is waiting by the sump. He seems more thin and hunched today, and his voice is raspy. “The air shaft cage is not working,” he tells Thomas. “We’ll have to use the ladder and stairs to the third vein. Do you think the dog can manage?”
Thomas scratches my neck under the collar. “Finder will follow, sir.”
We pass the company office. “Mr. Bundy, has the new wiring arrived for the lights?” Mr. McKinney asks a man who is checking a notebook.
“Not yet. I expect it any day,” Mr. Bundy replies.
Turning left, we walk past the mule stable to the trapdoor in the air shaft passageway. Thomas opens it, then lets the heavy door fall with a thunk. Mr. McKinney lights the lamp on his hat and climbs down first. Thomas goes next. When his head disappears, I lean over the hole and bark.
“Come on, Finder. It’s like the ladder to the hayloft.”
But it is not. This ladder descends into darkness, and I can see no bottom. “There are stairs right below,” Thomas calls. “So come now, boy.”
I don’t want Thomas to leave me so I start down headfirst, trying to keep my paws steady on the round rungs. The ladder is slanted, but steeper than the hayloft stairs. I slip on a damp rung, and Thomas catches hold of my collar. He guides me the rest of the way, until I jump to his feet. “Bravo,” he cheers.
From there we take many narrow steps to the next platform and then another ladder to the bottom of the third vein, which is lit only by torches. The swirl of air from the giant fan on the surface makes the flames dance.
“Seth will be trapping again tomorrow,” Mr. McKinney says as we pass through the door. “His mother said he fears coming back, but she needs his wages.” He shakes his head. “If I had a son, I would insist he be a grocer.”
“Or perhaps an explorer,” Thomas says.
Mr. McKinney snorts. “Aye, even that.”
The door shuts behind us. Pairs of miners are hacking busily at the rock walls. Here, close to the trapdoor and throughout much of the third vein, no explosives are used. Blasting is done only in the few rooms mined at the far end.
Mr. McKinney leaves us to our task, which is digging in the first room. I hear him coughing as he heads down the passageway to prepare for the next blast. The sound makes me sad and I nose Thomas’s hand, but he doesn’t notice. He’s still feeling joyous from this morning and he whistles as he puts on my harness and gets ready to work.
“Payday today, Finder,” he says. “Two weeks closer to paying off Pa’s debt.” He scoops a shovelful, lifts it, and dumps it into the cart. Pausing, he puffs out his chest. “Perhaps I am becoming a man as Uncle says. Next time I see Lucia on the porch, I’m going to talk to her.” He touches the brim of his hat. “I’ll say, ‘buongiorno, bella signora’–or should I say bella ragazza? I’d best ask Dominick before I embarrass myself.”
Thomas keeps working and chattering until the lunch whistle blows. Mr. McKinney sits with us, trying to eat. His cough is deep. When he spits into his handkerchief, I see
a black stain.
Lunch is over quickly, and Thomas gets back to scooping and shoveling. I’m dozing in the traces when I hear gleeful voices traveling down the tunnel. It sounds like Peter Donna and his father. Thomas drops his shovel and makes his way to the curtain. I pull the cart after him, though it is only half full. “Is Detroit winning?” Thomas asks.
“Pirates, four to nothing in the fourth inning.” Peter grins.
Thomas’s smile fades. “There’s plenty of time for Detroit to catch up,” he declares.
“I doubt it. But there is good news—the company is sounding the whistle early so we blokes can join the others at the tavern,” Mr. Donna says as he and his son turn to leave. “Pay earlier too.”
Thomas cheers. He shovels the last load into the coal car, which a mule team will later pull to the cage. His metal tag hangs from the front. “Six loads, Finder, and it’s early. Let’s find Mr. McKinney and head over to get our wages. Money in my pocket will make a pleasant jingle. Perhaps I’ll spend some at the tavern on a Dr Pepper—and maybe we’ll buy a bone for you at the butchers.”
Carrying the lantern, Thomas heads deeper into the mine. I bound ahead, staying within the circle of light, until I come to Mr. McKinney’s room. I nose aside the curtain and dash in to greet the older man. Sometimes he hides a faint smile when he sees me, so I know there is a soft spot in his heart.
The room is shadowy. Mr. McKinney is sitting on the tunnel floor, his back leaning against the rock wall. The flame on his sunshine lamp has gone out and his lantern is dim. I woof, but as soon as I get close, I know he will not return my greeting.
There is no blood, and his face looks peaceful, but just like the critters Uncle shoots, Mr. McKinney is dead.
CHAPTER 11
The Beginning
November 13, 1909
It’s been weeks since Mr. McKinney died. He was buried that Sunday. On Monday Thomas was assigned a new buddy. Now he is digging with Mr. Dovin in the third vein.
Day after day Thomas fills the cart.
Day after day I pull it to the coal car.
Day after day Thomas shovels and dumps the rock into the car.
Sometimes we end the day so weary that we can barely drag ourselves home. The evenings are colder and the sky is dark by then, so we do not wade in the stream or hike through the fields. Thomas falls into bed after supper. I curl on the rug next to him and dream of blue skies. Uncle wakes us before sunrise and we trudge to the coal mine once again.
Just as Thomas picks up a big chunk of coal and drops it into my cart, a blast comes from the tunnel outside. The earth groans in response, and dirt rains on my head.
“Let’s get out of here until the dust settles. Go now, Finder,” he calls. That’s my signal to pull the cart to the rails in the main tunnel.
When we reach the coal car, Mr. Dovin tells Thomas he is leaving early. “My blastin’ is done for today. The missus needs help with the young’uns. Eight heads with lice.” He scratches his scalp under his cap. “I may need a washin’ meself. You and your dog finish fillin’ this car, and perhaps you can quit early as well. Payday, you know.”
When Mr. Dovin leaves, Thomas sighs and leans against the tunnel wall. “Payday!” he snorts. “By the time the company store takes out the money I owe for lamp fuel and socks, I’ll barely have enough to pay down Pa’s debt.”
Sitting in the traces, I raise one paw to shake, a trick Dominick has taught me. It always cheers Thomas. Laughing, he pumps my front leg up and down, and then pats my dirty head. Even after a chilly bath in the stream, my tawny coat stays tinged with black.
“Buongiorno!” Dominick calls as he drives his mules toward us. “Is your car full?”
“Need one more load.”
“I’ll be back later then. “Gee!” Dominick gives the command to his mules. They turn around in the tunnel and head back along the rails.
Back at the end of the tunnel, Thomas begins shoveling the last of the coal into the car. I lift my nose. The faint smell of smoke drifts toward us. The mules’ bells fade into the distance. Except for Thomas’s labored breathing, it is silent.
Suddenly, a noise like wind blowing through the weeds whooshes toward me from the end of the tunnel. Shadowy shapes dart alongside the rails and I hear the click of tiny claws. Rats. They scurry around the wheels of the cart and run between my legs with no fear of me.
I sniff again; the smell of smoke is sharper. Thomas swears as the rats brush past him in their rush toward the little bottom.
Something is wrong.
I woof at Thomas. He feverishly tosses shovelfuls of coal into the car. Sweat rolls down his forehead.
Straining at my harness, I woof again.
“Quiet, now, Finder,” he says. “If the car isn’t topped, my wages will be docked.”
I bark louder and strain against the traces. I will not be quiet. The rats know. I know. Somewhere in the maze of tunnels, there is a fire.
“What is wrong with you?” Thomas stops and glares at me. The beam from his helmet bounces against the wall. Then he sniffs the air too, as he notices the smoke. But he only shrugs. “Yes, there’s a fire. With the torches burning day and night, there’s always a fire down here.”
No, no. My whine rises into a howl. The rats were not afraid before.
Urgent voices shout in the distance and Thomas peers down the tunnel. Dropping his shovel, he unhooks me from my traces and harness. “You may be right, Finder. We need to see what’s going on.”
Panting nervously, I lope down the passageway, circling back to Thomas. The other miners are still digging along the tunnel walls. “Is there a fire?” Thomas asks, stopping at each area. Most don’t respond—some because they don’t understand Thomas’s words, others because they are hurrying to fill their last cars before going home.
Gripping Thomas’s sleeve in my mouth, I tug him toward Seth’s closed door. A gray cloud curls from under it. Thomas calls for Seth and when there is no answer, he pounds with his fist.
When Seth pushes the door wide, smoke rolls through the opening. The boy’s eyes are wide.
“Where’s the fire?” Thomas asks. Seth’s mouth flaps but no words come out. Thomas takes Seth’s arm and pulls him along with us until we reach the little bottom. Smoke is billowing down the air shaft from the second vein. There is no sign of the cage.
Thomas leans forward and hollers up the shaft. “Hello! What’s happening up there?”
“A hay car’s on fire!” Bobby calls down. “Rosenjack and I are pushing it onto the cage. We’re sending it down the shaft. Stand back and when it reaches bottom, put out the fire with water from the sump.”
Thomas places both hands on Seth’s shoulders. “Run up the air shaft stairs and go home, Seth. Your mother needs you.” He gives him a shove toward the ladder, and Seth darts off without protest.
Several men are already heading up the ladder. Andrew Lettsome stands at the bottom. He waves to Seth. “Follow me!”
Thomas hurries to join John Brown, Ole Freiburg, and William Smith, third vein workers who are hooking a canvas hose to the steam pump. “Stand back!” Brown hollers as he grasps the nozzle.
Minutes later, “Look out!” rings down the shaft from above. We hear a roar and a fiery ball hurtles down the chute. It crashes into the marshy sump. The flames are so fierce, they singe my whiskers.
“Lord, the cage is on fire too!” Smith yells. Thomas and the three men turn the stream of water on the hay car. The hose bucks in Thomas’s hands, but in minutes the fire is out.
Thomas sinks against the wall, panting. I nose his hand. But then Andrew Lettsome rushes down from the escape shaft stairs. “The timbers above in the second vein are on fire,” he tells everyone.
“Did Seth get out?” Thomas asks.
Lettsome nods. “I sent him with George Richards and his father. But it’s pandemonium up there. We have to warn the third vein workers to get out.”
“I’ll go east,” Thomas volunteers. Grabbing a fresh sa
fety lantern, he runs back to Seth’s door. I bark after him. Wrong way! But I hear the panic in his voice when he hollers, “Abandon the mine!” I know he will not return to the ladder until the miners are warned.
On he runs, shouting. My heart is pounding as I catch up to him. Instinct tells me we should get topside—fast—but I will not leave Thomas.
As he runs down the tunnel, several of the miners stare at him, not understanding his warnings. In desperation, Thomas shoves them away from the wall and points to the smoke spiraling through the open doorway.
Peter Donna and his father barrel toward us.
“Go up the air shaft ladder!” Thomas screams, “The cage is on fire!” Then he asks, “Are you the last in the east tunnel?”
“I believe so,” Peter says.
I am glad when Thomas heads with the others back to the little bottom where the hay car lies smoldering. But instead of leaving the mine, he runs toward the mule stable. “Dominick!” he shouts.
“He was in the far west tunnel!” someone calls back.
Stopping, Thomas gasps for breath. “Finder. We can’t leave Dominick. We must warn him.”
Holding the safety lantern high, he calls again for Dominick. My ears prick. Is that an answering cry? I trot ahead past the stable, following the rails, hoping to scent his mules. But moments later, the lantern fizzles, and Thomas and I are plunged into darkness.
CHAPTER 12
Finding the Bottom
November 13, 1909
My senses sharpen in the dark, and I hear the snort of frightened mules. I can tell by the scent that it’s Letty and Buster. Dominick must be close.
Hands trembling, Thomas lights the lantern again. We jog toward the stables, tripping over pipes and weaving around abandoned coal cars. “Dominick!” Thomas hollers, and this time the answering cry is nearer.
Finally we find him trying to calm his mules. Letty’s eyes are white with fear and Buster has fallen to his knees.