Hank Roebuck was an upstanding fellow, with unusually dark eyes and complexion, and short, coarse black hair which seemed never to be combed. Ray Peoples admired him, and unconsciously imitated his mannerisms.
Roebuck turned on the compressed air to start the machine. The drill stuck, and he hammered it with a wrench, cursing voluminously, as if that would help start it. Both men were so much preoccupied for the next few minutes that they did not notice a third, who had come up the drift and joined them before they knew it. It was old Gridley, the superintendent. Gridley was a wiry little man, with venerable sidewhiskers, eyes that saw everything without appearing to look, and a certain forbearance in his manner that defied all mindreaders. Nobody ever knew what he thought, and somewhere in his makeup was a subtle suggestion that perhaps he was afraid somebody would find out. He was never abusive, and was some-times affable. Today he was in the best of spirits.
“What’s the matter, Hank? Got a drill stuck?” And Gridley lit his pipe from the flame of Henry Roebuck’s candle. “That’s bad luck, Hank, and it won’t do. No wonder we don’t strike nothing. I picked you out to work down here because I took you to be the luckiest man in camp. If you don’t strike that vein in a couple of weeks, now, I’ll come down here and take a try at it myself.”
“I’ve got her unstuck now,” Roebuck grunted, not quite appreciating the humor. “Bent a little. I need a longer one anyhow.”
“Bent all right,” Gridley admitted. “And it won’t do. If I catch you having bad luck again, I’ll send you on top and run the old machine myself. I have a good notion to anyhow, until your luck changes. A man could work down here a year and never strike nothing, unless he was lucky.”
“I’m willing,” Roebuck replied thoughtfully. “I’ve got ten thousand shares of the stock myself.”
“That’s more than I’ve got,” said Gridley. “Unless we hit that vein the stock won’t be worth nothing.” Then he reached down to his pocket and produced a twenty dollar goldpiece. “I’ll give you one more chance. Tonight I want you to change your luck. Get as drunk as you can get. And what’s more, I want you to get everybody else in the mine drunk. If a man comes on shift sober tomorrow or the next day—”
“Oh, hell,” Roebuck protested, still rather thoughtfully. “Twenty dollars—it would take fifty to do that.”
“Fifty then. Fifty is cheap.” And Gridley produced another twenty and a ten. “And if that don’t change your luck, I’ll come down here myself and see what I can do.”
* * * *
Having extracted the drill, Roebuck began to clean the drill hole, raking out wet chunks of pulverized rock. Gridley collected a small quantity of this claylike substance, dumped it into a sample sack, relit his pipe, and was gone.
There was something about the furtive manner in which he collected the sample and abruptly departed, that attracted even Ray, Peoples’ notice. Of course, the dust from the drill holes of today would indicate in some measure what the face would look like after the round broke.
After Gridley had gone, Roebuck collected a small quantity of the material and scrutinized it with a hand microscope, in the dim light of his candle. Suddenly his face brightened. “We’ve struck it,” he announced in a subdued voice. “Take a squint at it and see what you make of it. A man that’s taking a correspondence course in mining engineering—”
Ray Peoples was already squinting. He knew how to identify minerals. “Sylvanite, all right,” he promptly decided. “But there’s no telling. It might be a pocket. It might be that same vein, but it might not be more than a half an inch wide.”
“Yes, and then again it might be wider,” Roebuck argued. “If there should happen to be two feet of that stuff—look at the fun we could have on the money! We’re made, right now, son. As soon as the brokers get wind of this, our stock will jump from five cents a share to over a dollar—all in one day.”
“If!” said Ray Peoples solemnly.
Roebuck started the machine again, and went on talking. “There’s an ‘if’ in it all right enough. There’s two of ’em, for that matter.”
“What’s the other?” Ray Peoples prompted.
“Old Gridley,” Roebuck replied, as if that answer were sufficient. Then he went on, half to himself. “He’s crooked, that fellow. He’s so crooked he could hide behind a corckscrew; but he’s no worse than the rest of ’em. Plays the game, that’s all. Look how the old boy got his start, in the first place!”
“How did he?”
“Everybody knows it,” Roebuck declared, “but of course, there can’t nobody prove it on him: About ten years ago, it was. He was running a machine, in a proposition about like this here Fool’s Luck. He came in one morning and found that he’d struck something good. It just about made the difference between a mine that was worthless and a mine that was bound to be a big producer. Well sir, he was the only man that knew it, at the time, and it was six weeks before anybody else found it out. He bought up about all the stock there was, and it didn’t cost him much, because after the fire—”
“The fire?”
“Oh, there was a fire,” Roebuck related. “Started about three minutes after he found out the stuff was there. Killed a couple of men, but they never proved nothing on old Gridley. As I say, he bought up about all the stock at three cents a share. Naturally; it didn’t go up none after the fire. In about six weeks they got the mine to running again—and he owned it.”
Ray Peoples was bewildered, trying to adjust his mind to the meaning of the phrase, “playing the game like the rest of ’em.”
“And did he set fire on purpose?” queried Ray Peoples.
Roebuck smiled a pious and benign negative. “Oh, mercy No!” Then he suddenly became serious. “There’s something queer about this here joke about my luck. Good joke all right—do something to make me lucky, in order to make the vein be there. But there won’t no man throw away fifty dollars for a joke. The way I’ve got it figured out, he’ll come down the first thing in the morning, to see if we struck anything. If we do, he’ll have an excuse to send me home to get sobered up, luck or no luck. It’s a strict rule in every mine I ever worked in; nobody lowered if they’re drunk. And it wouldn’t arouse no suspicion. You’d go home too, if I did, because there wouldn’t be no work for you. That would give him a day to figure in. Like as not he’d find some excuse to close everything down for a month. On the other hand, if we don’t strike anything—but we will! We two know it and so does he. I don’t know exactly what he’s up to, yet, but it might pay to watch him. If we strike that vein tonight—and we most likely will—he’ll be the first man to know whether it’s any good or not. And he’ll fix it so there won’t nobody else know for a month or six weeks. Gives him a show to pick up some stock for about three cents a share. Oh, I’ll watch the old cuss. He plays the game. So do I.”
At exactly four-thirty, Ray Peoples made his usual trip down to the station to make certain that the cage was waiting. Then he went back to inform Roebuck that all was well, and returned to the station. After touching off the fuses, Roebuck joined him, and they went on top. This routine was necessary, for the face was close enough to the station to render it unwise to remain there while the round went. While there was a turn or two to stop any chance fragment of rock that might come, there was danger to the eardrums, from noise and concussion so close at hand. Long after they were safely on top, the round went. The first thing in the morning, somebody would know the results.
* * * *
Ray Peoples went home thinking hard. He had rented a cabin for five dollars a month, and lived alone. He usually put on his best clothes of an evening, and went forth to seek companionship and diversion. But on this evening he still wore his mining boots. At nine o’clock he was still thinking. He was something more than a miner, working in Fool’s Luck; he was a stockholder. He had come here not only to work, but to make
a fortune. Only ten years ago, Mr. Gridley had made his first big killing. He had done it by being the first and remaining the only person who knew the facts and knew them for sure. If Gridley had committed a crime in order to bring this about, that element was a little beside the point. In order to win, one must play the game as others played it.
There was a way to get into the mine, through a surface tunnel which joined the shaft at the four hundred level. He had discovered this entrance by accident, and apparently none of the other miners knew about it. The old tunnel had caved in here and there, and not far from the shaft it was completely blocked. But there was a raise connecting four hundred and five hundred, and from five hundred he could go down the manway at the shaft.
Ray Peoples tried to think out each step in detail. If the showing chanced to be as good as he hoped, he could come back to the cabin, change his clothes, take a midnight train, and by nine o’clock he would be in a broker’s office. He had saved three hundred dollars. He would buy not stock but options. Every dollar he could get by turning in his two thousand shares would go for options on Fool’s Luck.
An hour later, Ray Peoples was climbing down the manway between four hundred and five hundred. Then he walked down the drift to the shaft and climbed down to six hundred. His heart was thumping with mingled apprehension and hope. Even the faint, mechanical sounds of the pumping machinery sounded like blows from a doublejack. And he reflected for the first time that one thing which must be taken into account in buying this stock, was the cost of pumping. It must be continued day in and day out, for water seeped everywhere from crevices, and flowed in a full stream down the gutter on one side of the tracks.
There were other things to be taken into consideration. In a flutter of nervvous haste, he hurried on up the drift for two hundred feet, holding his candle in front of him and peering through the darkness. He pushed his way past an empty ore car, and remembered now that he had left it altogether too near the face. Fortunately it was undamaged. Then he climbed over a pile of rocks, blinked twice, and filled his eyes. The round had broken through to the other side of the vein, showing its full width. He measured it with his fingers. Two feet of the cleanest, brightest, sparkling gray a miner ever looked upon! No hand microscope was necessary. It was sylvanite; two feet of pure highgrade!
For some reason unknown to himself, Ray Peoples could not leave the spot at once. The sight of gold in huge quantities held him spellbound as he stood gazing at it. And step by step his mind went forward. The midnight train. The broker’s office. Three hundred dollars for options, and all the options he could get by turning in his two thousand shares. If the stock was selling at five cents a share, how many options would that make him? And if it soared to a dollar all in one day; gee, that would be—he reached into his pocket for a pencil. Then he thought better of it. There would be plenty of time to figure that out later on. There was still time enough to get that midnight train, but it was too serious a matter to be taken lightly.
With his candle held before him, he climbed over a rock pile. Then he pushed his way past an empty ore car. Then he stopped and listened. From somewhere down toward the station, there came a sound. It was not the sound of the pumping machinery. It sounded like footsteps. It was!
* * * *
There was still time to think. With a single puff, he blew out his candle. Then cautiously, with as little noise as possible, he pushed the car over on its side and crawled into it. Here he crouched and wondered and hoped for the best. Had the noise of the pumping machinery been sufficient to drown the sounds he had made in turning over the car? If so, he was safe from discovery, for anyone in passing would naturally walk by on the side nearest the wheels. And it would be natural to suppose that the car had been turned over by the shooting.
The footsteps became louder, and a faint light grew brighter and brighter. Then the man passed, and was climbing over a pile of rocks. Ray Peoples peeked out. It was Gridley. He too stood gazing for long minutes, reluctant to leave the spot, spellbound by the sight of gold. Then he muttered to himself, and Ray Peoples strained his ears in the direction of the sound. “Well, well,” was all Gridley said. Then, as he came back past the overturned car he repeated it. “Well, well, well!” And without further words, he went on toward the station.
Ray Peoples was glad the superintendent had gone, for it would have been disagreeable and perhaps dangerous to be discovered here, in possession of a secret so tremendously important. Gridley would doubtless prevent others from finding out the truth. That would be an advantage rather than a disadvantage. It would be necessary to wait here for fifteeen or twenty minutes before climbing out. Even then there would be ample time to catch the midnight train.
From the direction of the station came the sound of hammering. It was Gridley, breaking something with a double jack. Then there was dead silence. The faint noises from the pumping machinery had ceased. And Ray Peoples guessed actually, what had happened. Gridley had broken the pumping machinery. So that was it! Gradually and surely the water would rise, until the station was flooded. In ten hours, the entire drift and the shaft for several feet above its level, would be completely submerged.
The footsteps were audible again, and there was a light in the distance. Mr. Gridley was coming back. Curses! He seemed to be hurrying and walking as quietly as possible. Past the car and over the rock pile he picked his way. Down toward the station there were still other footsteps. Mr. Gridley blew out his candle and stood there in total darkness, waiting.
Ray Peoples did not dare to move again, for the slightest noise would reveal his presence. He was satisfied to listen. Mr. Gridley was lighting his candle again as the other man approached. Then he spoke, and his voice was quiet and normal. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” came the voice of the superintendent. “Ain’t that pretty, hm? Ain’t that about the prettiest seam of highgrade you ever clapped your ornery old eyes on? Hm?”
“It sure is.” And the voice was Hank Roebuck’s. “Thought I’d come down and take a look.”
“I don’t blame you none,” the superintendent returned pleasantly. “It’s just you and me that’s in on it. Of course, you won’t let nobody else in.”
“I notice you stopped the pump,” Roebuck stated, rather icily.
“Gives us a chance to pick up some stock,” said Gridley. “About all the stockholders will want to let go when they hear about that; especially right now, when the assessment is about due. Might be a month or six weeks before we start up again, and pump out the water. After that—”
“Wish I had a little more to put into it,” said Roebuck.
There was an awkward pause, and it was Roebuck who went on speaking. “Of course, I wouldn’t be mean about it, but it looks like—as I look at it, it’s fair enough to close her down and freeze out the stockholders, but somebody might make a fuss if they knew you wrecked the pumping machinery. It looks too much like that other time, when you set fire—”
“Hm?”
“I say, it’s almost as crooked as setting fire to the mine or something. I mean, if anybody should find out you did it. Don’t get the idea I’d tell anybody. But if I only had a little money to put into this—say about a thousand—”
“Well, well,” said Gridley.
“I’m no blackmailer, but—”
“Oh yes, you are.” And Gridley chuckled. “I’ll write you a check for a thousand, right now. Then we’ll both be crooked.”
There were two minutes of silence before Roebuck said huskily, “Thanks. There’s no hard feelings, is there?”
Again Gridley chuckled. “None whatever. But I might give you a little financial advice. For the next two or three years, it might be a good idee to get a barber to shave you, instead of shavin’ yourself.”
“Because I can afford it,” said Roebuck.
“And because another thing,” said Gridley, with the same dry chuckle.
“For the next two or three years, you won’t never be able to look yourself in the eye long enough to shave. Take my advice and don’t try it.”
They started down the drift, Roebuck leading the way. He stepped past the car, but Gridley was apparently lagging behind. Then, from the direction of Gridley, there came a shot. The closed in portion of space sent back no echo, and the report died instantly to silence. The light in the direction of Roebuck disappeared.
Three seconds went by. And then, crack! crack! Gridley’s light disappeared with the second shot, and they were left in total darkness. The shot had come from opposite directions. Gridley had fired a fraction of a second first, probably having seen the vague figure of Roebuck in the dim distance. Discovering that his first shot had missed, Gridley had fired this second one. Then Roebuck had fired, and instantly Gridley’s candle had disappeared.
* * * *
Ray Peoples lay still, hardly daring to breathe. There was not a sound, and his ears still rang in the dead silence. There was no flicker of light. Slowly he tried to reconstruct what had happened, and why. When Roebuck had written that check, he had not intended that it should ever be presented at any bank. But he knew Roebuck carried a pistol, and wanted to wait until his back was turned before firing. Perhaps he would have killed Roebuck anyway, even if Roebuck had agreed to say nothing about the pumping machinery. And perhaps he would have made away with him merely because he knew the secret.
The Third Western Megapack Page 58