work, I
forget what; but the vertical shaft afforded estimates of the depth of
the veins. Because it was not a regular avenue of work but only of
examination, it had not been equipped with steam hoist and electric
light, but was furnished only with such old fashioned hand winch as the
stage driver had described to Eleanor. A huge bucket depended by cable
from the hand hoist. It was as they were all lighting lanterns and
stepping in, that MacDonald took a look at the hoist and noticed that
the Sheriff was to give a hand at the winch.

"Not coming Brydges?" asked Matthews, who was already in the bucket.

"Oh, I guess I'm a pretty heavy man to go in that."

"Then, A guess you're afraid of what's goin' t' happen! We're not
goin' down, without you, m' boy."

Bat winked at the Sheriff and clambered in. It was then something on
the edge of the _Brule_ arrested MacDonald's glance; Calamity coming
through the cottonwoods mad and dishevelled, O'Finnigan reeling up from
the Smelter City trail mad with whiskey, waving a bottle and
shouting--"What's th' use o' anything? Nothing! I'm Uncle Sam!
Hoorah!"

"Go on," ordered MacDonald curtly. "I'll keep the notes safe up here,
in my pocket, Wayland! I'll stay and give Sheriff Flood a hand at the
hoist!"

The Sheriff looked for directions to Brydges.

"Let her go," ordered Brydges with a glance back over his shoulder
towards the trail from Smelter City; and the winch creaked and groaned;
and the bucket fell with a bump; then a steady drop to the first vein.
When Matthews looked up, the slant of the shaft had cut off the sky.
Brydges didn't bother clambering out of the bucket. He was silent and
kept hold of the dependent cable. Suddenly, there was a rumble as of
the hoist flying backward, then the whip lash of a taut rope snapping,
and the cable whirled down in a coil round Brydges' head.

"Gee whiz! This is a pretty mess! The cable's broke; and we can't get
up!"

"What's that?" called Mathews. Wayland and the others were examining
the black wall of the shaft.

Matthews flashed his hand lantern in Brydges' face. It was ashen
doughy, with sagged lips. "Wayland, have y' on y'r mountaineerin'
boots, the boots pegged wi' handspikes?" cried the old frontiersman.
"The cable's broken; and A like t' see y' shin for th' top soon as
possible!"

Something in the voice must have caught the ear of the news editor; for
he turned back and flooded his lantern, first on Matth