the trail of the white mule-第8部分

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made　one　and　fought　the　three　to　a　finish。

But　there　was　the　old　woman　in　the　rock　hut　above　them；　rocking
back　and　forth　and　staring　at　a　wall　that　had　no　visible　opening
save　one　small　window　to　let　in　the　light　of　outdoors。　　Prisoner
she　must　bethough　why；　Casey　could　only　guess。

Perhaps　she　was　some　desert　woman；　the　widow　of　some　miner　who
had　been　shot　as　these　three　had　tried　to　shoot　him　and　Barney
Oakes。　Mean；　malevolent　as　they　were；　they　would　still　lack　the
brutishness　necessary　to　shoot　an　old　woman。　　So　they　had　shut
her　up　there　in　the　rock　hut；　not　daring　to　take　her　back　to
civilization　where　she　would　tell　of　the　crime。　　It　was　all　plain
enough　to　Casey。　　The　story　of　the　crippled　miner　made　him　curl
his　lip　contemptuously　when　his　back　was　safely　turned　from　Joe。

That　day　Casey　thought　much　of　the　old　woman　in　the　hut；　and　of
Paw's　worse　than　inferior　cooking。　　Though　he　did　not　realize　the
change　in　himself；　six　months　of　close　companionship　with　the
Little　Woman　had　changed　Casey　Ryan　considerably。　　Time　was　when
even　his　soft…heartedness　would　not　have　impelled　him　to　patient
scheming　that　he　might　help　an　old　woman　whose　sole　claim　upon
his　sympathy　consisted　of　four　rock　walls　and　a　look　of　calm
despair　in　her　eyes。　　Now；　Casey　was　thinking　and　planning　for
the　old　woman　more　than　for　himself。

Wherefore；　Casey　chose　the　time　when　he　was　〃putting　in　an　upper〃
（which　is　miner's　parlance　for　drilling　a　hole　in　the　upper　face
of　the　tunnel）。　　He　gritted　his　teeth　when　he　swung　back　the
single…jack　and　landed　a　glancing　blow　on　the　knuckles　of　his
left　hand　instead　of　the　drill　end。　　No　man　save　Casey　Ryan　or　a
surgeon　could　have　told　positively　whether　the　metacarpal　bones
were　broken　or　whether　the　hand　was　merely　skinned　and　bruised。

Joe　came　up；　regarded　the　bleeding　hand　sourly；　led　Casey　out　to
the　dugout　and　bandaged　the　hand　for　him。　　There　would　be　no　more
tunnel　work　for　Casey　until　the　hand　had　healed；　that　was
accepted　without　comment。

That　night　Casey　proved　to　Paw　that；　with　one　hand　in　a　sling
much　resembling　Joe's；　he　could　nevertheless　cook　a　meal　that
made　eating　a　pleasure　to　look　forward　to。　　After　that　the　old
woman　in　the　little　stone　hut　had　pudding；　sometimes；　and　cake
made　without　eggs；　and　pie；　and　the　potatoes　were　mashed　or　baked
instead　of　plain　boiled。　Casey　had　the　satisfaction　of　seeing　the
dishes　return　empty　to　the　dugout；　and　know　that　he　was　permitted
to　add　something　to　her　comfort　and　well…being。　The　Little　Woman
would　be　glad　of　that；　Casey　thought　with　a　glow。　　She　might
never　hear　of　it；　but　Casey　liked　to　feel　that　he　was　doing
something　that　would　please　the　Little　Woman。

For　the　first　few　days　after　Casey　was　installed　as　cook；　one　of
the　three　remained　always　with　him；　making　it　plain　that　he　was
under　guard。　　Two　were　always　busy　elsewhere。　　Casey　saw　that　he
was　expected　to　believe　that　they　were　at　work　in　the　tunnel；
driving　it　in　to　a　certain　contact　of　which　they　spoke　frequently
and　at　length。

At　supper　they　would　mention　their　footage　for　that　day's　work；
and　Casey　would　hide　a　grin　of　derision。　　Casey　knew　rock　as　he　
knew　bacon　and　beans　and　his　sour…dough　can。　　To　make　the　footage
they　claimed　to　be　making　in　that　tunnel；　they　would　need　to
shoot　twice　a　day；　with　a　round　of；　say；　five　holes　to　a　shot。

As　a　matter　of　fact；　two　holes　a　day；　one　shot　at　noon　and　one　at
night；　were　the　most　Casey　ever　heard　fired　in　the　tunnel　or
elsewhere　about　the　mine。　　But　he　did　not　tell　them　any　of　the
things　he　thought；　not　even　Joe；　who　had　intelligence　far　above
Paw　and　Hank；　ever　guessed　that　Casey　listened　every　day　for
their　shots　and　could　tell；　almost　to　an　inch　what　progress　they
were　actually　making　in　the　tunnel。　　Nor　did　he　guess　that　Casey
Ryan　with　his　mouth　shut　was　more　unsafe　than　〃giant　powder〃　laid
out　in　the　sun　until　it　sweated　destruction。

Persistent　effort；　directed　by　an　idea　based　solely　upon　an
abstract　theory；　must　be　driven　by　a　trained　intelligence。　　In
this　case　the　abstract　theory　that　every　prisoner　must　be　watched
must　support　itself　unaided　by　Casey's　behavior。　　Not　even　Joe's
intelligence　was　trained　to　a　degree　where　the　theory　in　itself
was　sufficient　to　hold　him　to　the　continuous　effort　of　watching
Casey。

Wherefore　Paw；　Hank　and　Joe　presently　slipped　into　the　habit　of
leaving　Casey　alone　for　an　hour　or　so；　being　careful　to　keep　the
guns　out　of　his　reach；　and　returning　to　the　dugout　at　unexpected
intervals　to　make　sure　that　all　was　well。

Casey　Ryan　knew　his　pots　and　pans；　and　how　to　make　them　fill　his
days　if　need　be。　　With　savory　suppers　and　his　care…free；　Casey
Ryan　grin；　he　presently　lulled　them　into　accepting　him　as　a　handy
man　around　camp；　and　into　forgetting　that　he　was　at　least　a
potential　enemy。　　Afoot　and　alone　in　that　unfriendly　land；　with
his　left　hand　smashed　and　carried　in　a　sling；　and　on　his　tongue
an　Irish　joke　that　implied　content　with　his　captivity；　Casey　Ryan
would　not　have　looked　dangerous　to　more　intelligent　men　than
these　three。

They　should　have　looked　one　night　under　the　bedding　in　Casey's
bunk。　More　important　still　would　have　been　the　safeguarding　of
their　〃giant　powder〃　and　caps　and　fuse。　　They　should　not　have
left　it　in　a　gouged；　open　hollow　under　a　boulder　near　the　dugout。　
They　were　not　burdened　by　the　weight　of　their　brains；　I　imagine。

Just　here　I　should　like　to　say　a　few　words　to　those　who　are
wholly　ignorant　of　the　devastating　power　contained　in　〃giant
powder〃　which　is　dynamite。　　If　you　have　never　had　any
experience　with　the　stuff；　you　are　likely　to　go　out　with　a　bang
and　a　puff　of　bluish…brown　smoke　when　you　go。　　On　the　other　hand；
you　may　believe　the　weird　tales　one　reads　now　and　then；　of　how
whole　mountainsides　have　been　thrown　down　by　the　discharge　of　a
few　sticks　of　dynamite。　　Or　of　one　man　striking　terror　to　the
very　souls　of　a　group　of　mutinous　miners　by　threatening　to　throw
a　piece　at　them。　　Very　well；　now　this　is　the　truth　without　any
frills　of　exaggeration　or　any　belittlement：

Dynamite　MAY　go　off　by　being　thrown　so　that　it　lands　with　a　jar；
but　it　is　not　likely　to　be　so　hasty　as　all　that。　　Whole　boxes　of
it　have　been　dropped　off　wagons　traveling　over　rough　trails；　with
no　worse　effect　than　a　nervous　chill　down　the　spine　of　the　driver
of　the　wagon。　　It　is　true　that　old　stuff；　after　lying　around　for
months　and　months　through　varying　degrees　of　temperature；　may
perform　erratically；　exploding　when　it　shouldn't　and　refusing　to
explode　when　it　should。　　The　average　miner　refuses　to　take　a
chance　with　stale　〃giant〃　if　he　can　get　hold　of　fresh。

One　stick　the　size　of　an　ordinary　candle；　and　from　that　to　a
maximum　amount　of　four　sticks；　may　be　used　to　〃load〃　a　hole
eighteen　to　twenty…four　inches　long；　drilled　into　living　rock。
The　amount　of　dynamite　used　depends　upon　the　quality　of　rock　to
be　broken　and　the　skill　and　good　judgment　of　the　miner。　　In
average　hard…rock　mining；　from　three　to　five　of　these　holes　are
drilled　in　a　space　four…by…six　feet　in　area。

A　stick　of　dynamite　is　exploded　by　inserting　in　one　end　of　the
stick　a　high…power　detonating　cap　which　will　deliver　a
twenty…pound　blow　per　Xwhatever　that　means。　　From　three…　to
six…X　caps　are　used　in　ordinary　mining。　　Three…X　caps　sometimes
fail　to　explode　a　stick　of　dynamite。　　A　six…X　cap；　delivering　a
one…hundred…and…twenty…pound　blow；　may　be　counted　upon　to　do　the
work　without　fail。

The　cap　itself　is　exploded　by　a　spark　running　through　a　length　of
fuse；　the　length　depending　altogether　upon　the　time　required　to
reach　a　point　of　safety　after　the　fuse　is　lighted。　　The　cap　is
really　more　dangerous　to　handle　than　is　the　dynamite　itself。　　The
cap　is　a　tricky　thing　that　may　go　off　at　any　jar　or　scratch　or　at
a　spark　from　pipe　or　cigarette。　You　can；　if　you　are　sufficiently
careless　of　possible　results；　light　the　twisted　paper　end　of　a
stick　of　dynamite　and　watch　the　dynamite　burn　like　wax　in　your
fingers；　it　MAY　go　off　and　set　your　friends　to　work　retrieving
portions　of　your　body。　　More　likely；　it　will　do　nothing　but　burn
harmlessly。

Well；　then；　a　piece　of　fuse　is　inserted　in　the　open　end　of　the
cap；　and　the　metal　pressed　tight　against　the　fuse　to　hold　it　in
place。　Pressed　down　by　the　miner's　teeth；　sometimes；　if　he　has
been　long　in　the　business　and　has　grown　careless　about　his　head；
otherwise　he　crimps　the　cap　on　with　a　small　pair　of　pliers　or　the
back　of　his　knife　bladeand　feels　a　bit　easier　when　it　is　done
without　losing　a　hand。

You　would　think；　unless　you　are　accustomed　to　the　stuff；　that
when　five　holes　are　loaded　with；　probably；　ten　or　twelve　sticks
of　dynamite　to　the　lot；　each　hole　containing　a　six…X　exploding
cap　as　well；　that　the　first　shot　would　likewise　be　the　last　shot
and　that　the　whole　tunnel　would　cave　in　and　the　mountain　behind
it　would　shake。　Nothing　like　that　occurs。　　If　there　are　five
loaded　holes　in　the　tunnel　face；　and　you　do　not　hear；　one　after
the　other；　five　muffled　BOOMS；　you　will　know　that　one　hole　failed
to　go　offand　that　the　miner　is　worried。　　It　happens　sometimes
that　four　holes　loaded　with　eight　sticks　of　dynamite　explode
within　a　foot　or　so　of　the　fifth　hole　and　yet　the　fifth　hole
remains　〃dead〃　and　a　menace　to　the　miner　until　it　is　discharged。

So　please　don't　swallow　those　wild　tales　of　a　stick　of　dynamite
that　threw　down　a　mountainside。　　I　once　read　a　storyit　was　not
so　long　agoof　a　Chinaman　who　wiped　out　a　mine　with　a　little
piece　of　dynamite　which　he　carried　in　his　pocket。　　I　laughed。

Casey　Ryan；　on　the　first　day　when　he　was　left　alone　with　his
crippled　hand　and　his　pots　and　pans　for　company；　did　nothing
whatever　that　he　would　not　have　done　had　one　of　the　three　been
present。　　He　was　suspicious　of　their　going　and　thought　it　was　a
trap　set　to　catch　him　in　an　attempted　escape。

On　the　second　day　when　the　three　went　off　together　and　left　him
alone；　Casey　went　out　gathering　wood　and　discovered　just　where
the　〃powder；〃　fuse　and　caps　were　kept　under　a　huge；　black　boulder
between　the　tunnel　portal　and　the　dugout。　　On　the　third　day　he
also　gathered　wood　and　helped　himself　to　two　sticks　of　dynamite；
three　caps　and　eighteen　inches　of　fuse。