WILSON AGAIN DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
It was decidedly warm the following Monday noon at Bonepile, and Wilson Jennings, his coat off, but wearing the fancy Mexican sombrero that the Bar-O cowmen had given him, sat in the open window to catch the breeze that blew through from the rear. From the window Wilson could not see the wagon-trail toward the hills to the west. Thus was it that the low thud of hoofs first told him of someone’s hurried approach.
Starting to his feet, he stepped to the end of the platform. At sight of a horseman coming toward him at full speed, and leading a second horse, saddled, but riderless, Wilson gazed in surprise. Wonder increased when as the rider drew nearer he recognized Muskoka Jones, the big Bar-O cowman.
“What is it, Muskoka?” he shouted as the ponies approached.
The cow-puncher pulled up all-standing within a foot of the platform.
“There’s been an explosion at the Pine Lode, kid, and ten men are bottled up somewhere in the lower level. Two men got in through a small hole—the mouth of the mine is blocked—and one of them is tapping on the iron pump-pipe. Bartlett, the mine boss, thinks it may be telegraph ticking—that maybe Young knows something about that. Will you come up and listen?
“You see, if they knew what was what inside, they’d know what they could do. They are afraid to blast the big rock that’s blocking the mouth for fear of bringing loosened stuff down on the men who have been caught.”
Wilson was running for the station door. “I’ll explain to the despatcher,” he shouted over his shoulder.
“I, I, X,” responded the despatcher.
“There has been an explosion at the Pine Lode mine,” sent Wilson rapidly, “and a man has been sent to take me there to try and read some tapping from the men inside. Can you give 144 and the Mail clearance from Q and let me go up?”