As Derrick watched the train bearing his recently made friends roll away from the little station, and disappear around a sharp curve in the valley, he experienced a feeling of sadness, for which he was at first unable to account. In thinking it over, he decided that it was because he felt sorry to have anybody go away who had been so kind to his much-loved bumping-mule.
Turning away from the station, he walked slowly back to the mouth of the slope, jumped into an empty car, and was lowered into the mine.
Why did the place appear so strange to him? All the interest, of which it had seemed so full but the day before, was gone from it, and Derrick felt that he hated these underground delvings. A feeling of dread came over him as he started along one of the gangways in search of Tom Evert, to whom he had been ordered to report for duty. The air seemed close and suffocating, and the lamps to burn with a more sickly flame than usual. To the boy the faces of the miners looked haggard, and their voices sounded unnaturally harsh. He overheard one of them say, "Ay, she's working, there's no doubt o' that; but it's naught to worrit over; just a bit settlin' into place like."
Derrick wondered, as he passed out of hearing, what the man meant; and as he wondered he was startled by a sharp report like the crack of a rifle, only much louder, and a horrible grinding, crushing sound that came from the rock wall of the gangway close beside him. The sound filled him with such terror that he fled from it, running at full speed through the black, dripping gallery. He ran until he came to a group of miners who were strengthening the roof with additional props and braces of new timber. He told them of his fright, and they laughed at him.
"He's heerd t' mine a-talking, and got skeert at her voice," said one.
"She's allus a-cracklin' an' a-sputterin' when she's uneasy and workin' hersel' comfortable like; don't ye know that, lad? It's only a 'squeeze.' Sich noises means naught but warnin's to put in a few new timbers here and there," explained another, more kindly. He was an old man, in that his cheeks were sunken and his hair was gray, though he had lived less than forty years. This is counted old among miners, for their terrible life and the constant inhaling of coal-dust ages them very rapidly. Seeing him thus aged, and feeling that he would be less likely to ridicule him than the others, Derrick ventured to ask him if there was really any danger of a general caving in of that part of the mine.
"Hoot, lad! there's allus danger in t' mine," was the reply. "But if ye mean is there more now than ordinary, I'd answer ye 'No.' It's a common thing this squeezing and settling of a mine, and times there's men killed by it, but more often it's quieted without harm bein' done. No, no, lad; haud ye no fears! I'd bid ye gang oot an' I thocht ye war in danger."
Although Derrick was greatly comforted by these words, he could not help dreading to hear more of the rock explosions, which are caused by the roof, walls, and pillars of the mine giving slightly beneath the vast crushing weight of material above them. When he reached Paul Evert's station, and found that the crippled lad had heard some of the same loud snappings and crackings, but was not alarmed at them, he felt ashamed of his own fears, and casting them entirely aside, asked to see what the other was drawing.
Paul was very fond of drawing with a pencil, or bit of charcoal, or anything that came to his hand, on all sorts of surfaces, and really showed great skill in his rude sketches of the common objects about him. Since coming into the mine he had found more time to indulge his taste than ever before; and though his only light was the wretched little lamp in his cap, he had produced some beautiful copies of the dainty ferns and curious patterns imprinted on the walls about him. He had also afforded Derrick great amusement by making for him several sketches of Socrates the wise rat in various attitudes. Until this time he had never hesitated before showing his friend any of his efforts, but now he did, and it was only after much urging that he reluctantly handed Derrick the sheet of paper on which he had been working.
It was an outline sketch of the figures composing their underground picnic party of the day before, including Socrates, and Derrick had no sooner set eyes on it than he declared he must have it.