“Red,” she drew a long breath, “Red, there is a hole, a very deep hole, ninety feet they say, at the edge of that clump of black trees. It’s an old mine, almost full of water, green slimy water. There—there was a fence around it, a very poor fence. Old Uncle Ned pushed the man in there! He—he fell part way in, Uncle Ned did, but he came out again. The man did not come out. He will never come out.”
“Is—is that true?” Red half rose on one elbow. “Then we must try to save him. He’s bad. But he’s a man. Can’t let a man die that way.”
Red went creeping away in the shadows. The girl followed. When they reached the edge of the clump of trees they found the scout flat on his stomach, flashing a light into the dark hole that had once been a copper mine.
“Gone, I guess,” he said in a very even tone. “His cap is floating down there. Some bubbles came up, but he—he hasn’t come.”
Red squatted down beside him. The girl stood looking down. For five minutes, like figures posed for a piece of statuary, they held their positions. Then, as he rose stiffly, the scout said:
“Gone, all right enough!” Then in a tone that was like a church bell tolling in the night: “He was bad, probably all through; but for all that he was a man. It’s our duty to ask peace on his soul.”
For a moment their heads were bowed in silent prayer. Then, like a squad that has fired a salute over a comrade’s grave, they right-about-faced and marched solemnly away into the night.
The scout led the way in silence back to the cabin. He did not stop there, but marched straight on. The others, not a little puzzled at his actions, paused and then followed. Before a stone slab standing out black in the uncertain light, he paused.
“That,” he said, “marks the grave of an honest man, a copper miner. No word is inscribed on that stone, yet the fact that he worked as a miner marks him as one who at least was willing to labor for his bread.
“It seems a little strange,” there was a curious huskiness in his voice, “that more than fifty years ago this one, whom his comrades honored with a marked grave, should have labored to dig that deep hole in the earth that, never a success as a mine, has now become a grave for one who deserved little honor. Sort of seems to prove that no man labors in vain.”