The Cassowary Part 5

Catherine came running to the half dazed man but for a little time he said nothing. He was thinking. He remembered suddenly that there was a telephone between the mine and the nearest town in the valley, that to which the miners had fled. Of course the line was deep beneath the snow, part of the way, but it might be working. He looked at his wife in a dazed way, clambered to his feet and took hold of the receiver.

"Don't be disappointed," said Catherine, "if it doesn't work. We shall be saved somehow."

"h.e.l.lo!" shouted Felton, into the familiar, waiting 'phone.

The dazed wife stood by in the silence which ensued, saying nothing.

Moment after moment pa.s.sed and there came no answer. Still the man stood there repeating at intervals of four or five minutes the hopeless word, the call "h.e.l.lo". Suddenly he upreared himself, laughed somewhat wildly, and applied his lips to the transmitter.

"h.e.l.lo! Who is this?" came the query from Sharon.

"I am Robert Felton. Tell Jim Worthy or George Long that we are snowed in at Parsons, without provisions for more than a few days, and tell them to come in a hurry--the trail is from five to twenty feet deep in snow."

"Who do you mean by we--all of the Parson's crowd?"

Then another question was put.

"My wife is with me--we are alone--the Parson's outfit left the night the storm began."

"All right. Keep a stiff upper lip. There'll be help coming," called the operator, and the bell rung ending the conversation.

Felton could not speak. He sat dumbly waiting, while Catherine chattered to him of commonplace things to win him back to his ordinary frame of mind.

Soon the telephone bell rang again, and this time friendly, well known voices gave messages of hope and good cheer. It was rumored that the men from Parson's camp were on the way--but so far they had not arrived. Men and horses amply supplied with tools, with provisions, with everything needful, would leave the valley at once for the work of rescue.

"But how long can you hold out?" at last broke in one of the heartsome, friendly voices.

"It may take us ten or even twenty days to shovel through to you--can you stand such a siege?"

"We'll do our best," returned Felton, over the wire, "but the truth is, we are pretty short of food, so take no chances."

They were already living on carefully measured out rations and Felton resolved to reduce his own portion below the meagre amount he had already given himself.

"Keep up heart, we'll help you--Good-bye!" So ended this talk with Worthy and Long.

The days dragged. The wood chopping, the fire keeping, the story telling, to beguile the weary hours, went on. Once or twice a day came a message of good hope from Sharon. The rescuers were off, and in the shortest time possible would reach the beleagured couple.

One morning there came a sharp, insistent ringing of the bell which opened the door of the world to these two who were making their one daily meal from sc.r.a.ps of dried meat, and almost the very last of the treasured rations were in their hands at the moment.

"h.e.l.lo!" called Felton at the 'phone in a moment.

"h.e.l.lo! That you Felton?"

"Yes. This isn't Tom, is it?"

"Yes--of course, Tom, just in from Parson's--been hearing about you. We left in a hurry--mighty lucky or you wouldn't have had the telephone connected and ready for business."

It was one of the men from Parson's camp.

"They've reached Sharon!" said Felton to Catherine.

"Say!" came Tom's voice over the wire, "You've found the stores, haven't you?"

"What stores?" replied Felton--"We found a little dried venison, and some potatoes in the cupboard, but they are all gone."

"Darn a tenderfoot anyway!" shouted Tom--then recollecting himself he went on. "Take up a board there over by the table. Where do you expect to find provisions if not in the cellar?" Then he muttered to himself.

"They're in luck. It's just a providence! We thought of packing that grub down with us."

Down went the hand of Felton, and away he sprung to the square pine table near the door. Taking up a loose board he gazed exantantly into what Tom called the cellar, a square hole under the floor, filled with boxes and kegs and tin cans of meat and vegetables and biscuits.

"Catherine!" he called, but Catherine was already there, kneeling by him, her arms around his neck. She was crying, the brave girl, and Felton was conscious of a sneaking desire to follow her example.

"But won't we feast?" at last Catherine spoke. And then she ran to the telephone to send her own special message to Tom, and to the whole Parsons outfit, and it is certain that there never went over the wires a more grateful and gracious thankfulness than was expressed by Catherine and Felton upon this occasion.

And so, with renewed life, the two awaited events, and one day, toward noon, they heard through the stillness a faint sound, a sort of metallic clink, and a little later they were sure of the welcome ring of men's voices. Felton fired off the loaded rifle which hung over the cabin door at Parson's and soon came an answering volley of pistol shots and a faintly heard m.u.f.fled "hurrah."

Felton seized his own snow shovel, and began madly working through the drifts in front of the door. His efforts looked puny in the waste of snow, but it was a relief to his nerves to be active, and soon Catherine joined him, laughing and royally flouris.h.i.+ng the Parsons broom.

It was two hours before the rescuing army of miners and cowboys reached the little lane which Felton and Catherine had cut out and swept for them--scarce ten yards it reached from the doorway. And then, well, then it was but a few days back to the world--that world which had been saved to Felton and his wife by the life line, the wire stretched across and through the snow between mountains and men.

CHAPTER VII

A TOAD AND A SONG

There had been a period of aimless talk in the rear car after the Miner had concluded, but this resolved itself finally into a lively discussion regarding the probable quality of the hidden country round about. Some declared that there existed only the abomination of desolation while others spoke of the amazing wealth concealed beneath the surface of the earth and a.s.serted that neither the Land of Ophir nor Pennsylvania could endure comparison with the region in which they were now marooned.

"Is this place in the midst of the ore-producing or the coal region?"

some one asked, "or is it in neither? How about it, Mr. Miner?"

"I don't know," responded the Miner, "I only know that if it's coal, it's better than metal. When you find coal, you've got something. When you find silver or gold, you don't know how hard it may be to extract it from its rock or how soon the find will peter out. Even bonanzas peter out. When you find gold or silver, you're just flirtin'. When you strike a coal bed you've got married."

There was a laugh at the Miner's simile and then a reflection from another seeker after information, Mrs. Livingston this time.

"I wonder which is the older, the ore or the coal? It would be interesting to know."

"I imagine, madam," said the Professor, as he was only known, "that the ore deposits, formed by volcanic upheavals, far antedate those of coal, originating from vegetable deposits, great forests, fern-like forests it may be, which had their being long after earth had become productive.

Besides, as I understand, a toad has been taken from a coal mine and the toad, thus discovered, belongs to a modern order of batrachians."

"Was the toad alive?" was asked.

"So I understand," said the Professor. "It was in a comatose condition but revived when brought into the air and light."

There was much comment among the party and then an idea came suddenly to the Young Lady, who was by no means lacking in sentiment or fancy. "I wonder," she mused, "what that toad was thinking of during all the centuries of his dark imprisonment? Mr. Poet," she broke out, "You are to retire to the end of the car and, for one hour, at least, no word may you utter. I will find you paper and pencil now, and you may not speak again until you have written a poem telling of the sensations of that toad when he was restored to light and air again."

The Poet was gallant. "One cannot do well always under duress," was his response, "but one should certainly make an effort, under the circ.u.mstances. I'll do my best, at least."