CHAPTER VIII.
A FEARFUL PERIL.
It was true, as Sylva Cohecho had stated, that the miners had again returned to work. The overwhelming defeat experienced by the Melladios had utterly awed them, and as the spies sent out by Lucas Planillas returned with the news of their resuming their everyday occupation, the Scarlet Shoulders doffed their insignia for the time being, and fell into their old routine. But there was a code of signals and a plan of communication arranged, by which the band could be collected in an hour’s time, whenever such a step should be deemed necessary.
We must now ask the reader to accompany us to the interior of the mine of Los Rayas, second only to that of Valenciana, in the state of Guanajuato. Its history presents a new feature in the mining system of Mexico, a brief explanation of which is necessary to a right understanding of the operations of the mining code.
Over the fertile valleys in the vicinity of Guanajuato the Cordellera rears its metaliferous crest, whose sides are veined with lodes of gold and silver, and which delivers to the tarreta of the miner the immense treasures of the Veta Madre, or Mother Vein, perhaps the richest lode of silver in the world. The striking contrast that is visible between the laborer and the miner is nowhere so apparent as in this portion of the Bajio, or “bottom of the valley.” Humble and submissive, the Indian husbandman is at every one’s mercy. The miner, haughty and independent, takes a higher rank; and this claim is justified by the importance of the duty which he performs. Obliged to submit to labor which yields him only limited results, the husbandman finishes his work in silence; while the pickax of the miner resounds, so to speak, to the end of the world, and at every stroke he is continually adding to the riches of mankind. Prosperity is not long in coming to him. The slopes of the hills, the ravines, and even the summits of the mountains swarm with a dense population, among whom the lucky finders of a new lode scatter their hard-earned money with a thoughtless liberality, and squander in one day the earnings of six months. From the French miner, Laberde, who discovered the “Mother Vein,” and lavished thousands upon cathedrals, down to the meanest peon, the history of this bold workman has been the same.
Fortune is the only God he worships. He goes to his dangerous occupation as if specially sent there by Divine Providence; and this proud thought is, by the laws of the country, highly favored, the privilege according the title of nobility to the worker in the mines. Even at this day, he can not be dispossessed by his creditor of his mine, if he can afford to work it.
Besides a knowledge of metals to guide him in his search, the miner must be endowed with a number of rare qualities, from that vigorous strength indispensable to one who has to raise heavy burdens, and support all day the enervating fatigue of underground work, down to activity and pliancy of limb, united with undaunted resolution and coolness. Sometimes, after toiling for a month, during which he has barely earned enough to live upon, in a week, or even in a day, he recompenses himself for his long privations. The miner then thanks Dame Fortune. He scatters his gold with a lavish hand, and returns to his work only when all his gains are exhausted.
When he strikes a bonanza, as a very rich portion of the vein is called, those who work in partido, or when a share of the proceeds is given him as wages, what he receives is often enough to keep him in comfort all his life. But such is not his nature.
Besides the grand shaft (tiro general) Los Rayas has two others of less magnitude, one of which reaches a depth of nearly eight hundred feet. The tiro general, remarkable for the diameter of its shaft, of thirty-four feet, and for its frightful depth, of almost twelve hundred feet, communicates with three principal galleries, one above the other. These shafts and galleries, together with their accessories, form the most complete set of gigantic workings that are to be found in the country. Of its vast and gloomy grandeur we shall not speak; better pens than ours have described them. Nor of the workings continually going on in their depths.
Marcos Sayosa was there, together with his comrades. The lighted candles attached to their closely-fitting skull-caps, shining full upon their muscular, bronzed bodies, trickling with perspiration produced by labor and the close atmosphere, presented a weird picture. Just then the hoarse voice of one of the mandones, or overseers, called out:
“H’la, ’nor Marcos Sayosa, a gentleman wishes to ascend the tiro general. Will you go with him?”
Ever willing to accommodate, the young miner signified his readiness, and began the necessary preparation, looking somewhat curiously at the stranger who was brave enough to risk the ascent upon his first visit to the mine. Another miner was assisting him to dress in a sort of jacket and trowsers, of thick wool, intended to prevent the water, that shot forth in fine rain at several places along the shaft, from penetrating his clothes. A long stick, or baton, was used to prevent his being dashed to pieces against the rocks, by the oscillation of the rope, to which they were fastened by means of a plaited rope made from the bark of the aloe. Sayosa was about to take the post of danger, or the upper position, when the stranger spoke, in a courteous voice:
“Pardon, cavallero, but I wish to go first?”
“And do you know the danger?” asked the astonished miner.
“Perfectly. I have often ascended that of Fresvillo, at Zacatecas.”
“Very well. If you are willing I am.” But he looked curiously at the stranger, who, however, did not appear to notice this, as he was attending to his strap.
He was rather tall, well-dressed, and of a handsome form that was not impaired by his apparent age. Indeed, his lithe, springy movements did not accord with his long, gray hair and beard that almost covered his face. The gray skull cap was drawn close down to his eyebrows, and made the disguise, if such it was, perfect. For a moment Marcos was slightly suspicious; but when he heard the voice of the stranger this was lulled, and he banished all such thoughts.
The signal was now given, and the two adventurers slowly ascended into the shaft. For perhaps five minutes they advanced foot by foot, and then the horses above paused for breath. Each of the men carried a torch in his hand, but the light of which was rendered faint and uncertain by the damp vapor that arose from the subterranean recesses.
For a novice it would have been a trying situation, replete with real and imaginary dangers. Suppose the cable should break, or the strap in which they sat should slip down the rope, or become untied? There was no knot at the end to stop such. And then the fall!
To one the shaft seems to be divided into three distinct zones. At his feet a thick darkness dimmed the horror of that gulf which no eye could fathom. The very vagueness of the danger renders it tenfold more trying, while the white, tepid vapors arise slowly from the dark bottom, mounting toward them.
Close around them the torches lighted up with a smoky glimmer the green, slime-covered rocks, cut and torn in all directions by the pickax and the wedge. As the rope slowly twisted around, or oscillated from side to side, the rough and jagged profiles appeared endowed with life, now taking the form of some fearful monster, or assuming the shape of some one of the horrible demons with which the fertile imagination of the miners had peopled the bowels of the earth—guardian spirits of the countless wealth, and by the illusion of a fanciful brain, excited at the novel position, they appeared to be moving stealthily around to gain your rear, and one half closes his eyes with the momentary expectation of receiving its leap.
In the upper region a dense column of thick mist pressed around the circle of light cast by the torches, shutting one completely out from the light of day. It is a trying ordeal, even to a strong mind, and yet it has its charm.
Then the ascent was resumed and the visions vanished. The stranger now lighted a bundle of tow, steeped in pitch, at his torch, and dropped it down the shaft. Their eyes could scarcely follow it, as it slowly descended the pit, like a globe of fire, until it seemed as small as one of those pole stars, whose light scarcely reaches the earth. Once more the ascent paused.
“See, mi amigo, they pause again.”
“And for what?” returned Marcos, a little startled at the changed tones of his companion.
“Because I wished it. We are now just half way from the bottom. Do you know what would be the fate of a man who should fall from this distance?”
“His body would be dashed to pieces upon the floor, but he would not know it. He would be dashed to pieces before he reached it. But why do you ask?”
“Oh, from a mere whim of mine, I suppose,” laughed the stranger, a wild, half-sneering, half-ferocious laugh, that startled Sayosa, he scarcely knew why.
“But why did you wish to pause here? The damp is not pleasant, and my time is valuable,” he asked, a little impatiently.
“I wished to examine the walls, and tell you a little story. But fear not. I will recompense you for lost time when we reach the upper world, if we ever do.”
“If we ever do—what do you mean?”
“Why, if the rope should break—such accidents do occur sometimes, do they not?—we would not be in a condition either to pay or receive, would we?” and again that horrible laugh rung out, echoing from side to side of the pit, and died away in a hoarse murmur.
“The blessed Virgin have mercy upon our poor souls if that should happen!” uttered Sayosa. “But you spoke of a story. What is that to me?”
“Listen, and you shall hear. It is short, but the end will be most interesting. There were once two young men, who or what they were you shall soon know. They both loved the same girl, but one of them was favored before the other. Indeed, the unfortunate devil had no acquaintance with her, excepting a chance meeting. She did not even know his name. But he loved her, nevertheless, with all the fervor of his wild, untamed heart. And he would have married her, as he vowed when first they met, but she proudly repulsed him. Ha! you start. Have you heard any thing of the kind?” suddenly asked the stranger, as he bent forward and looked Marcos full in the face.
“Go on!” hoarsely whispered the young miner, as he glared at his companion, his suspicions newly aroused, more at the significant tones than the words he had used.
“Well, they met again, and once more she scorned his suit. And then he swore by all the saints that she should be his, not as a wife, as he first intended, but a plaything—a toy that he could cast aside when he was tired of it. But the two rivals met, and in a duel the poor devil was worsted, by a mere chance. A few days afterward he was frustrated in an attempt to carry off this fair damsel, and by this same rival. And now do you know of whom I am speaking?” he hissed, as he drew a long knife from his bosom, that glimmered in the torchlight.
The young miner did not speak, although he now knew who the stranger was, and the horrible fate that was in store for himself. He felt at his side for the knife he usually wore, but it was gone. As Estevan Despierto—for he it was—noted the action, he laughed triumphantly, and exclaimed:
“It is gone. I slipped it from your belt before we started up the tiro. And see, I will be merciful. You said, a few moments since, that the man falling from here would not feel the blow as he touches the ground. See; I will draw the edge of this knife across the rope, and down you go—down—down—down!” and he stooped still lower, to do as he said, the first cut severing one of the large strands.
But his speech had given Marcos time to collect his strength, and in a situation of such peril one reasons fast. He drew up his body, and felt with his foot for the noose in which he had been sitting. As he gained it, the second cut was given, and with a dull snap the cable parted, the sound mingling with the ferocious laugh of Despierto. But the crouched form of the young miner sprung upward, and his sinewy hands firmly clutched both ankles of his would-be murderer.
It was a movement totally unexpected by the latter, and the sudden shock nearly tore him from his perch. The torch and knife dropped from his hands, as the latter instinctively raised to the cable and gripped it, with the energy of despair. That fact saved them both, but for how long? How would it end?
The vibration given to the cable forced it to and fro, until their forms were nearly dashed against the sharp, jagged points of the rocks, to touch which would be certain death, now that the ascent had recommenced, the shock being evidently regarded by those above as a signal to wind up the rope.
And they were only half way. Despierto strove with all his energy to loosen the hold of his enemy, but in vain. Both feet were fast in the vise-like grip of the young miner, who knew that if one hand, a finger even, should slip, a horrible death was inevitable; that he would shoot down—down through the vast tunnel, and if not suffocated, be killed upon the rocks below, perhaps at the very feet of his comrades.
The murderer shrieked wildly, and implored the young miner to loosen his hold, in his terror. That the plaited strap of bark, by which alone they were separated from death, was slipping, slowly slipping, down the smooth, hard cable.
It would bear the weight of one; two, it could not. Marcos fully realized his danger, but what could he do to avoid it? If Despierto would only allow him, he could climb hand over hand up his body, and cling to the cable above. But he knew, that if he loosened one hand to clutch higher up, that the liberated foot would dash his hand from the other ankle. There was nothing to do but to wait—wait and pray that the outer world might be reached before the slip-noose should drop from the end of the cable.
The young miner fixed his eyes despairingly upon the end of the rope, where it had been severed by Despierto. The gloom was dense, but it stood clear as a rush-light to the preternaturally acute gaze of Sayosa. Slowly, but all too rapidly, it crawled away from him, until, to his strained glare, it seemed like a drop of molten gold, millions of miles above him.
Now it has vanished. The body of the disguised miner conceals it from Marcos, who now feels all the horrors of the death he contemplates. Each moment it seems to him that he hears the sudden burr-r-r of the noose slipping over the end. Oh, the horrors of those few minutes, so short in time, and long, countlessly long in experience! This hanging, suspended by a frail cord, between life and death, slowly nearing the one, while yet the other creeps nigher.
Marcos Sayosa closes his eyes with a shudder. He is brave, but such a death. Then Despierto utters a wild, piercing cry, but not of despair; it is one of hope. The mists above them have vanished, and the blue sky is visible. Oh, blessed sight!
Shriek after shriek they send up for help and as they are heard, eager, half-frightened faces are seen peering down toward them. Then the cracking of whips and loud shouts are heard, and the cable glides swiftly up the tiro.
But see! not three inches hold the bark-strap. With a hoarse howl, Marcos draws himself up by his arms, and then, with a desperate spring, he releases his hold. To fail is death; to succeed is safety and life.
His long, sinewy hands clutched his foe around the neck. He draws up his feet, and places them in Despierto’s lap. Then grasping the cable, so massive that he can scarcely span it, he rests his feet upon the shoulders of his companion.
The mouth of the shaft is close at hand, but the bark-rope now fails. It slipped from the cable, and dropped over the body of Estevan Despierto, who had grasped the rope with a death-clutch. A hastily-formed noose is thrown from the side of the shaft. It misses Sayosa and falls upon the upturned face of the other.
Crazed with terror, he releases one hand to grasp it, thus sealing his own death-warrant. The smooth, hard cable slipped through his benumbed hand. He sees his folly and strives to redeem it; but it is too late. His hand only closes upon the end that he had severed with a far different intention, and, as his body swiftly descends the ghastly shaft, one wild, piercing shriek is all; it was his last breath.
Nearly unconscious, but still clinging tenaciously to the cable, Marcos Sayosa was rescued from what had seemed certain death, and then, when he was once more upon the earth, that he had mentally bidden good-by, he sunk into a deep swoon, that for a time appeared to be death.
For an hour he remained thus, and the miners had nearly all rushed up from the bowels of the earth, to learn the cause of the catastrophe, and who was the victim. The fall had been heard, but upon inspection, no clue could be gained as to the identity of the ghastly man that strewed the floor. The severed end of the cable was found, and from its clean-cut edges, they knew that foul play had brought on the result. The old miner, who had witnessed the ascent, came, and, as he saw that the rope had been cut below the place where the stranger had been secured, he whispered that the victim was their comrade, Marcos Sayosa, the chief of the Scarlet Shoulders. With wild shouts and vows of vengeance, the miners swarmed up the side shafts to avenge their comrade’s murder; for he was the idol of their mine.
After a time, the young miner was able to relate the story of his fearful peril and narrow escape; and, from the evidence of the old miner, that the stranger had taken the upper position, his statement was not doubted. But when he told the victim’s name, a murmur of surprise and commiseration ran around the crowd, for Estevan Despierto had been a general favorite, although not in so high a degree as Sayosa.
As soon as the young miner recovered his strength, from passing through the terrible ordeal, he resumed his clothes, and mounting a horse that one of his comrades had brought for his use, he slowly rode off toward the jacale of tio Tomas Ventura.