"I dinna' think so," replied the boy. "He's kind o' late this mornin';
but there's the bell chappit three," he said as the signal was made from
the bottom that men were about to come up. "That'll likely be him coming
up."
The boy had no sooner spoken, than with a mad rush Mag darted forward,
and opening the gates at the "low scaffold," where no one was near,
being situated below the pit-head proper, with a loud scream she hurled
herself down the shaft.
"God Almichty!" roared the engineman who saw all from the engine house,
as he rushed out of the door, calling to the pit-head workers. "Mag
Robertson has flung hersel' doon the shank!" and immediately all was
consternation.
The engine keeper had just been in the act of signaling down to Walker,
who was ready to ascend when he saw the flying figure dart forward and
fling herself into the yawning abyss.
Walker, standing at the foot of the shaft waiting for the answering
signal from above, heard the noise and the rush of Mag's body as it
bumped from side to side in its mad descent, and starting back, he was
just in time to get clear as the mangled mass of rags and blood and
pulpy flesh fell with a loud splashy thud at the bottom, the blood
spattering and "jauping" him and the bottomer, and blinding their eyes
as it flew all over them.
Pages:
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299