Bisbee daily review., 1902-09-21
POTTERY: AROUND ABOUT:
MESCAL TAKES A TRIP TO THE
 SPRAY AND DOWN THE MINE.

went up to see the big Spray wind las perform. On the way l walked along the slag dump and that impudent little snub-nosed engine came along with Gallagher in command and if the engineer had not been friend of mine l suppose he would have run right over. me, hot pot and all.
 There is enough slag in the Queen yard to ballast the whole Fl Paso and Southwestern system, and the com pany wishes it had been applied to that purpose as it will soon dam up the creek till cat fish a yard long will be swimming around the foot of Cas- tie rock.
 Up at the Holbrook l ran into the change room which looks like Cohen's second hand 'gloding" store on Mott street. I swiped a pair of overalls leaving my own battered suggestions of cream colored duck in their place, and proceeded to the sawmill riding on a balky timber truck through a maze of buzz saws till my few remaining hairs stood stretched toward heaven. At the mill they would dress an old 1Ox10 square timber quicker than an old maid could dress a kid for Sun day school. Then dowr the shaft it goes. to rest till the horn of Gabriel blows at o'clock in the morning.
 Just beyond the Holbrook, the copper belt spur. which leaves the Bisbee branch at the Calumet and Pittsburg, lacks about fifty feet of connecting. and soon the noisy little six spot can start up the hill back of the library and come out at Don Luis.
 Now we are at the Spray hoist. The corrugated steel building is 100 feet high without a knot or a wood becker hole. There is not enough of timber in it to singe of Chinaman's eye brows if it got on fire. The big engine works as noiselessly as sew ing machine and the engineer behind the throttle looks as proud as Sam Powell on a bob sled behind them brindle steers" The brake is the big gest part about the hoist and the man on the cage is out of luck for if the big brake breaks it is all off with him and if it fails to brake he is in for it, so what can a poor boy do.
 Notwithstanding this paradoxial proposition the big triple decker cage comes gliding safely up out of the etarth with it's three cars of peacock or rich sulphides and sinks back like a vision of prosperity.
 All this time a fussy little cog hoist looks after carrying the men and you can tell by the noise two miles away when any of the boys are talk ing the perpendicular, ride.
 A swift little dynamo provides light for the stations and as the engineer comes on in the morning he cheerily sings, I'm going home to dino-mo"- now laugh.
 Now, were you ever down in great mine, here or anywhere else? You step on the cge The big bail falls behind you. The tender throws out the chairs. The engineer turns the big spool loose and and down we go, down into the bosom of the big round world. The station lights flash by and your internal machinery seems to all be hung up in a bunch about as big as your fist right up under yqour collar bone Then she stops. Then little recoil comes that makes us think we would lose our Fourth of July dinner. And we crawled out to see the grim station tender in his damp little house braced on the inside with massive timbers, the only object relieving the weird effect being familiar electric light. He asks no questions as our credentials were supposed to be ex- amined on top. So we step out upon the slippery turnsheet and armed with hip pocket, full of candles, start for a subterranean journey. And we walk through miles of tunnels and drifts where mighty timbers dispute the sullen encroachment of the sod den formation, where the earth is burning with subterranean heat or like a frigid blast from the Arctic regions beneath a perennial shower bath. Then up through murky stopes where square sets and angle and. dia- mond braces undertake to fool the laws of specific gravity, and there we meet the old boys batting their salva-