Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1907-01-02


were growing larger.
Both were soon drenched with rain.
The wind had snatched off the engi-
neer's cap, and he worked barehead-
ed, the bald spot on his crown show
ing white in the lantern-fare. AS he
noticed that the mud was washed
away almost as fast as it was
brought, happy thought struck him.
Don't throw it on shovel by shOv-
ell, Bent said he. Lets get a lot
together, and pile it all at once. That's
the best way to stop the water"
The largest stream Was soon check
ed by this means, and the shovelers
then turned their attention to the next
in size In a few minutes another
mound of clay had been amassed.
''We've got it," painted Wetherbee.
At that very instant the gale snuffed
out the lantern.
There was nothing for it but to work
on in the darkness with what chance
assistance the lightning might afford
The center of the road was bed Of
smooth ice, sloping toward the Ham
mond quarry Haste made the engi-
neer careless of his steps. As he
scrambled along the base of the dam
with heavily loaued shovel, he slip
ped and fell backward. With a cry
he slid down toward the black pit!
Instinctively he threw out both
hands, but they found nothing to
grasp on the muddy slippery sur
face. Every foot brought him near
er the edge of the chasm. In des-
peration he stamped his left boot-heel
down; it shattered the shell Of ice,
grated on solid rock, and he came to
stop.
Wetherbee was in a frightful posi-
ton. He lay on his back on the icy
slope, his safety depending solely on
the firmness with which his heel was
braced. The freezing flood from the
dam ran down is neck, and soaked
his clothing. Just how near the
brink was he did not know, but he
was sure that it could not be very
far away.
1t was some minutes before Foster
discovered the older mans disappear
ance. When the accident took place
he was standing with his back to the
road, driving his spade into the fros-
ty clay. The roar of the storm and
the shrieking of the whistle had pre-
vented him from hearing Weterbee's
cry. He carried two shOvelfuls Of
earth through the gloom before he
missed the engineer. A flash of light
ming came as he struggled toward
the dam with his third shoYelful; he
looked about, but his companion was
nowhere to be seen. The light died
out
Foster stopped short, horror-strick-
en-. Had Wetherbee fallen into the
quarry? It seemed only too likely,
Hardly daring to expect reply, he
shouted at the top of his lungs;
Frank! Frank"
A faint voice seemed to answer
him from the darkness below. Dis
trusting his ears, he waited for an
other flash. It came; and there on
his back in the middle Of the ice
glazed road lay the engineer, his
right foot barely yard from the
brink of the pit
How could the younger man rescue
his superior? He could not get with
in eight feet of him on that slippery
slope. It was too far to reach down
a shovelhandle. There was a coil
of rope in the boiler-hOuse, but could
he safely spare ten minutes to go
for it. with several leaks still threat
ening the dam? It was Wetherbee
himself who decided the matter. His
voice came feebly up to the hesitat-
ing lad:
Fix the dam first, Bent. If the
water gets the start of you, I'm done
for You can get the rope after
you've made everything tight"
Foster grasped the situation. The
leaks. still undammed and every mo-
ment growing larger, must be stop
ped at once. With blistered hands
and straining back he resumed his
| labors. On the strength and endur-
ance Of his two arms hung the life
Of his companion. Why did not some
one hear that shill whistle, screeching
so loudly for help?
A low, hoarse cry from the black
ness terrified him:
"Good-by, Bent! I'm slipping"
The engineer, chilled and cramped,
had stirred slightly to gain an easier
position; tae support under his foot
had given way, and he was again slid
ing slowly but surely down ward. In
vain he stamped madly on the CLASSY
surface. At last, just in the nick Of
time, he stopped; it was not an inch
too soon. His left heel had caught
against some protuberance, his right
had slid out over the verge of the
I rock!
Almost despairing, Foster again
/ called out:
''Are you there, Frank"
Back came the answer barely more
] than a hOarSe whisper: