Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1907-01-02

scrambled along the base Of the dam
with a heavily loaded shovel, he slip-
ped and fell backward. With q cry
he slid down toward the black pit!
lnstinctively he threw out both
hands. but they found nothing to
grasp on the muddy slippery sur
face. Every foot brought him near
or the edge Of the chasm. In des-
peration ne stamped his left boot-heel
down; it shattered the shell of Ice,
grated on solid rock, and he came to
stop.
Wetherbee was In frightful posi-
ton. He lay on his back on the icy
slope, his safety depending solely on
the frmness 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
lance. 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 shovelful; 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? 1t 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. 1t 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 ran 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 shovel handle There was coil
Of rope in the boiler.house, but could
he safely spare ten minutes to go
for 1t. 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. II 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 ne resumed his
9iabors. 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
80 loudly Tor 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; the 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
rock! SOS. 4. se'sss.,s 6 - ~ ~
Almost despairing. Foster again
called out:
Are. you there, Frank?"
Back came the answer, barely more
than a hoarse whisper:
"All right! Work quick!"
The younger man had already laid
aside his macintosh; now he tore
OF his coat as well, and flung away
his cap, exposing himself to the full
fury OF the storm. Back and forth
between bank and dam he toiled,
hurting himself with fury on his task
till the stout shovel.handle quivered,
and the steel rang against the frosty
clay. He knew that Wetherbee's life
hung in the balance. oh for two or
three barrow-loads Of dry, gritty dirt
instead of that slushi
Meanwhile the engineer, prone in
the muddy stream. gazed mp, now In
to impenetrable blackness, now into
binding light: rain-beaten and chill
ed to the bone, he was conscious
chiefly OF that horrible emptiness un-
der his right heel. He felt carefully
behind his head and on each side, but
his fingers glided only over ice and
slippery rock. He remembered what
had happened before, and did not dare
to STIR Another slip would be fatal;
He suffered far worse in mind than
In body Horrible fears tormented
him. Again and again he imagined
that the little nodule beneath his
heel was giving way. Was 1t ice or
rock? Whichever it might be, it was
the only thing between him and GER
tain death. He was oppressed with
a leaden dread Of the frailty of the
dam. Let 1t give way, and the sud
den rush would sweep him like a
grain into the quarry.
Fatigue was overcoming Foster.
Smaller and smaller grew the shovel
fuls as he staggered back and forth.
Meanwhile he wrestled with knotty
problem: When should he 60 for the
rope? If he ceased work before the
dam was safe, its breaking might
destroy the only chance of rescuing
the engineer. II he labored overlong,
Wetherbee might slip at any moment
from his perilous perch.
At last the Leaks ware almost cfor.