“Nothing!” cried Ford, clenching his fist with a gesture rather of anger than disappointment.
A cry escaped Harry.
“What’s the matter?” asked Starr quickly.
“Someone has stopped up the cracks in the schist!”
“Is that true?” exclaimed the old miner.
“Look, father!” Harry was not mistaken. The obstruction of the fissures was clearly visible by the light of the lamp. It had been recently done with lime, leaving on the rock a long whitish mark, badly concealed with coal dust.
“It’s he!” exclaimed Harry. “It can only be he!”
“He?” repeated James Starr in amazement.
“Yes!” returned the young man, “that mysterious being who haunts our domain, for whom I have watched a hundred times without being able to get at him–the author, we may now be certain, of that letter which was intended to hinder you from coming to see my father, Mr. Starr, and who finally threw that stone at us in the gallery of the Yarrow shaft! Ah! there’s no doubt about it; there is a man’s hand in all that!”
Harry spoke with such energy that conviction came instantly and fully to the engineer’s mind. As to the old overman, he was already convinced. Besides, there they were in the presence of an undeniable fact– the stopping-up of cracks through which gas had escaped freely the night before.
“Take your pick, Harry,” cried Ford; “mount on my shoulders, my lad! I am still strong enough to bear you!” The young man understood in an instant. His father propped himself up against the rock. Harry got upon his shoulders, so that with his pick he could reach the line of the fissure. Then with quick sharp blows he attacked it. Almost directly afterwards a slight sound was heard, like champagne escaping from a bottle–a sound commonly expressed by the word “puff.”
Harry again seized his lamp, and held it to the opening. There was a slight report; and a little red flame, rather blue at its outline, flickered over the rock like a Will-o’-the-Wisp.
Harry leaped to the ground, and the old overman, unable to contain his joy, grasped the engineer’s hands, exclaiming, “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! Mr. Starr. The fire-damp burns! the vein is there!”
CHAPTER VII NEW ABERFOYLE
THE old overman’s experiment had succeeded. Firedamp, it is well known, is only generated in coal seams; therefore the existence of a vein of precious combustible could no longer be doubted. As to its size and quality, that must be determined later.
“Yes,” thought James Starr, “behind that wall lies a carboniferous bed, undiscovered by our soundings. It is vexatious that all the apparatus of the mine, deserted for ten years, must be set up anew. Never mind. We have found the vein which was thought to be exhausted, and this time it shall be worked to the end!”
“Well, Mr. Starr,” asked Ford, “what do you think of our discovery? Was I wrong to trouble you? Are you sorry to have paid this visit to the Dochart pit?”
“No, no, my old friend!” answered Starr. “We have not lost our time; but we shall be losing it now, if we do not return immediately to the cottage. To-morrow we will come back here. We will blast this wall with dynamite. We will lay open the new vein, and after a series of soundings, if the seam appears to be large, I will form a new Aberfoyle Company, to the great satisfaction of the old shareholders. Before three months have passed, the first corves full of coal will have been taken from the new vein.”
“Well said, sir!” cried Simon Ford. “The old mine will grow young again, like a widow who remarries! The bustle of the old days will soon begin with the blows of the pick, and mattock, blasts of powder, rumbling of wagons, neighing of horses, creaking of machines! I shall see it all again! I hope, Mr. Starr, that you will not think me too old to résumé my duties of overman?”
“No, Simon, no indeed! You wear better than I do, my old friend!”
“And, sir, you shall be our viewer again. May the new working last for many years, and pray Heaven I shall have the consolation of dying without seeing the end of it!”