The Odds by Ethel May Dell (book series for 10 year olds TXT) 📕

it."
"I hope you will succeed," she said, very earnestly.
"Thank you," he said again.
He was looking at her speculatively, as if there were something about her that he found hard to understand. Her agitation had subsided, leaving her with a piteous, forlorn look--the look of the wayfarer who is almost too tired to go any farther.
There fell a brief silence between them, then with a little smile she spoke.
"Are you going to give me back my brooch?"
He put his hand in his pocket. "I was nearly keeping it for good and all," he said, as he brought it out.
She took it from him and pinned it in her dress without words. Then, shyly, she proffered her hand. "Thank you. Good-bye!"
He drew a short hard breath as he took it into his own. For a second or two he stood so, absolutely motionless, his great hand grasping hers. Then, very suddenly, he stooped to her, looking into her eyes.
"Good-bye, little new chum!" he said, softly. "It was--decent of you to treat me--without prejudice."
The words pierced her. A great tremor went through her. For an instant the pain was almost intolerable.
"Oh, spare me that!" she said, quickly and passionately, and drew her hand away.
The next moment she was running blindly through the passage, scarcely knowing which way she went, intent only upon escape.
A man at the foot of the stairs stood aside for her, and she fled past him without a glance. He turned and watched her with keen, alert eyes till she was out of sight. Then, without haste, he took his way in the direction whence she had come.
But he did not go beyond the threshold of the little dusty conservatory, for something he saw within made him draw swiftly back.
When Fletcher Hill went to the court that day, he was grimmer, colder, more unapproachable even than was his wont. He had to deal with one or two minor cases from the gold mine, and the treatment he meted out was of as severe an order as circumstances would permit.


CHAPTER IX
THE MINE

The Fortescue Gold Mine was five miles away from Trelevan, in the heart of wild, barren country, through which the sound of its great crushing machines whirred perpetually like the droning of an immense beehive.
The place was strewn with scattered huts belonging to such of the workers as did not live at Trelevan, and a yellow stream ran foaming through the valley, crossed here and there by primitive wooden bridges.
The desolation of the whole scene, save for that running stream, produced the effect of a world burnt out. The hills of shale might have been vast heaps of ashes. It was a waste place of terrible unfruitfulness. And yet, not very far below the surface, the precious metal lay buried in the rock--the secret of the centuries which man at last had wrenched from its hiding-place.
The story went that Fortescue, the owner of the mine, had made his discovery by a mere accident in this place known as the Barren Valley, and had kept it to himself for years thereafter because he lacked the means to exploit it. But later he had returned with the necessary capital at his back, had staked his claim, and turned the place of desolation into an abode of roaring activity. The men he employed were for the most part drawn from the dregs--sheep-stealers, cattle-thieves, smugglers, many of them ex-convicts--a fierce, unruly lot, hating all law and order, yet submitting for the sake of that same precious yellow dust that they ground from the foundation stones of the world.
Personally, Fortescue was known but to the very few, but his methods were known to all. He paid them generously, but he ruled them with a rigid discipline that knew no relaxation. It was murmured that Fletcher Hill--the hated police-magistrate--was at his back, for he never failed to visit the mine when his duty took him in that direction, and there was something of military precision in its management which was strongly reminiscent of his forbidding personality. It was Fletcher Hill who meted out punishment to the transgressors who were brought before him at the police-court at Trelevan, and his treatment was usually swift and unsparing. No prisoner ever expected mercy from him.
He was hated at the mine with a fierce hatred, in which Fortescue had but a very minor share. It was recognized that Fortescue's methods were of a decent order, though his lack of personal interest was resented, and also his friendship with Fletcher Hill, which some even declared to be a partnership. The only point in his favour was the fact that Bill Warden knew the man and never failed to stand up for him. For some reason Warden possessed an enormous influence over the men. His elevation to the sub-managership had been highly popular, and his projected promotion to the post of manager, now filled by Harley, gave them immense satisfaction. He had the instincts of a sportsman and knew how to handle them, and a personality, that was certainly magnetic, did the rest.
Harley had a certain following, but the general feeling towards him was one of contempt. Most men recognized that he was nothing but a self-seeker, and there were few who trusted him. He did his best to achieve popularity, but his efforts were too obvious. Bill Warden's breezy indifference held an infinitely greater appeal in the eyes of the crowd.
Harley's resignation was of his own choosing. He declared himself in need of a rest, and no one attempted to persuade him otherwise. His day was over, and Warden's succession to the post seemed an inevitable sequence. As Hill sardonically remarked, there was no other competitor for the chieftainship of that band of cutthroats.
For some reason he had postponed his departure till after Hill's official visit to Trelevan. He and Warden shared the largest house in the miners' colony in Barren Valley. It was close to the mine at the end of the valley, and part of it was used as the manager's office. It overlooked the yellow torrent and the black wall of mountain beyond--a savage prospect that might have been hewn from the crater of a dead volcano.
A rough track led to it, winding some twenty feet above the stream, and up this track Fletcher Hill drove the two visitors on the evening of the day succeeding their arrival at Trelevan.
There was a deadness of atmosphere between those rocky walls that struck chill even to Adela's inconsequent soul. "What a ghastly place!" she commented. "I should think Ezekiel's valley of dry bones must have been something like this."
Harley met them at the door of his office with a smile in his crafty eyes. "Warden is waiting for you in the mine," he said to Fletcher. "His lambs have been a bit restless this afternoon. He has set his heart on a full-dress parade, but I don't know if it will come off."
Fletcher's black brows drew together. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
Harley shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. "You wait and see!"
The entrance to the mine yawned like an immense cavern in the rock. The roaring screech of the machines issuing from it made an inferno of sound from which, involuntarily, Dot shrank.
She looked at Hill appealingly as they drew near. He turned instantly to Harley.
"Go ahead, will you, and tell them to stop work? We can't hear ourselves speak in this."
"I'll come with you, Mr. Harley," said Adela, promptly. "I want to see the machines going."
Harley paused for a moment. "You know your way, Mr. Hill?" he said.
Hill nodded with a hint of impatience. "Yes, yes. I was here only the other day."
"Very good," said Harley. "But don't forget to turn to the right when you get down the steps. The other way is too steep for ladies."
He was gone with the words and Adela with him, openly delighted to have escaped from her solemn escort, and ready for any adventure that might present itself.
Dot looked after her for a moment, and then back at Hill. "She'll be all right, won't she?" she asked.
"Of course she will!" said Hill.
"Then shall we wait a minute till the noise stops?" she suggested.
Hill paused, though not very willingly. "There is nothing to be nervous about," he said.
She glanced at the cavernous opening with a little shudder. "I think it is a dreadful place," she said.
She saw him faintly smile. "I thought it didn't appeal much to you," he said.
She shivered. "Do you like it? But of course you do. You are interested in it. Isn't that grinding noise terrible? It makes me want to run away and hide."
Hill drew her to a large flat rock on the edge of the path. "Sit down," he said.
She did so, and he took up his stand beside her, one foot lodged upon the stone. In the silence that followed she was aware of his eyes upon her, intently watching her face. She gripped her hands hard around her knees, enduring his scrutiny with a fast-throbbing heart. She expected some curt, soul-searching question at the end of it. But none came. Instead, the noise that reverberated through the valley suddenly ceased, and there fell an intense stillness.
That racked her beyond bearing. She looked up at him at last with a desperate courage and met his eyes. "What is it?" she questioned. "Why do you--why do you look at me--like that?"
He made a brief gesture, as if refusing a challenge, and stood up. "Shall we go?" he said.
She got up also, but her knees were trembling, and in a moment his hand came out and closed with that official grip upon her elbow. He led her to the mine entrance guiding her over the rough ground in utter silence.
They left the daylight behind them, passing almost immediately into semi-darkness. Some rough steps hewn in the rock led down into a black void before them.
"Are there no lights anywhere?" said Dot.
"Yes. There'll be a lamp round the corner. Straight on down!" said Fletcher.
But for his presence she would hardly have dared it, so great was the horror that this place had inspired within her. But to wait alone with him in that terrible empty valley was even less endurable. She went down the long, steep stair without further protest.
They reached the foot at length, and a dim light shone ahead of them. The atmosphere was vault-like and penetratingly damp. The passage divided almost immediately, and a narrow track led off between black walls of stone to the right, where in the distance another lamp shone.
Fletcher turned towards this, but very suddenly Dot clasped his arm. "Oh, don't let us go that way!" she begged. "Please don't let us go that way!"
Hill paused in response to her urgent insistence. "What's the matter with you, Dot?" he said.
She clung to him desperately, still holding him back. "I don't know--I don't know! But don't go that way! I have a horrible feeling--Ah!" The deafening report of a revolver-shot rang out suddenly close to them.
Hill turned with a sound in his throat like the growl of an angry animal, and in a moment he had thrust Dot back against the protecting corner of the wall.
"You are not hurt?" she gasped.
"No; I am not." His words fell clipped and stern, though spoken scarcely above a whisper. "Don't speak! Get back up the steps--as quickly as you can!"
The command was so definite, so peremptory, that she had no thought of disobeying. But as she moved there came to her the sound of running feet. Hill stayed her with a gesture. She saw something gleam in