An old crone with bent
back and a huge stick in her hand went from one to another of the
miners gesticulating and talking. "Get my boy--my Steve! Get him out
of there!" she shouted, waving the stick about.
The door of the mine opened and three men came out, staggering as they
pushed before them a small car that ran upon rails. On the car lay
three other men, silent and motionless. A woman thinly clad and with
great cave-like hollows in her face climbed the embankment and sat
upon the ground below the boy and his mother. "The fire is in the old
McCrary cut," she said, her voice quivering, a dumb hopeless look in
her eyes. "They can't get through to close the doors. My man Ike is in
there." She put down her head and sat weeping. The boy knew the woman.
She was a neighbour who lived in an unpainted house on the hillside.
In the yard in front of her house a swarm of children played among the
stones. Her husband, a great hulking fellow, got drunk and when he
came home kicked his wife. The boy had heard her screaming at night.
Suddenly in the growing crowd of miners below the embankment Beaut
McGregor saw his father moving restlessly about. On his head he had
his cap with the miner's lamp lighted. He went from group to group
among the people, his head hanging to one side.
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