Pigeon Post

  “All the footprints head this way so far,” said Dick.

  “Then get on,” said Titty.

  Dick hurried on. At least, he did not examine each separate footprint, but walked forward, content to see that the footprints were there. On and on he walked, the others close behind him. The tunnel was narrow, but its walls and roof were rock.

  “It’s all right,” he said quietly, “so long as there’s no more timbering. Nobody would bother to put wood unless they were afraid of something falling.”

  He flashed the dimming torch on walls and roof.

  “Squashy must have got in somewhere,” he said.

  Suddenly there was a check. Titty felt that something was different. They were walking on hard rock. Dick bent again.

  “No more footprints,” he said.

  “Do let’s get along,” said Titty.

  “Let’s have a better torch,” said Dick. “Come on, Roger, the one you’ve got isn’t bad. You come in front, and we’ll give mine a rest. It’s nearly dead.”

  Roger changed places with Dick, and galloped eagerly forward. Suddenly he stopped.

  “What are we going to do now?” he asked.

  The tunnel opened into a vault where four or five other tunnels met. They all seemed about the same size, and not one of them was exactly opposite the tunnel through which they had come.

  Roger waved his torch round.

  “Stop,” said Dick. “Where did we come out? We mustn’t move till we know.”

  “This one,” said Titty.

  “Look here,” said Dick. “You stand just where you are so that we shan’t get muddled.”

  “Awful if we tried to get back the same way,” said Dorothea.

  “I’m going to try along each tunnel till I find more footprints,” said Dick.

  “Take the string,” said Roger.

  “Good idea,” said Dick.

  “Can’t we both go?” said Roger.

  “No,” said Titty. “You’re no good at tracks, and Dick is.”

  “You look after the end of the string,” said Dick. “And look here. Let me have the good torch. You take mine for now.”

  He was off, creeping along with Roger’s torch, searching the floor of one of the tunnels. For a moment or two Titty, standing in the mouth of the tunnel through which they had come, could see him shadowed by the light. Then his tunnel bent, and the three in the vault were left in absolute blackness.

  Roger switched on Dick’s torch. There was no life left in it. It made a feeble red glow, but even that was better than nothing.

  “Don’t let go of the end of the string, Rogie,” said Titty.

  “Can’t,” said Roger. “I’ve got it twisted round my finger.”

  “He’s coming back,” said Dorothea.

  A glimmer, faint at first, grew brighter, and then the torch shone out, as Dick turned the corner and came straight towards them, coiling the string as he came.

  “Not a sign of anything there,” he said. “I’ll try the next.”

  “Squashy simply must have come through one of them,” said Dorothea. She spoke in a very low voice, listening all the time to the steps of Dick going away down the second tunnel.

  “It’s going to be all right,” said Roger, to himself as much as to Dorothea.

  “It’s the time that matters,” said Titty. “He’s coming back again … No good?”

  “I went the full length of the string,” said Dick, “and the ground was quite sticky enough to show if anybody’d been there. It’ll probably be this one. One of these two must be the main tunnel. They’re both about opposite ours. You haven’t moved, have you?”

  “Not an inch,” said Titty.

  The next moment they were startled by a cheerful shout from Dick that echoed hollowly in the vault as if it came from all the tunnels at once.

  “Come on,” he shouted. “Got them again.”

  “Can I go in front?” said Roger.

  “Better let Dick do it,” said Titty.

  “Oh well,” said Roger. “Anyway, I’ll carry the string.”

  The small procession hurried on. For a long time there was no talking.

  “It must go right through the hill,” said Dorothea at last.

  “It’ll come out on the other side where the quarries are,” said Roger.

  “But that’s miles and miles,” said Titty. “And we’ve got to get back.”

  “Will the torches last?” said Roger. Their second torch was already growing dim.

  “There’s still mine,” said Dorothea.

  “I say,” said Titty. “Perhaps this is the Old Level. Nancy did say it’s supposed to go right through. Perhaps Squashy was talking to Slater Bob and came back this way.”

  “We must be more than half through,” said Dick.

  They stumbled along as well as they could.

  “It’s a pity this didn’t happen when all our torches were new,” said Roger.

  “Let’s have yours, Dot. We’d better give Roger’s a rest. It may buck up a bit if we do …”

  Dick stopped and gave Roger back his torch. Dorothea held out hers.

  “It’s not much better,” she said. “I went and used it the night before last, putting down something I’d forgotten till I woke up in the dark.”

  “Better than either of the others,” said Dick.

  “Listen!” said Titty sharply.

  “Falling in somewhere else,” said Dorothea.

  “No. Somebody’s at work,” said Titty.

  “Bet it’s Slater Bob,” said Roger.

  “Come on,” said Titty.

  Two minutes later they stopped short. A new noise sounded close by, a deep hollow rumbling and clattering like a goods wagon banging over the points in a railway siding. A light suddenly appeared, and a small loaded trolley swung round out of a side tunnel and rattled away ahead of them with a man trotting behind it.

  “Slater Bob,” cried Roger. “I knew it was. That must be the tunnel from his slate mine. We’re nearly out.”

  “Don’t shout,” said Titty, just in time. They were safe now, and she could think of other things. “Look here,” she said. “We must find out first if Squashy was talking to him.”

  In another minute they had reached the place where the side tunnel from Slater Bob’s quarry joined the Old Level.

  “Doesn’t it seem ages since we were here?” said Dorothea.

  “He’s been here,” said Dick. “Squashy Hat’s footprints come across out of the side tunnel. They wouldn’t if he’d been walking straight through.”

  “Is Slater Bob a friend or an enemy?” asked Dorothea.

  “That’s just it,” said Titty. “We don’t know. Anyway, hurry up now. We’ve got an awful climb before we get back.”

  They all but ran along the Old Level, but could not really go fast, because of tumbling over the sleepers of the little trolley rails. They came to the turn in the level, and there, a bright pinprick in the darkness far ahead of them, they could see daylight at the entrance.

  “Saved,” said Dorothea.

  “Not if Susan’s found that string,” said Titty.

  “She may have found it and sent off Sophocles for help to dig us out,” said Dorothea.

  “Awful,” said Titty. “Do buck up, Roger …”

  And then, at last, breathless, blinded by the sudden sunshine, the hurrying moles found themselves staggering about under the open sky.

  *

  “And where are you come from?”

  A broad-shouldered old man, with huge hands that hung below his knees, was looking at them from beside the trolley that he had begun to unload. It was the old miner, Slater Bob.

  They blinked back at him.

  “Were ye hiding when I come out wi’ trolley? I never saw nowt … nor heard nowt.”

  “We’ve come right through from High Topps,” said Roger, and was going on to tell the whole story when he saw Titty looking at him.

  “Ye’ve not come right through the level?” r />
  “We couldn’t help it,” said Dick.

  Titty looked at Dick. Was it safe to say anything at all?

  “We’ve got to rush back,” said Titty. “The others won’t know where we are.”

  “Yon end’s not fit,” said the old miner. “Ye haven’t left them in t’ level? Miss Nancy ought to know yon end’s not safe.”

  “They’re all right,” said Titty. “They can’t get in. A lot of rock’s tumbled down.”

  “By gum,” said the old man. “Born lucky, some folk. But what were you doing in t’ level at all?”

  “We saw someone come out,” said Roger, “so we knew it was all right.”

  “Aw reet for t’ likes o’ him. Why, he’s a miner. Been mining up and down since he was so high. Diamond mines an’ all. It’ll take more’n t’ Owd Level to kill t’ likes of him. Why, he’s as good a miner as I am. He was telling me only this morning he’d like to put some new timbering along at far end. And now it’s come down. Lucky you’re not under it …”

  “Has he been through before?” asked Roger.

  “Aye,” said the old man. “More’n once, when he’s been having a crack with me. And what are you doing on High Topps? You can tell Miss Nancy from me she should know better than to let you folk into t’ levels.”

  Titty began picking her way through the slate heaps. Who knew what Roger would say next? One thing was clear. Squashy Hat had somehow got on the right side of Slater Bob, and it was not safe to say anything at all. And anyway, there wasn’t a minute to lose. It might be rude to dash away, but there were Susan and Nancy and John and Peggy on the other side of the hill not knowing what had become of them. If they had found that scrap of string leading into the tunnel, they would be thinking the very worst.

  “We’ve simply got to go,” she said. “Goodbye. We didn’t mean to come through the level when we started …”

  “So long’s no harm’s done,” said the old man. “It’s been ready to fall long since. And Mr Stedding’ll mostly come over the fell.”

  “The man with the squashy hat?” asked Dorothea.

  “Nay, there’s nowt wrong wi’ his hat,” said Slater Bob. “And the mining that man’s done, it’s a pleasure to hear him …”

  “Goodbye,” called Titty.

  “Goodbye,” called the others.

  “We’ll come out on High Topps if we go straight over?” asked Dick.

  “Aye,” said the old man. “Ye can’t miss t’ way. But you’d find it easier walking by t’ road.”

  “No time,” said Titty. “We’ve simply got to rush.”

  “Good day to you,” called the old man, and turned again to lift huge slabs of slate in his great hands, taking them from his trolley, and setting them down with others waiting to be worked.

  *

  “You heard what he said?” whispered Titty, as they got clear of the loose stones by the opening of the level, and were climbing up the rocky slopes above it. “You heard. He’s in with Squashy Hat. And Nancy was going to ask him to help. I was afraid every minute you were going to tell him we’d found the gold.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Roger.

  “Are you sure we’re going all right?” asked Dorothea.

  “So long as we’re going straight up,” said Titty. “And with Kanchenjunga over there.”

  “But is he?” said Dorothea. “We can’t see the top of him.”

  “It’s all right,” said Titty.

  “If only we had a compass,” said Roger.

  “You can get lost even with one,” said Titty. “Remember that fog on the way back to Swallowdale.”

  Dick stopped and pulled out his watch. “There is a way,” he said. “I found it in a book last term. You point the hour hand at the sun, and then half-way between the hour and twelve o’clock is south … or north …”

  “South,” said Titty, looking at the watch which Dick held in the palm of his hand. “It can’t be anything else. But where’s High Topps?”

  “Pretty well south, too,” said Dick.

  “We’re all right. But do hurry up.”

  They climbed as fast as they could. Titty felt her want of breath almost hurting her. The sweat off Dick’s forehead kept dripping on the glasses of his spectacles. Roger was bending forward and helping himself up with his hands. Dorothea was panting to herself, not out aloud, though the words seemed to drum in her ears, “The next bit’ll be the top. The next bit’ll be the top.”

  “Stick to it, Dot,” said Dick, trying to wipe his spectacles without stopping his climb.

  “Go it, Rogie,” said Titty. “Remember poor old Susie.”

  “Poor old hen,” said Roger, and then he remembered that it was mostly his fault that they had gone into the level, and added, “I don’t really mean she’s a hen.”

  “So long as we aren’t too late,” said Titty, and then for a long time they climbed without another word.

  At last, tired nearly out, they came to the top of the ridge. There, away to the right, rose the peak of Kanchenjunga. Away to the left were the Swallowdale fells on the further side of the valley of the Amazon. But, though they were on the highest point of the ridge, they could not see down on High Topps. The ridge itself was wide, and they had to struggle across another hundred yards or so, of rock and heather, before they could see more than the corner of the wood by the Great Wall and a short white curling strip of the far away Dundale road. Then, at last, they could look down on the mining country.

  “But where are they?” said Roger.

  “They’ve dashed off to get help,” said Dorothea.

  “Oh, no … no,” said Titty. Nothing could be worse than that.

  “There’s the gulch, anyway,” said Dick. “And nobody there.”

  They ran down a slope and up the other side, where a steep bit of rock let them look down the side of Ling Scar to the place where Roger, Dick, and Dorothea had seen Squashy Hat come out of the hill, dust his old coat and stride away.

  “There they are,” cried Roger.

  “Yell. Yell,” said Titty. “They’re coming to the hole. They can’t have seen it yet. Or have they? Wave anything you’ve got. Why haven’t you got a handkerchief, Roger? Now you see what happens when you go off without one.”

  Their throats were dry. It was as if their mouths were full of dust. The best shout they could raise was weak and short.

  “Coo … eeee,” cried Titty, as her mother, that friendliest of all natives, had taught her long ago. But the sound seemed to carry no way. She might have been talking to Roger or Dick, near enough almost to touch.

  “Ahoy …” shouted Roger, but had not breath to make the “hoy” draw out to anything better than a croak.

  “Come on,” said Titty. “It’s downhill … But look out how you go. Don’t go and twist another ankle.”

  “They’ve seen us,” Dorothea whispered hoarsely.

  Far away below on High Topps, the four figures of the elders had suddenly stopped moving.

  “Give me your handkerchief,” said Titty. “Oh, if only we had two sticks.”

  Titty scrambled to the top of a big rock, and, with a handkerchief in each hand, waved her arms round and round. Yes. Down on High Topps, they were looking. She put her left hand behind her back, and held her right arm out and slanting downwards. Then she held her left arm slanting up and her right slanting down. She did it again, and then whirled both hands to show that she had finished a word.

  Dick was struggling for his pocket-book.

  “What’s she said so far?” he asked, in a whisper, as he found the page where, in the Christmas holidays, Nancy had drawn the semaphore code for him.

  “A … L … L … All,” said Roger.

  “W … E …,” said Dick, looking out the letters as Titty made them, “L … L … Well.”

  “What are they doing?” said Roger. “Susan’s turned round and she’s walking away.”

  “She’s jolly mad,” said Titty.

  “And John’s beckoning,” said D
orothea. “And Peggy’s gone after Susan to bring her back.”

  “Look out. Nancy’s going to signal. Ow. She’s using Morse and going at an awful lick.”

  Nancy was flicking a handkerchief to and fro, sometimes in a wide sweep from side to side, sometimes in a short flick above her head. Dick and Dorothea gave up all hope of reading her longs and shorts, but Titty and Roger read the letters out one by one.

  “P … U … D … D … I … N … G.”

  “Pudding,” said Roger. “They’ve kept some for us.”

  “She hasn’t finished the word,” said Dick.

  Titty was reading steadily on. “H … E … A … D … S … End of word. Puddingheads …”

  Puddingheads? Well, they had expected to be called worse things than that. All four of them felt rather better. If only Susan wasn’t going to be too native. They ran, jumped, tumbled, climbed, slipped, and ran again, as they rushed down the ridge.

  *

  “Look here, Titty,” said Susan, who had been brought back and was waiting for them with the others. “You ought to have had more sense. Taking them away up the fell like that when you knew it was dinner-time.”

  “But she didn’t,” said Dorothea.

  “Yes, she did,” said Susan. “I told her to bring you back at once. And that’s hours and hours ago.”

  “She didn’t take us over the top,” said Roger.

  “She only brought us back that way,” said Dick.

  Not twenty yards away was the dark entrance to the Old Level, and, do what they would, Dorothea and Titty could not keep their eyes from straying to that clump of heather just in front of it. Nancy’s eyes followed theirs.

  “It was my fault,” said Roger. “We didn’t mean to. Not at first. But we’ve been right through …”

  “Through what?”

  “Giminy,” cried Nancy suddenly. “Look at this … You don’t mean to say you’ve been THROUGH? …”

  “It’s the Old Level,” said Peggy.

  Susan turned on Roger. “You promised you would never go into any of the mines unless John or I had gone in first and said it was all right …”

  “Yes, but Squashy Hat’s a native and older than you, and we saw him coming out,” said Roger. “So we knew it was all right. And we went in, and then Titty came to fetch us back.”