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Somebody—who was it?—said about her, “When Mary came to America, she thought it was all for her.”
    No wonder she defeated Phin—kept him reading, hauling wood and water, while Jimmy graduated to the mine, opening a certain door for ore carts, otherwise watching that it stayed closed, and making up songs to keep himself awake.
    Johnny O’Connor became a door boy, too. One day he sang himself to sleep. A cart rumbled into the door, and it flew back and smashed him. It was the kind of thing that happened.
    But Jimmy Lundy passed unscathed from door boy to mule boy. Fifteen now, he belonged to a swaggering group of young mine workers. They fought among themselves, swore continually, told jokes Phin didn’t understand and stories he could understand but not picture. He’d never been below the surface to see for himself.
    He argued with his mother. She’d kept him out of everything exciting and important, and she was so thin these days, so tired. Shouldn’t he go to work now, earn money to help out? She could find some girl to read to her.
    She straightened from her washboard. Her arms were red and her hands redder, and on her face was an expression he didn’t understand, then or now.
    â€œI don’t want you getting used to it,” she said. “When you’re grown you can decide, but you’re not grown yet, Phin.”
    He could have proved her wrong. He could have gone to the mine and taken what work was offered. He didn’t because he half understood. She’d moved to Murray’s for his sake, and while she didn’t mind what people said, she didn’t go there because she liked it. If Phin went into the mine, her sacrifice would be for nothing.
    So it was Murray’s he got used to, the world of drink and gambling, late nights and open secrets. That and the stable, clean and quiet, smelling peacefully of horses. It kept him busy enough that he saw Jimmy only in passing; Jimmy always part of a crowd.
    Now Phin realized, staring at the dark wall of the Dog Hole, that he didn’t know where Jimmy’s loyalties lay. At Murray’s he’d watched, eavesdropped, tried toput together the puzzle: who was a union man, who AOH? Who was a Sleeper? Who combined both, or all three? Fascinating, treacherous currents, and he’d watched the surface. Jimmy swam them. Sweat popped out on Phin’s brow. Who might Jimmy be talking to, right this minute?
    The Sleepers didn’t take boys, he was pretty sure; not even mule boys. But Jimmy should be back by now. Shouldn’t he be back—
    â€œTell me when this hits the floor.” Jimmy was there again, paying a fat rope down the side of the hole yard by yard.
    Every ugly thought of betrayal left Phin instantly. He waited for the rope. “Got it.”
    â€œHere’s more. The knots’ll make it shorter. Holler when you’ve got ten or twelve extra feet.”
    There were fifteen extra feet when Phin called up again. The rope was big around as a beer glass. Knots took up more of a thick rope, didn’t they? It was the kind of thing Engelbreit would—
    No. Don’t think about Engelbreit.
    Jimmy hauled the rope up. Phin heard low-voiced swearing. It would be hard knotting such a long rope, especially if you wanted to work fast.
    Not as hard as it was going to be to climb it.
    Phin massaged his left arm. It wasn’t broken, but the hand had no strength. He could barely close it, let alone squeeze.
    After a few minutes the rope came down again, knot by lumpy knot. Jimmy looked over the edge. “Got it? Let me get set, then. When I twitch, you come ahead.”
    Get set how? There was no tree up there to wrap the rope around, not even a good-sized rock. How would Jimmy do it? What would he brace against?
    Don’t think about that. He had his own job to do.
    The rope twitched. Phin reached up with his right hand and got a firm grip. With his left forearm, he pinned the