rope against his body. He stepped on the first knotâ
It wasnât as simple as stepping. His boots slipped and fumbled, and he clamped the rope with his knees, pinched it between the arches of his feet, his whole body gripping it desperately. He drew himself up; one inchworm length, one knot.
The rope wobbled alarmingly. He could fall now and be all right, but for every foot he climbed, the fall would get worseâ
âHurry!â Jimmyâs voice reached him in an oddly flattened way. There was no choice. Phin took a deep breath and started up.
Reach. Pin. Worm his feet up, grip the knot, and push. Reach. Pin. Worm and push. Reach, pinâ¦
His arches began to ache. His knees felt raw. His arm muscles shook.
Worst of all was the reach, that moment when only his weak left arm hugging the rope kept him from falling. Or maybe the worst was bumping the side of the hole, or the way the rope shuddered and swayed. He didnât look down, did his best not to think. Just count the knots. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.
The light got broader and nearer and finally blazed in his eyes, half blinding him. The rope disappeared over the edge of the hole at an angle. Phin reached. His left foot slipped off the knot and kicked the side, setting loose a shower of small stones. They pattered far below. His right hand closed on the unseen rope, and Jimmy said, âThatâs the boy. Up and at âem!â
Phin pushed off the last knot, throwing himself over the edge of the hole, scrabbling with toes and knees and elbows.
Sun on his shoulders, a blur of bushes, packed earth under him, and Jimmy twenty feet away braced against a small rock, straining at the rope, a look of horror on his face.
Wasnât he going to make it? Phin scrambled forward and sprawled on his stomach. Jimmy fell back. The rope flew in the air and dived snakelike down the hole, but Jimmy rolled up and over and after it. He caught the tail just in time and turned toward Phin, staring, gradually going green in the face.
âWhat?â Phin touched his cheek. It was stiff, crusty with dried blood. âI didnât do it,â he said quickly.
Jimmy tried to smile. âRight,â he said, and swallowed. ââPhin Chase shoot a man?â I said. âNext youâll be tellinâ meââugh!â
He sat down abruptly and put his head between his knees. His hand fumbled inside his shirt, and a moment later he brought out a water flask, untied his bandanna.
âCripes, Phin, will you wash your face?â
5
D ROVE
P hin fumbled the bandanna open to its cleanest surface. He uncorked the bottle, took a long pull, then sloshed water onto the cloth. His hands shook, spilling some on the ground. He bunched the cloth and scrubbed.
Jimmy hauled the rope up. Slap slap , it landed in loose coils. Slap slap went Jimmyâs voice. âHereâs the way of it. We downed tools, half of us, when we heard about Engelbreit. They had no call to kill him. So he was a hard driver! I say no man can drive you if you donât let yourself be drove. The men he let go were drinkinâ down there. Could have killed any one of us.â
Slap slap swish âthe end of the rope emerged insunlight. Jimmy started to pull apart the first knot. âSo thereâs more men out than youâd think, this time of day. Thatâs one thing.â
âWhat aboutâ¦Plume?â
Jimmy glanced over his shoulder at Phin. He was pale under the coal dust. His thin black eyebrows looked like the wings of distant birds. âPlume came down late and stayed down. Donât tell me, Phin. I donât even want to guess!â
Wise. Guessing could get you killed.
âConstableâs at Dennisâs,â Jimmy said. âSaw him when I nicked the rope. âDid you look at Murrayâs,â Dennis says. âMurray hasnât seen him,â says Mahoney. Heâs searching the barn now, so I say go