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25 A SOFT RAIN fell Saturday night. Sunday the bright green leaves of the quaking aspen had gone to brighter gold. The freshly washed sky had changed from dusty blue to an almost harsh indigo. Our blocks were out of the mine and already rolling to Rock Springs. AsJack and I walked up to the tipple, the world looked good. We paused at the boiler room door and watched the sun pretty up the entrance and almost make the grey boards of the tipple glisten a bit. Mr. States came out of the office door and greeted us with his usual cheery words and smile. Bill Fogg came around the end of the chute. The lanky foreman was decked out in freshly laundered overalls. "Bill," I remarked slyly, "you look as if you didn't have a thing in the world to do today. " He grinned. "Not a thing. Nothing but see if you still think I'm going to take you to those old workings. " "Well, I was still hoping ... " Fogg shrugged. "Well, if it's got to be, it's got to be." Turning to States, he asked, "Charley, do you think we could find that old room again?" States already knew ofmy desire to see the big palm leaves. He stepped into the boiler room, walked to a shelf on which stood several carbide lamps, picked out one with a shiny reflector, one that looked as if it might work without undue tinkering . I lit my one-burner gasoline lantern and Jack Ryan lit his. Fogg picked out a carbide in good condition and occupied himself with reloading it with fresh carbide. States looked us over. "We can try," he said. Linden Fogg, Bill's brother, appeared around the corner of the coal chute, and saw our little group. "So it is going to be the picture room? Hot dog! ... I hope." 125 "If Charley here can find it ... or if there's anything left ... or we don't get trapped by a fall," Bill said glumly. Linden sat down on a box by the door, stretched luxuriantly, closed his eyes, leaned back against the wall in comfort. But he felt uncomfortable . He jumped up and went for one of the remaining lamps, smiling at me broadly. "Well, I never had my head examined, but I guess I should've. Before I have it done, guess I'll go along. Never could stay away from liquor or women. When there's none around, I go for trouble in a mine." States traded his felt hat for a miner's helmet. We left the boiler room together, up the narrow path leading to the mine. The freshly washed clumps of sage along the way gave off an especially aromatic odor. The scattered pines and juniper and red cedar along the ridge did nearly as well. We all breathed deeply, looked once around, and stepped into the clammy dark. States led. Age had not dulled his zest for life. I wondered ifBill Fogg hadn't overpainted the danger of this trip into the decrepit old workings ofthe Red Mountain Mine, a wonder that faded slowly with the passing time and the velvet black miles. No one spoke. We passed the first and second forks, the big room with the fourteen-foot seam of coal. States was still in the lead when we came to the passage leading in to the old States-Hall Mine. At its end the old man turned right instead of left, away from the familiar. We followed him through a couple ofdeserted rooms into a long passage, bratticed on the north. We headed south, into the abandoned workings. The passage led farther than our light penetrated; the thick blackness gave way reluctantly as we moved ahead, closed in around and behind us as we moved on. The air was dry and still; no live current, as there was in the main, unbratticed mine. The odor of old coal that had leaked much of its combustible quality into the dark air was the smell of things long dead. Maybe this is part of the smell of adventure and part of the smell of darkness. I whispered to Jack Ryan, "Here we go at last!" There was an increase in dust on the floor. Tramway ties and rails had long been removed, and dust filled in their cavities. Entries into mined-out rooms were gaping voids filled to the front with darkness. The dusty coal walls reflected...

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