The Tenderfoots by Francis Lynde

WITH the threat of the snow slides definitely removed, the routine of ore-digging was resumed. Deeper and deeper the tunnel was driven into the mountain, and each day saw the accumulation of ore and broken rock on the dump grow in proportion. Nothing was said by any one of the three about Garth's night raid on the whiskey bottle; but Philip's attitude toward the big miner was stiffer for the lapse -- as Bromley's was gentler. Since there was no more liquor in the stores, there were no more lapses; and no fault could be found with the way Garth spent himself in the drilling and shovelling, the ore-carrying and sorting.

After a fortnight of bright sunshine in January, with a thaw that merely compacted the surface of the great snow blanket without perceptibly thinning it, the cold weather came again; there were night temperatures that made the green logs of the cabin walls crack and snap with sounds like pistol shots, and the clay chinkings became broad lines of hoar frost -- this though the fire on the hearth was never allowed to die down. With an ample supply of fuel they suffered little from the cold; but by the middle of February the provisions were running very low. Bromley's turn at the cooking came in the final week of the month, and it was he who found the bottom of their last sack of potatoes.

"We can kiss the dear old Murphys good-by with this supper," he announced cheerfully, as he shook up and salted the last boiling in the pot; adding: "And everything else in the chuck-hole is going the same way," Then to Garth: "You know a lot more about these mountain winters than we do, Jim. How long is it going to be before we can break trail for Leadville?"

"Wish I knowed," was the sober answer. "Two year ago it was the last o' May afore you could get over the range on most o' the trails."

Bromley gave a low whistle. "Two months, and more, of this? In less than half that time we'll be licking the skillet."

Philip helped himself sparingly to the potatoes. "That means short rations," he thrust in morosely. "We ought to have had sense enough to begin limiting ourselves long ago. Half quantities, from this time on, Harry."

Accordingly, the rationing was begun with the next meal, and thereupon a grim battle with a foe hitherto unconfronted dragged its steadily weakening length through the days and weeks. Day after day they toiled doggedly in the tunnel, and night after night turned in hungry after the long hours of hard work. As the hunger grew upon them they fell silent; hours would pass without the exchange of a word; and a gloom, which was not to be dispelled even by Bromley's gallant attempts at cheerfulness, settled down upon them.

It was in this famine time that the dour malady known as cabin madness began to show its grisly head; the sickness that seizes upon cabin dwellers shut in with one another and shut off from other human contacts. As his ancestry and rearing would postulate, Philip was the first to fall a victim to the splenetic mania, developing an increasing irritability, with Garth for its principal target. As the hunger pangs grew sharper, Bromley could see that the giant's rough good nature was slowly breaking down under Philip's harsh girdings; that a time was approaching in which surly bickerings would flare into open antagonism and violence; and he did his best to stave off the evil day.

Unhappily, his best was not good enough. The volcanic outburst came one evening while they were eating their scanty supper. Garth, who had dug his home-made skis out of the slide, had climbed to the slope above the mine to make sure that the tunnel portal and ore piles were not menaced by another avalanche. While he was about it, Philip, coming out of the mine to sharpen drills at the forge, had seen Garth working his way cautiously along the upper slope of the spur. At supper he flatly accused the mountain man of making an examination of the slide menace an excuse for staking off a claim of his own which would intersect the "Little Jean" at a certain depth in the hill.

"I've been keeping an eye on you! " he wound up harshly. "You may think because we're tenderfoots we can't see through a millstone when there's a hole in it, but if you do, you're missing it a thousand miles!"

"_Philip! _ You don't know what you're saying! " Bromley interposed quickly. "Jim's all right. Why, good Lord! -- -- "

"You keep out of it! " Philip snapped back angrily. "You may be blind but by God, I'm not!"

The big man was frowning sourly at his accuser.

"Say," he growled in slow belligerence, "I been thinkin', for quite a li'l' spell, that the time was a-comin' when I'd have to take yuh over my knee and larrup yuh a few. I reckon you've fetched it, now. You're the first livin' live man that ever told Big Jim Garth to his face that he wasn't on the square; and when you say it, you're a liar!"

Like a bolt from a crossbow, Philip hurled himself upon Garth, clearing the hewn slab that served as a table at a bound. The attack was so sudden that the big man was toppled off the block of wood upon which he was sitting, and the two went down in a fierce clinch. Bromley sprang up and strove to separate the combatants as they rolled over and over upon the earth floor, striking and clutching madly at each other. But the half-rations upon which they had all been starving for weeks proved the better, or at least the more effectual, peacemaker. Breathless exhaustion came speedily to both men to make the frenzied struggle degenerate into a mere beating of the air; and when a sullen peace had been patched up through Bromley's urgings, Philip staggered outdoors to hold a handful of snow to an eye that had stopped a blow from Garth's fist in the brief battle.