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Chapter One A light mantle of snow
transformed the austere coal camp of Eagle, West Virginia, into an eerily
beautiful night landscape. Blanketing the grimy coal dust that coated
everything, the snowfall seemed to put away the stresses of life. The Great
Depression, over a year old, that wore on everyone, might be easily forgotten
in the tranquil, Christmas card scene. But Jim
Shupe was not so easily fooled. Surrounded
by his telephones, employee charts, and maps, he would be the only man to
know if something went wrong. And the silence was weighing on him. Even
though he should have felt relieved to draw such easy Sunday duty, he felt a
brooding evil in the stillness. If something went wrong, it would happen when
he least expected it. Would he hear it? See it? Feel it? As he
sat in his warm office high above the labyrinth of mine tunnels deep in the
earth below, he tried to tune in the few sounds outside‹the howl of a
December wind, the flap of loose telephone wires, the drone of the mine
ventilation fan. As dispatcher, he was more accustomed to the hubbub of
weekdays when he had to keep track of the myriad rail movements in the
beehive of activity below. Then
his door sprang open. He jumped up, his heart pounding. In the
open doorway stood the Colonel, glaring at him as he stamped muddy snow from
his boots. The old
man's square, ruddy face under his coal-black hardhat looked like a box
sitting upon the larger carton of wide shoulders and stocky green coveralls.
The Colonel was wide-awake and ready for work. The old guy had a reputation
for showing up anywhere, anytime, especially when least expected. But what
had he found? What had gone wrong? What had brought out the Colonel so late
at night? It was
amazing how stealthy the old man could be. Jim hadn't heard the Colonel's
big, new 1930 Buick drive up. That usually meant a surprise inspection, which
threw into question all of his activities as dispatcher. . . . |
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