They came in sight of the derrick. The drill-stem was out of the hole, they could see the mass of “stands” setting in place. When they got nearer, they saw that the crew had a cable down in the hole; and when Dave Murgins, the foreman, saw them, he came out to the car, and it was plain that something was wrong. “We’ve had an accident, Mr. Ross.” “What’s the matter?” “There’s a man fell in the hole.” “Oh, my God!” cried Dad. “Who?” And Bunny’s heart was in his throat, for of course his first thought was Paul. “A roughneck,” said the foreman. “Fellow by the name of Joe Gundha. You don’t know him.” “How did that happen?” “Nobody knows. We was changing the bit, and this fellow went down into the cellar for some reason—he had no business there that we know of. Nobody thought about him for a while.” “You sure he went down?” “We been fishing with a hook, and we got a bit of his shirt.” Bunny was white about the lips. “Oh, Dad, will he be alive?” “How long has he been down?” “We’ve been fishing half an hour,” said Murgins. “And you haven’t heard a sound?” “Not one.” “Well then, he’s drowned in the mud. How far down is he?” “About fifty feet. The mud sinks that far when we take out the drill-stem. He must have went down head first, or he’d have been able to keep his head above the mud and make a noise.” “My God! My God!” exclaimed Dad. “It makes me want to quit this business! What can you do to help men that won’t help themselves?” Bunny had heard that cry a thousand times before. They had a cover for the hole, and any man who went down into the cellar was supposed to slip it into place. Of necessity the dirt caved in about the edges, so that the top of the hole was a kind of funnel, its edges slippery with mud, and in this case with traces of oil; yet men would take chances, sliding around on the edge of that yawning pit! What could you do for them? “Has he got any family?” asked Dad. “He told Paul Watkins he’d got a wife and some children in Oklahoma; he worked in the oil fields there.” Dad sat motionless, staring in front of him; and nobody said a word. They knew he really was interested in his men, taking care of them was a matter of personal pride to him. Bunny had turned sort of sick inside; gee, what a shame—in his well, of all places, his first one, that was to start off the new field! It was all spoiled for him; he wouldn’t be able to enjoy his oil if he got it! “Well,” said Dad, at last, “what are you doin’? Jigglin’ a hook up and down in there? You’ll never get him up that way. You’ll have to put down a three-pronged grab.” “I thought that would tear him so—” explained Dave Murgins, hesitatingly. “I know,” said Dad; “but you’ve got it to do. It ain’t as if he might have any life in him. Bend the prongs so they fit the hole, and force them past the body. Go ahead and get it over with, and let’s hope it’ll teach the rest of you something.”