"Because I'll have a chance to teach you a few things." "Then I hope I do," answered the lad in his soft voice. "I want to learn all I can, you know." Bob's face wrinkled into a scowl. He was not certain whether Steve really meant what he said or whether he was poking fun at him. Early on the following morning Steve reported to the office of the superintendent. To his disappointment he was assigned to the ore dump. This is a great pile of ore dumped on the surface by a tram car as the ore is brought up from the mine in a skip, or ore elevator. Steve's particular duty was to stand at the outer end of the track and shovel the ore away from the track after each carload had been dumped. It was not a comfortable place to stand, for a misstep would precipitate him down the sloping end of the ore dump to the ground some forty feet below. On this dump the ore car was pushed by hand, whereas on others it was operated by electricity. Steve had received his instructions from the dump boss, so, with a shovel in his hands, he stood awaiting the first carload of ore. At last it came on with a bump and a crunch, groaning and threatening to jump the rails with each revolution of its wheels. Steve sprang to one side as he saw the car approaching, believing for the minute that the tram was going to run him down and plunge over the end of the dump. Should such be the case, the tram would surely carry him down with it, so he had lost no time in getting out of the way. "Hi, there! Look out where you are going! You'll run off the track!" shouted the lad in a warning tone. But the tram did not run off. It came to a slow stop; then, instead of discharging its cargo over the end of the pile, the end of the car's box suddenly swung around toward Steve. There followed a quick, sharp, metallic clang. Steve Rush went down with the contents of the car falling all about him in a red, suffocating shower, burying him nearly to his neck. Some of the ore rolled down the side of the dump, and the lad would have followed had he not been held fast by the dirt about him. His body was bruised in spots where unbroken chunks had bombarded him; his hair, mouth, eyes and nose were full of the stuff, and he found himself scarcely able to breathe. For a moment the boy was at a loss to understand what had happened. By industrious blinking and rubbing of his eyes he managed presently to take account of his surroundings. Steve struggled with all his might to free himself. He was unable to do so. "He--help!" he shouted. "I--I'm bu--buried up to my chin and I'm getting in deeper all the time. Help me to get out of this!" "Hello, there! What's the matter?" questioned a jeering voice. "Why, upon my word, if it isn't Little Miss Rush." Steve recognized the voice as belonging to Bob Jarvis. "It's you, is it, Jarvis? Well, help me out of this and I will talk with you. I shall have a few things to say to you, too, when we get a chance to talk----"