"This isn't going much. He has slow speed on this morning because the cage has a bigger load than usual. Afraid, are you?" "No, I am not afraid. I was wondering what would happen if the man forgot to shut off his power when we reached the bottom." The miner laughed. "We'd punch a hole in the bottom of the shaft," he said. "How deep is the shaft, sir?" "Two thousand feet to the bottom--fifty feet less than that to the last working level. The bottom level is used to drain off the water from the other levels. From there big steam pumps pump the water to the surface." The two could scarcely hear for noise. "The Spooner contract is on the seventeenth level, is it not?" "Yes, on the sub-level above the seventeenth. Is that where you are going to work?" "Yes, sir; for Mr. Spooner." "Then I feel sorry for you." "Why so, sir?" "Because he is a slave driver. Every man in the mines knows him and none of them wants to work for him. I guess he hasn't a white man on the contract." "I didn't know there were any colored men employed here." "There are not. We call a white man one who is not a foreigner," laughed the miner. "Oh!" Now and then the car would halt with a jolt; two or three men would leap off and disappear in the darkness, after which the cage would drop down another level or so. "Here is your level," announced the miner. "Jump off, or you will be carried by." Steve jumped off. "Thank you," he called, but the miner did not hear him, for the car had dropped quickly out of sight. Water that had dripped down through the shaft from the surface and the upper levels was, by this time, running from the oilskins of the young miner in tiny rivulets. Dampness was everywhere. A blast of hot, damp air smote him in the face as he turned to look about him. "I wonder where I am to go?" muttered Steve. A heavy fog hung over everything, electric lights glowing dimly through the haze, so that one was able to see but a few feet ahead. "Where is the Spooner contract?" called Steve to a passing miner. The man jerked a hand over his shoulder, whereupon the lad made his way cautiously down the level or tunnel, which is the main avenue, and from which other tunnels, called drifts, run off into the ore beds. By this time the mine was in full operation. Strange sounds smote the ears of the young miner. The roar of the electric tram cars as they dashed by him, now and then narrowly missing running him down, the thunder of the skips, huge black objects hurling themselves surfaceward loaded with iron ore, the bang, bang of the drills and the detonations of many dynamite explosions, filled the heart of Steve Rush with awe and wonder.