A LANDSLIDE IN THE CUT
steam-shovel sway and totter. Nothing could surprise him now. With languid interest he watched the towering machine turn over on its side in a leisurely manner and then come slipping down to the next shelf. It resembled some prehistoric monster with a prodigiously long neck, which had lost its footing.
It came to rest on its side and out of one of the cab windows spilled a large man in overalls who tobogganed down the miry slope with extraordinary velocity, arms and legs flying.
He fetched up within a few yards of Walter, sat up, wiped the mud from his eyes, and sputtered:
"Poor old Twenty-six! She's sure in a mess this time."
Recognizing Jack Devlin, Walter managed to find his voice and called feebly:
"Is this what you call a great place for a husky young fellow?"
The steam-shovel man scrambled to his feet, active and apparently unhurt, as if such incidents were all in the day's work. Plunging through the debris of the slide, he peered into Walter's besmeared and bleeding countenance.
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