Argosy All-Story Weekly, 4 February 1922 — page 88: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

J y Mh 4 a ‘ A! i? a \ \ yy " ‘| ‘ Nth nea a : ii ye bt eid if . AO Oe te Mi %y Ye PAS ata aie ne ta a CB a! sy, bed meee a | v pte. am ( R f hyn uy “4 sty oat ; aig 5 } yi = ; oo’ _ a ¢ Ls % = ——- ‘£ | | y al ii 4 ph ie : a EY f : NEE ‘% AY : : ‘ , ia Vit iy eh Ahh »~ “ye va mv RKC hy i 4 6 Ua i Ma? i A . 2 398 Both Davies and Hugh McGregor were gigantic men, neither handicapped by the weight of years that had robbed Griffith of some endurance. But neither owned the splendid youth of Sissek, the Slav, making for almost instant recuperation with each breathing period holding drill. And, ex- cept in practice, they had never drilled together before this day and could not have that supreme confidence, each in the other, that is the very soul of a drilling team. They had, perhaps, only one advantage— they could know and measure, minute by minute, the creeping inches that meant vic- tory or defeat. But that knowledge might as easily prove discouraging in case they began to drop behind the minute by minute record that had been made. “ Ready!” The contestants leaped into place, Davies to strike, McGregor to hold drill, choosing these positions because Mc- Gregor was counted the more skilful man in opening the hole. “ Strike!” bawled the judge. The first blow dropped down. They were less spectacular than their ‘competitors. McGregor relied more on skill than on brute strength in driving steel— drill bitts cunningly sharpened according to a theory of his own, tempered to the exact degree where the steel would neither break or batter in the cut. He taught the virtue of a steady stroke increasing in speed at exact intervals, mighty driving force behind each blow rather than intemperate swiftness at the hammer-head. “The place for speed is at the bottom of the hole,”’ McGregor had assured Davies many times. “ Put strength on the drill- head and not in the air.” And again: “A clean hole is a fast hole—time wasted spooning is time saved in the cut!” Davies, following directions, struck with mighty power, not in too great hurry to get the double-jack away from the drill-head, but each blow fair and true, with an im- perceptible interval in which to concentrate his strength between each stroke. Both Griffith and Sissek had used the usual meth- od of striking, one hand near the end of the handle of the double-jack, the other hand sliding backward and forward between the end of the handle and the head. aw —— - ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Davies used the stroke that was Mc- Gregor’s own, both hands at the end of the handle, swinging backward and upward the whole length of arms and sledge, not moving either hand at all, gaining more than two feet of added leverage. The stroke was no- ticeably slower, but in accordance with Mc- Gregor’s. theory, added many pounds at the head of the drill. “Two minutes!” McGregor cleaned the hole, while Davies rested through three full strokes. Then again the battering of the drill. Some one more observant than others in the crowd shouted: ‘“ They’re gainin’ already—did you see that spoon? They’ve got five now if they got an inch!” “The hell you say—that Davies is crawlin’ like a snail!” “ Yeh—snail with a kick like an elephant! Wait till ye see ol’ Hughie kill that steel!” “Three minutes!” Davies dropped to his knees; McGregor took the jack. His movements seemed most deliberate. The new team changed steel much oftener than the old, which appeared to be a waste of time, but it was surprising how that steel seemed actually to fall into the rock under the pile-driver force of McGregor’s crash- ing blows. Little by little his speed in- creased until the sledge was flying almost as fast as Griffith’s own. Hugh breathed deeply on the upward Swing, expelling the air from his lungs with force at every fall. Here was perfect tech- nique, perfect execution; old drillers in the audience who were capable of appreciation freely predicted victory at the end. “ Six minutes!” Davies sprang to take his turn at the sledge. McGregor fed the Steel into the hole. At eight minutes there were more than twenty inches won. “ Noth- in’ to it—they got a walkaway!”’ declared one miner who had noted carefully the dis- carded steel. ‘ Mebbe—but seven minutes is a long, long time,” said another, more experienced or more cynical. “‘ Nine min- utes,” called the judge, holding the stop- watch in his hand. McGregor snatched the dulled steel from the hole, straightened to position, swung the sledge. Davies, panting, fell into posi- tion, turning drill, while the blue steel bit — and crushed into the living rock. cS) (eo) 200 = Comic > —— ~ Pr a a a - pt NS — > a — = a wo. &- 4 + . < SS SS ee Oa a ea re el ee ee ee Se ~ 7 — =