Two weeks ago, late one night, seven grimy miners toiled in the zinc-and spar-veined bowels of a mountain near Salem, Ky. With a surly roar, the wall of their tunnel collapsed behind them. Two men dashed for the shaft, shouting, "The cut's pullin', boys!" Another man, Roy James, could have escaped, but tore back the other way, through a foaming flood of subterranean water, to warn his comrades, George Castiller, Harry Watson, U. B. Wilson and Randolph Cobb. . . . Out in the shaft, Garth Heare, the mine's superintendent, labored night...
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