WE were discussing our cigars and coffee, after a bachelor dinner given by a gentleman prominent in the medical profession, and in the course of conversation the doctor recounted a singular accident which occurred in one of our leading hospitals, and which will doubtless be recalled by all newspaper readers. A patient was to be transferred from the operating-room, at the top of the building, to one of the wards on a lower floor. The stretcher was placed on the car used for the purpose, and taken to the elevator by the two men who usually performed this duty. One of them opened the door, and then turned and helped his companion to push the stretcher, with the helpless patient on it into the empty shaft, where he met his death - by falling to the bottom of the building. "The carelessness which caused this accident," concluded the doctor, "was no less than criminal. Both men insisted positively that they had seen the elevator in the shaft, but of course they shoved poor —— off without even looking."

      "You are wrong, doctor," said Mr. Argentine, who had been an interested listener to the doctor's narration. "Although I never saw the men and know nothing of them, I am ready to swear that they saw that elevator. It's ghost was there. This rather startling announcement calls for an explanation," continued Mr. Argentine, "and if you would like to hear it, I will tell you a story bearing on the subject."

      There was a murmur of encouragement from the guests, and drawing his cigar to a fresh light, the narrator began: I am, as you all know, a mining engineer; and in my life under ground I have seen and heard many queer things; and one of them is the fact that elevators have ghosts. In most mines, where vertical shafts are used, the cage, or skip, is constructed just like an ordinary freight elevator. The mines are worked from a series of tunnels or levels, one above the other, which run in both directions from the shaft, like the hall-ways of a house. The ore is brought to the shaft in iron buckets, holding a couple of tons, which are transported on flat cars by "tram men," or "muckers" as we call them. The car tracks run to the edge of the shaft on both sides, and on the platform of the "cage" there is a section of track so arranged as to be continuous with that of the level." In this way a car can be pushed upon the "cage" and hoisted, or run across the shaft and out on the track at the other side. In early days it was customary to give the "mucker" no other light than the lamp which, like all miners, he wore in his hat; but the men were forever thinking they saw the cage in position, and running their cars off into the shaft, where gravity made a disposition of them not altogether to the liking of their owners. So now when a level is being worked, a big flare light is placed at the shaft, and in the inky darkness the effect is almost like that produced by an arc-light in a city street. Every detail can be plainly seen, and any error arising from the confusion of shadows, etc., is eliminated. Still, men "see the cage" as much as ever. This effect is not produced on ignorant miners alone; every one who comes often to the place is sure, sooner or later, to experience it. I have come out of a tunnel, after making a survey, and seen the cage waiting to take me up; the gleam of the rails in the midst of the bits of broken ore on the platform, the strong bracing of the sides, and even an end of candle plastered to one side with a ball of clay, and forgotten by some workman. And, behold! when I tried to step on board my foot has gone down into the darkness, and I have saved myself from falling only by clutching at the timbering. You can imagine nothing more uncanny than the feeling such an experience gives one. The illusion is never continued an instant after you have discovered the error, but the solid frame of wood and iron vanishes like a bursting bubble, and leaves you gazing into the black throat of the yawning shaft. I have lost many a car and more than one good workman by this mysterious phantom of soulless matter, and while I cannot explain the phenomenon, I know that it takes place, and most certainly believe that it is in some way a materialization of that persistent malignity which sometimes seems to pursue men and dog their every step, and which, in its more usual form of manifestation we are accustomed to call "luck," but which is, to my thinking, a much more personal thing.

      When I first visited Leadville the town had already attained a considerable size, and during the few months of the year when the climate permitted ladies to honor the place with their presence, society was very pleasant there. Of course, you know that the mines catch the riff-raff of all trades and professions, and in a place like that, where elements so very objectionable are likely to intrude, the men who bring their wives and sisters there are doubly careful to whom they introduce them. Cliques are formed which guard most carefully against any but the best, and society is really much more select than in older and more firmly established communities. I had the good luck to be well introduced, and found myself among charming and cultured associates.

      The circle was, of course, a small one. and I soon became well acquainted with every member of our little set. wherever I went calling I found that one name was sure to come up in the course of conversation, and although always spoken of in a way that left no doubt that he would have been a welcome guest. I never met the owner of the name. It was always one of the ladies who asked the news of Arthur Cinnabar, and whoever the gentleman of whom she asked he was sure to have seen Arthur within a day or two and to say something about his work.

      The thing rather mystified me. Who was this man? If he was so well known and near at hand that the gentlemen saw him so often, why did I never meet him? And since he was evidently a friend of all of them, why did he never call on any of the ladies who seemed to take so flattering an interest in his fortune and his work? Moreover, why were they so particular to speak of him as Arthur, and never simply as Mr. Cinnabar? My idle curiosity on the subject was fanned by every mention of the man, and grew with every day that failed to bring him forth. One evening, by a stroke of unusual good fortune, I found the belle of the town without her usual circle of admirers; and, in great peace of mind, I seated myself to enjoy my first tête-à-tête with her. After the usual greeting had passed, almost her first words were, "How is Arthur Cinnabar?" I replied that I had never met Mr. Cinnabar, and could not give her any information. "Oh. yes," said she, "you came since —" then suddenly checking herself, she branched off on another subject in a way that made it very apparent that I was not to be further enlightened.

      At the first opportunity after that I took my most intimate friend aside and abruptly asked him, "Who is Arthur Cinnabar?" "The best man God ever made," he answered with a promptness and an air of conviction that rather nettled me. Was this fellow who sneaked and sulked in some corner to win every girl in the place, and even to rival me in the affections of my best friends? "Well," said I, "he must be worth meeting. When am I to have the pleasure? "I don't know," replied he; "we have been talking it over together and all the boys think you ought to know him; but of course we will have to get his permission before we can bring you up. I will go tonight and ask him." That evening I remained at the mine writing letters and working over the maps until quite late, and was just closing up the office when my friend came in and said: "Old man, bring your pipe and come out and walk in the moonlight, I have something to tell you." I followed him out onto the path that ran from the offices to the machine-shop. The moon was bright as day and under its soft light the scene was inexpressibly beautiful. On the hill-slope below us stood the machine-shops and shaft-houses looming dark in shadow, then came the waste of valley, the pale gray of the sage-brush looking misty and unreal, and the far distant mountains, capped with snow and skirted by the black pine forest, seemed almost to be floating above a mist-enveloped lake. We seated ourselves on a projecting boulder, and I heard the story of Arthur Cinnabar.

      Two brothers had come to the town, about three years before my advent, as officers of the mine at which I was now working. The elder, Charles, had been a great social light and had immediately assumed the position of a Beau Brummel. His friendship was prized as an honor, and no hostess whose invitations he did not accept felt her position quite assured. Arthur, on the other hand, was a jolly, good-tempered, boyish young fellow, a general favorite in every circle, but quite eclipsed by the radiance of the brighter planet. He joked about " King Charles," as he called him, but in secret was immensely proud of the triumphs and standing of the brother whom he almost worshipped. Charles was engineer of the mine, and Arthur, who had just graduated from Harvard, was the secretary. All money paid or received by the mine passed through Arthur's hands, and although a rather careless fellow in most things, he seemed to realize the gravity of his position of trust, and was most scrupulously exact in all his dealings.

      Just after a large shipment of ore had been made and when the money for that and the wages of the men were on deposit, making a total of several thousands, Arthur heard a rumor regarding the bank in which the funds were deposited, which frightened him to such an extent that he mounted his horse and rode post-haste to town to withdraw the account. He was just in time to do this before the closing of the bank. Then came the question of disposal of the money. He had meant to carry it straight back to the mine and lock it in the safe there; but now that the money was in his hands the thing did not seem so easy. The mine was about three miles from town and the road notoriously unsafe. Several "hold-ups" had taken place within a short time, and the gathering twilight of the winter's day made the prospect look anything but cheerful to the nervous boy. Moreover, he was known and had possibly been watched at the bank. After mature reflection he resolved to remain in town and trust to meeting some friend who would accompany him back in the evening. Arthur dined at the most public of Leadville's caf&#eacute;s and then wandered up and down the main thoroughfares, looking for someone with whom he could trust his secret. His money was in a belt in which he was accustomed to carry their pay to the miners on the outlying claims, and it seemed to him that he was puffed up like a balloon with the rolls of bills, and that everyone must guess his secret. In the crowd was his safety, as he well knew; but in it lay also his chief dread. Every glance that turned on him seemed to penetrate his coats and to be directed at the belt beneath, and every wayfarer who jostled him seemed to feel the unusual girdle and inspect him covertly.

      What a villainous set they were, those miners! Mexicans, lowering under the broad shadow of their sombreros, cowboys driven to the mines to winter, gamblers, Indians, roughs and toughs of all descriptions; and each one armed with a great revolver, conspicuously displayed. It was certainly an awkward box; he dared not leave the main thoroughfare to find any of his town friends, and it was most unlikely that any of them would take the dangerous ride with him if he did. Besides, had he a right to trust them?

      The evening wore on and the throng began to grow less dense. Fewer and fewer were the arrivals from the mines, and more and more numerous the riders who shot out into the darkness of the desolate roads. And now his steps were really dogged. It was no longer fancy. Three men had marked him and were watching his movements. Twist and turn as he might, one of them at least was always on his trail. It had grown too late to hope for the arrival of aid, and it was time for action. Should he remain any later, the deserted streets would serve the purpose of the highwaymen as well as the lonely road. No hotel in that lawless place was safe, and the town was one great trap. He thought the situation over and could see but one chance. In the gambling-dens and dance-halls the pack was still undiminished, and he would try to throw his pursuers off the track by a stratagem. Keno Bob's was the largest and best patronized resort in town, and it had a back door which opened in the alley where the boy's horse was stabled. He would enter a neighboring dance-hall, wait till the men followed, slip out, run to Keno's, out again by the back-door, get his horse and, revolver in hand, make a dash for the mines. With as careless and convivial an air as he could muster, he walked into Indian Bell's and, slipping behind a brawny laborer near the door, waited for results. Sure enough, in came two of his pursuers and stood looking for him in the crowd. A half-clad girl on the stage was singing a popular song and the audience joined in the chorus with much stamping of feet and clinking of glasses. Aided by the noise and confusion he slipped out, almost running into the third villain, who had been left on guard, and crossed the street at the top of his speed. The watcher uttered a shrill whistle, which Arthur hoped was drowned by the noise of the roisterers, and followed without the least attempt at concealment. In Keno's huge bar-room were several card-tables and two roulette wheels, around which was seated a group of players, and back of them stood a pack of interested spectators.

"THE MAN ENTERED AND STOOD LOOKING FOR HIM."

      As Arthur elbowed his way through them, he heard the "roller" in the keno-room call a number. "Twelve!" said the voice. Arthur pushed on, keeping as many men as possible between him and the street-door and watching for his enemy. The door opened, and the man entered and then stood looking for him. "Twenty-six!" said the voice. Stooping low, the boy slipped into the keno-room. Here was a different scene. The players were ranged at long tables along the walls and each was intent on the card before him. The way was clear; a few steps would bring him to the door, and in a moment he would be mounted and away. Just as he reached the door, it opened and he was confronted by the men who had followed him into the dance-hall. The boy was in despair. "Fourteen!" said the "roller." 44 Keno! Head her off!" shouted a voice that thrilled Arthur like an electric shock. It was Charlie.

      The fact that Charlie was gambling and was not quite himself did not impress Arthur. It was enough that he had found the big brother whom he had always looked upon as a being of a superior race, and was to have his help in guarding the treasure, the loss of which would have meant his dishonor. He told his story in a whisper, and being now relieved of the nervous strain of his fear, was surprised to see how terribly the news seemed to excite his listener. The men as soon as they had witnessed the meeting had slunk away and the two brothers reached the stable unmolested. Here Charlie severely lectured Arthur on the danger he had incurred and insisted on taking the money-belt himself. Only too glad to be rid of the cause of his anxiety, the younger brother made the change, and the two, pistol in hand, rode rapidly to the mine. When they reached the mine stable the man on watch handed Charlie a note. It was from the underground foreman, asking directions for some work in the neighboring mine; and Charlie said he must go at once to the captain of the night shift, which was then at work) on the second level. The two walked to the shaft-house together, and Arthur, who had on his working clothes, provided his brother with a bit of candle which he found in his pocket and exchanged coats and hats with him.

      "The candle is rather short, Charlie," said Arthur.

      "Oh, I guess it will last," replied Charlie; "Wait here till I come up."

      These were the last words exchanged between the brothers. Charlie went down the ladders, gave the captain of the night-shift a few directions, started back, and went, no man knows where. After waiting till he became anxious, Arthur procured a light and went down the shaft. He found the workmen, and learning that his brother had long ago left them, he promptly sent an alarm to the office and the workmen's quarters.

      A fruitless search was kept up till day-light, although as soon as the story of the money-belt was known, no one but Arthur expected to find the missing man. The mine had a water tunnel opening on the mountain side, and communicated with several abandoned workings, all of which had exits, and it would have been an easy thing for Charles, who knew every inch of the workings, to have walked off with the snug little fortune in his belt. It was found that he had been gambling for a long time and losing heavily, and that not only had he dissipated his fortune, which had been considerable, but that he had incurred heavy debts among his friends. This latter circumstance Arthur never knew. The owner and manager of the mine, a pig-headed Dutchman, was the only person who suspected Arthur of complicity in his brother's crime, and he at once dismissed him. The two boys were orphans and each had inherited a considerable sum of money. Arthur at once came forward with his entire property and paid it to the mine, at the same time offering to work for his board and let his salary be withheld until he had made up the full amount, of which some hundreds of dollars were still lacking. He was refused any position in the office and then offered himself as a common laborer to the underground foreman.

      He had now been at work for nearly a year, holding drills for the hammer men, shovelling rock and pushing the cars. Every month he reserved barely enough out of his wages for necessary expenses; all the rest he paid back to his employer, and at the time of which I write had almost completed his self-imposed task of restitution. The pathos of his faith in Charles was touching. All the damaging facts in his brother's latter history were surprises to him, but did not in the least degree serve to convince him that the popular theory was the correct one. Often he had been urged to leave his menial position and take a situation in the office of another mine, but his answer was always this: "Charlie told me to wait here till he came back, and I must stay." At first Arthur had shunned all society, but the men soon made him understand that they believed in him, and made a weak pretense of faith in the lost king, and by this means won him back from his gloomy broodings over his brother's fate and the cloud of dishonor that shadowed his name. First, out of charity, and afterwards, out of pure enjoyment of his society, the men made the old log-cabin where he lived a rendezvous, and no fair and gentle maiden in the town was the object of as much attention, nor half as much genuine, hearty admiration, as the brave boy fighting so nobly for his honor. With these friends he forgot his luck of life and was his own happy self again, but of women he had a morbid dread. "When a man's down they're not like men, you know," was all he ever said of them, and, perhaps, all he ever thought. I was the first stranger whom he had consented to meet, and before he would let Louis bring me, he had manfully insisted that he should tell me the whole story.

      The evening after hearing this history I was taken to the cabin and duly installed as a member in good standing of the fraternity who frequented the place. Arthur met me without the least embarrassment and played the host with a manly heartiness that enlisted me at once as his friend. He was a splendid specimen of the college athlete, tall and handsome as an Apollo, and through his coarse laborer's clothing the gentleman showed as clearly as in any of his trig and dapper guests, clad as they were in the height of the fashion. There were two chairs, a table, and two rough beds in the one room which the cabin boasted, and as these were entirely inadequate to the number of guests who gathered there the furniture had been eked out by the addition of a dozen soap boxes. I had expected to find Arthur a sad-eyed, broken-spirited wreck and to see his friends gathered in stiff and mournful sympathy about him; and the merry gathering and the jolly evening we passed were a great surprise to me. At intervals a twinge of inward pain would dull the twinkle of his eye and sober the merry frankness of the handsome face on which a look of strained expectation would settle, for an instant, if the sound of horse's hoofs was heard on the road. Save for these slight and momentary changes he was the merriest of us all, and one would have believed his life had been one long and careless holiday. I was charmed with my visit and my host, and from that time forward let scarcely a night pass without spending a few minutes with him.

"I AM CLEARING THE STONES AWAY FROM THE EDGE."

      Several weeks went by and we were nearing the Christmas holidays. The next payment would enable Arthur completely to refund the missing money, and we had arranged to give a grand celebration at the cabin in honor of the event. On the day of the intended fête, it happened that Louis and I were both at work in the Moyer mine. We were sinking the shaft and at the same time "stoping ore" out of the second level, where Charles had held his last intercourse with living men. It was in the level that my work lay (I had taken Charles' place of engineer), and as I stepped off the ladders I found Arthur, who was "tramming" the ore, on his knees beside the shaft brushing the edge with his hands. "What are you doing, Arthur?" said I. "Louis and twelve men are at work in the bottom of the shaft six hundred feet below," replied he, "and I am clearing the stones away from the edge, for fear someone should kick one down. Even a pebble falling that far would be a serious thing." I went on to my work and in about an hour returned to the shaft to go up. There stood the cage waiting and I was just about to step aboard when I heard the rumble of the car coming, and waited to be hoisted with it. As he neared the shaft Arthur hung back to check the car, glanced over the top, but seeing the "cage" in position and that all was right put his shoulder to the ponderous machine. Had my hands been empty I would have helped him, but I had the transit. With a dull rumble the car moved over the few remaining feet of tunnel, then, to our horror, slipped in silence through the phantom platform, and shot down the shaft with a sound like rushing wings. We had "seen the cage!"

"WE HAD SEEN THE CAGE."

      My first thought was for the men below. Dropping the transit, I sprang to the ladders and went down faster than I have ever done before or since. From beneath me rose the echoes of crashing timber and rending iron and a faint, far-off shout, and from above came Arthur's horrified cry, "I have killed them!" By wonderful good luck it happened that the party were just in the act of firing a blast when the accident occurred and so escaped being crushed beneath the fearful weight of falling rock and iron. They tell me that when I found them safe I laughed and cried like an hysterical girl and hugged and kissed the great, bearded men, in the frenzy of my relief.

      As soon as we were calm enough to think, we went in search of Arthur. He was gone. On a set of timbers near the shaft hung his coat and dinner pail, showing that in his horror at the dreadful accident, he had fled, not daring to hear how many he had crushed to death in the dark caverns of the lower mine. On the day which was to have seen his emancipation from the burden under which he had been struggling, and when he was to have thrown off the dark shadow of his brother's guilt and taken once more his rightful place among his fellows, he was wandering like a rabid beast over the mountain passes, or among the deserted tunnels, haunted and half-crazed by a horror worse than guilt. A crushed and shuddering mass that had been his friend and the torn and mangled bodies of the laborers whom he had killed, were ever before his eyes, and his reason was tottering under this last, unmerited stroke of fate. This we knew, and each one of us vied with every other to find him and be the bearer of the news of the marvellous chance which had saved him from a lifelong nightmare of remorse.

      We separated into two parties, one to search the mine, and the other to mount and ride out on the trails that wound up the snow-capped mountains and away across the lonely passes to the wild regions of the valley mining camps. I took charge of the underground party, and after searching every nook and cranny of the new mine, led the men into the deserted workings that opened from it. Nothing can be more ghastly than such a place. The walls were caving and crushing the rotting timbers, from which hung long hair like growths and great balloon-shaped fungi white and mouldy, the wood glowed, faintly phosphorescent, and a damp, tomb-like chill pervaded the gutted stopes. Being unfamiliar with the place I had had the maps brought down, and with these guides we ferreted out every corner of the loathsome place. Finally, there remained only one spot unvisited, a "winze" or short shaft, which had been sunk from the old level and communicated with a winding tunnel about a hundred feet below, which had no other outlet. The ladders had long ago rotted out, so I procured a rope and had the men lower me into the black pit. The moment that my feet touched the bottom I was conscious of a feeling of dread that required all my will power to overcome. As I looked about me I saw by the dim light of my miner's lamp that I was not alone; close against the wall, directly beneath the winze, sat the figure of a man. As I approached the light to him I nearly screamed with horror. From under the broad tarpaulin hat a skull grinned at me. His coat and hat were such as an engineer would wear, the rest of his garments were a gentleman's full dress, and around his pelvis hung a thickly padded money-belt. In one shrivelled hand was a ball of hardened clay in which a candle had burned out. Beyond a doubt it was Charles Cinnabar. His light had gone out before he had reached the shaft on the fatal night, and lost in the darkness he had wandered here and fallen, and bruised and dazed, he had crawled beneath the winze and perished, his cries lost in the blind workings above.

"CLOSE AGAINST THE WALL SAT THE FIGURE OF A MAN."

      Tenderly, we carried up the poor remains of the wronged gentleman and laid them to rest in the bleak cemetery beneath the hill. The belt and its contents we sealed and placed in the keeping of the bank.

      Meanwhile, the other searching party had discovered Arthur and convinced him that his error had caused no loss of life, and at night they brought him back looking aged and broken by the suffering he had been through. We feared the effect of the news of our discovery in the mine, upon his strained nerves, but knew that he would hear the rumors regarding it, that filled the town, and so decided to tell him at once. Charlie's death affected him deeply, but the clearing of his name removed the keenness of the blow.

      A few days later Arthur bade us good-by, and with his recovered fortune left forever the scene which his struggle with fate had made intolerable to him.

*       *      *

      After Mr. Argentine ceased speaking, we smoked in silence for a few minutes; and as the guests one by one quietly withdrew, it was evident that the strange story they had listened to, and the sincerity of the narrator, had roused unusual speculation in their minds.

(THE END)