She'd always liked doing things her own way, too, even if that meant doing them herself.
Despite the added light from the windows, she still couldn't make out the bottom of Jules's mineshaft. Lowering herself onto the floor, she stuck her head in the hole and took a deep breath. A mixture of aging pine and ancient rock filled her nostrils.
"Hello!" she yelled into the hole. "You down there, Jules? Can you hear me?" Her voice echoed into the inky darkness, giving her an idea that the tunnel went deep into the side of the mountain.
She paused to listen for a response. Nothing. She called out again, but only received echoes in reply. Cursing, she raised herself to her hands and knees. Old Jules may be having fun with his disappearing act, but she didn't take to it much, not when she needed information out of him.
Cora brushed her gloves on her cowhide chaps and made to stand up, then paused. Still kneeling, she cocked her head and listened. There it was again: a faint groaning. She lowered her head back to the opening. It was soft and deep, like a horse's snoring, magnified by the echoing tunnels. It could have been nothing more than rocks grinding against each other somewhere in the mine's bowels. Then again, it might be the groans of an old miner caught in a cave-in.
"That you, old timer?" she called into the hole. This time, a moan answered her. "All right, then, just sit tight. I'll be down in a jiffy." She walked over to the old miner's tool wall and poked around until she found a book of matches. Selecting a promising lantern from the wall, she set to work. Sparks flashed and faded as she struck a match, throwing shadows around the cabin. After a few attempts, she managed to get the flame to catch, and the lantern sputtered to life.
Satisfied, she tucked the matches into a pocket of her flannel shirt and pushed her hat off her head. The white streak in her raven hair glowed in the yellow light as her hat settled between her shoulder blades, the stampede string tugging softly on her throat. She picked up the lantern and stepped over to the mine's entrance.
"I'm coming down, Jules!" she yelled into the darkness before placing her boot on the ladder's top rung. The wood was old, but it held her weight as she descended into the cold, stale air of the mine. Shadows danced on the rough stone walls to the rhythm of the lantern's swaying.
After no more than twenty feet, her boots set down on solid rock. The tunnel extended downward into the mountain at a gentle slope. She could see the first of what she guessed were many support beams lining the mine. She stepped closer and ran a hand over the beam. It looked to be made of the same wood as the cabin above. Jules must have cut down half the forest setting up his claim out here.
The lantern's halo of light only extended a few feet, so Cora made her way one step at a time. Ahead of her, she could still hear the groaning echoing off the walls, almost as if the stones themselves were in pain. She felt as though she was walking down the throat of a dying giant.
"Where are you, you old fool?" she called. Her words fell flat in her ears, the shadows swallowing the sound of her voice. Jules must have heard her, though: the moans grew louder. At least that meant he was still alive and awake. Encouraged, she continued deeper into the mine.
After a few hundred yards, she came to a junction and stopped. She couldn't tell which direction the old miner's noise was coming from. She took a few steps down the right-hand tunnel and listened. The moans echoed in the darkness around her. Maybe he was down there, maybe not. She would take a look and come back if she couldn't find him.
Cora rolled her eyes as she started down the right-hand fork. All this work just to pull some old man's leg out from under a rock. In all likelihood, Jules hadn't found more than a few hundred dollars' worth of silver in here, just enough to pay for the cabin and the mine. Miners had always eluded her understanding, though. She couldn't fathom what would drive a man into spending years of his life in a tiny tunnel like this, swinging a pick