Fire in the Hole!

by Farrell, Mary Cronk

• ISBN13: 9780618446346
• ISBN10: 0618446346
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2004-10-18
• Publisher: Clarion Books

Summary

Fourteen-year-old Mick doesn't want to end up like his father, a roughneck union miner working for low wages in the Coeur d'Alene silver-mining district of Idaho. He detests the vigilante attitude of his father's union and would rather do his fighting with words like his mentor, Mr. Delaney, who runs the town newspaper. But when the radicals of his father's union blow up the mining company's ore-concentrating mill, Mick's dreams blow up with it. Federal soldiers put the town under martial law and arrest every man in it, including Mick and his father. Mick realizes that he's his family's only chance for survival. He must escape and do the one thing he swore he'd never do-join the scabs working in the mines. First-time author Mary Cronk Farrell has crafted a gripping historical novel based on a true event that occurred at the turn of the last century. Lessons from this overlooked part of U.S. history will still resonate with readers today. Author's note.

Author Biography

Mary Cronk Farrell is a free-lance journalist living in Spokane, Washington. This is her first novel.

Excerpts

Chapter Seven Mick ran from the bedroom. He felt a ripping in his throat and heard his own yell, but it was swallowed by Brideys shrieks. As he flung the front door open, a third explosion hit. He grabbed on to the doorframe. Outside, smoke blackened the air and debris fell from the sky like hail. A plume of fire shot into the air, dissolving into ash and flying wreckage as it rose. It seemed to come from the Bunker Hill concentrator behind Prospector Hill. The column surged so high he had to tip his head back to see where it topped off. Then the ground and the house shook again. The dynamite! Before Mick could finish the thought, two more blasts pounded the air, two more tornadoes of smoke and debris churned upward. Then quiet fell, an eerie stillness, and the fog of soot turned broad day to twilight. Oh, my God! It was Bridey. Her fingers fastened on his elbow, her chest heaved. Mick pried himself loose. Im going down there. Ill look for Da and tell him Mams sick. He avoided Main Street by cutting through the back lots where the hillside rose steeply to the south. He was coughing by the time he hit flat ground. There was a stream of miners coming his way. Some men cheered hoarsely, pumping their arms in the air. Others ran as though the devil were chasing them. They headed to the depot and piled onto the waiting train. Mick climbed a small rise. It was covered with tree stumps, and new spring green was shooting up through the soggy brown of last years growth. He topped it, then fell back a step. His hands flew to his mouth as he gasped. The Bunker Hill concentrator lay like a smoking pile of kindling. The most modern machinery in the world. The words floated through Micks mind as he stared. The mills timbers had been tossed aloft and dropped like a pile of Nats toy pick-up sticks. Fire was raging through the company offices and boarding house. His knees gave way. He sank down on a stump and brushed away the ash that had settled on his cheeks and eyebrows. Though he was more than two hundred yards away, he could feel the heat of the flames, hear the burning wood snap and crackle. The sharp, bitter smell of charred wood and powder stung his nose. A silent line of people stood watching from a distance as the fire blazed, a fire so huge that anyone could see there was no way to stop it. The afternoon sun filtered through the thick air, covering all with a strange, pale yellow light. The shriek of a whistle followed by the shrill clanging of a bell broke the spell that gripped Mick. He turned to watch the train pull away from the station, heading east. There was a chorus of lusty yells from those on board. Where was Da? Had he helped light the fuse? A cold wind gusted down the gulch and up the back of Micks shirt. He plunged his hands into his trouser pockets, took one last look at the devastation, and started back toward town. A crowd of miners filled Main Street. They were hooting and hollering and swigging from bottles. The chorus of

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Excerpted from Fire in the Hole! by Mary Cronk Farrell
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