“That material is trucked away to the leach pads, the distribution heads and emitters—can tah, can tak—are laid over it, and the rotting process begins. Voilà, there you have it, leach-ore mining at its very finest. But see what the last blast-pattern uncovered, David!”
The man in the Yankees cap pointed to the powder magazine. “Lots of ANFO in there. No dynamite—they used up the last on the day all this started to happen—but plenty of ANFO.”
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.” “Never mind, just listen. Do you see the blast-holes?”
“Yes. They look like eyes.”
“That’s right, holes like eyes. They’re sunk into the porphyry, which is crystalline. When the ANFO is detonated, it shatters the rock. The shattered stuff contains the ore. Get it?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“That material is trucked away to the leach pads, the distribution heads and emitters—can tah, can tak—are laid over it, and the rotting process begins. Voilà, there you have it, leach-ore mining at its very finest. But see what the last blast-pattern uncovered, David!”
He pointed at the big hole, and David felt an unpleasant, debilitating coldness begin to creep through him. The hole seemed to stare up at him with a kind of idiot invitation.
“What is it?” he whispered, but he supposed he knew.
“Rattlesnake Number One. Also known as the China Mine or the China Shaft or the China Drift. The last series of shots uncovered it. To say the crew was surprised would be an understatement, because nobody in the Nevada mining business really believes that old story. By the turn of the century, the Diablo Company was claiming that Number One was simply shut down when the vein played out. But it’s been here, David. All along. And now—”
“Is it haunted?” David asked, shivering. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” the man in the Yankees cap said, turning his silvery no-eyes on David. “Yes indeed.”
