I slept in the next morning. Exhausted by our struggle with the roof and drained by Ben’s strange behavior, I lay in bed loaded down with questions. Why did he snap at us and treat us like a gruff, old bear? We hadn’t done anything wrong. Had we? We’d tried to help him out. We’d worked hard to retrieve the roof, much harder than planned. Why did he grab the shotgun like he was guarding us until we reached the main trail? Did he know something we didn’t know about Pardou’s Pit? Since the gang was grounded for a couple days, I figured I could look for some answers before we visited Ben again.

          A rap on my door interrupted my thoughts. “What, Mom?” I mumbled.

          The door swung wide, and she poked her head in. “Nathan, is there anything wrong? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

          “No, Mom, nothing’s wrong. We just worked ourselves dead tired at Ben’s yesterday.”

          “And you also got back late. I got a call from Connie Erdman. She said Brian nearly scared her to death. She told me that he didn’t get home until eight last night.”

          “Yeah, we all got home late. It took us longer than we planned to go up to the old mine and get the metal roof for Ben’s chicken shed.”

          “What’s Ben doing letting you stay out there that late?”

          “Ben had nothing to do with it. He wasn’t even home, so we decided on our own to bring back the roof. Truth is, Ben was a little ticked off about us being out so late too.” More than a little ticked, I thought.

          “Well, I’m glad to hear he’s a responsible adult. After meeting him at the store a couple times, I really didn’t buy all that “not getting along with people” hermit stuff anyway. Time to get out of bed. I need to call Connie to tell her that Brian was telling the truth about working at Ben's. And you need to mow the lawn today.”

          The door clicked shut behind her, and I hauled myself out of bed. After breakfast and chores, I wanted to do some more investigating at the library. I wanted to test some theories that were rattling around in my head about The Pit. A lot of questions begged to be answered, and certain ideas gnawed at my gut.

          Between breakfast and mowing the lawn, the phone rang twice – both times for me. Bear called to tell me how much he’d upset his mom when he didn’t get home before dinner. “She was cryin’ her eyes out,” he said. “I think I should stay home a couple days and help around the house.”

          The second call was Charlie. She had gotten in big trouble. Her mother grounded her until the weekend, and her dad even chewed her out. She said, “Then, he sat me down and talked to me for at least half an hour, all about responsibility and using common sense. I feel so awful. He told me how much he loves me, and how it would kill him to lose one of his children. I thought he was going to cry.”

          Before I hung up, I told her about my mom and Brian’s mother. None of us heard from Jason.

          After I finished the lawn, I cleaned up and walked to the library for answers.

          As I passed through the library doors, I breathed in the bland but familiar smell of dust and aging pages. The wood framed structure was old, built by Carbon Hill Coal during the 1930’s. I decided to assemble all the materials right there in the library and write down anything that looked promising. Once again I pulled down Life and Times in Carbonado and Carbonado: Stories and Folk Tales and carried them to a vacant table in the far corner. The mottled, aging fir flooring creaked under my feet, attracting glances from other library patrons.

          Spreading out the materials, I began reading and taking notes. In the first book, I found a brief mention of the mine disaster of 1889, although details were scarce. It gave the number of dead miners and the presumed cause: "methane gas ignited by the open flame headlamps of the miners." In the second book, I didn’t gather any new information, but I jotted down the dates and last sightings of some of the people who vanished in the woods around Carbonado.

          I still didn’t find enough information to make any real conclusions about any of the disappearances. I checked the stacks of old Tacoma Tribune newspapers, but the library only kept them on file for ten years. Then came a breakthrough. When I asked the librarian for the type of information I was after, she told me about the Carbonado Courier – a weekly, local newspaper published from the 1870’s to 1960. Almost every copy was stored on microfiche and arranged in chronological order. Most of the users were history buffs and students doing research on their home town.

          Since it was near closing time, I returned the next day. After the librarian taught me how to work the microfiche machine, I focused on the coal mine disaster. The Courier not only explained in detail about the explosion and listed who died, but also who survived. There I found my first surprise -- some information on Pardou's Pit. Then I pored through countless other editions. They included everything from gossipy jokes: “Business woman from the 200 block of Pershing Street advised that a man was in front of her shop yelling and yodeling. Subject was told to stop yodeling until Oktoberfest.” They also mentioned names and circumstances of missing persons: “Lec Zelinsky, after leaving the Carbonado Saloon on Friday night was last seen walking in the direction of Carbon Hill Mine. After not returning in time for church on Sunday, his wife alerted local authorities that he was missing. Sheriff Macmillan organized a search party. As of this date, no trace of him has been discovered.” I scratched down the dates and any interesting details relating to these disappearances.

          Now I was ready to share my information and my conclusions with the gang. One big problem remained: how could we meet with a grounded Charlie without her getting into more trouble? The answer came when her mother gave her permission to check out some books at the library on Thursday. Contacting everyone by phone, we synchronized our watches to meet there at two o’clock.

          I arrived early to stake out a table in the rear corner. When Bear and Jason walked through the front door, I couldn’t see their faces because they were backlit by the afternoon sun. But I recognized Brian. His size, his gait, and his body language identified him anywhere. Jason stepped from behind him as they neared the table. His left eye was a mess with black radiating from the bridge of his nose around his left eye, shading to purple and yellow on his cheek.

          Without thinking, the words slipped out of my mouth. "What happened to your eye?"

          “I tripped going up the stairs to my house. I hit the corner of the top step. Lucky I didn't put my eye out.” He spoke with a flat sounding voice.

          I peeked at Bear who rolled his eyes at Jason’s explanation. I didn’t believe him either. Thinking of the behavior of Charlie’s and Brian’s parents, I figured that his dad must have knocked Jason around. No, I didn’t believe his story, but I didn’t want to press him further – especially now. I wanted him listening to my information, not defending his dad. I didn’t want him to turn us off like a radio.

          When Charlie arrived and pulled up her chair, her mouth flew open. I raised my hand to stop her question. We didn’t have that much time, and her question about Jason’s eye wouldn’t help. But she probed his black eye with repeated glances.

          “I guess you’re wondering why I called this meeting.” I began with a joke, but no one laughed. Charlie, Brian, and Jason stared at me with rapt attention while Jason kept his eyes lowered.  I continued, “The way Ben acted Monday evening really shook me up."

          “You’re not the only one,” Charlie broke in. “I think it scared all of us.”

          “Man, he acted real ticked. I wonder what set him off?” asked Brian.

          Jason just sat there, his face blank.

          “At first I thought he was just mad at us for some reason. Then, I figured that he was trying to protect us from something. Anyway, it left me with some questions. The main one: why was Ben so scared that he herded us with a shotgun back to the main trail? So, I spent the last couple days doing research here in the library. And some of the things I found out surprised me. For example, who do you think Pardou was?”

          Brian didn’t hesitate to answer. “I always figured that Pardou was someone who disappeared into The Pit. Maybe the first one not to come out alive, and so folks named the hole after him.” Charlie and Jason nodded in agreement. 

          “I thought the same thing, but we were wrong. Charles Pardou escaped the mine disaster of 1889 through that ventilation or escape shaft. That’s why they named the opening after him. According to Pardou, the blast buried the other members of his mining crew and opened up a whole new section of underground tunnels that didn’t exist before. He wanted to help his friends, but the shock of the blast snuffed his head lamp. He managed to follow the light that filtered down the ventilation shaft and climb up to safety. It took a week for the recovery crew to dig out the rest of the bodies.

          “But that’s not all I found out.” I stopped for questions, but all three remained quiet, waiting for me to continue. “I must have scanned through hundreds of issues of the Carbonado Courier.”

          Brian’s eyebrows raised, and he started to ask me about it. I explained a little about the old weekly newspaper.

          “Over the years the Courier mentioned maybe two dozen missing persons’ cases. But none of them happened before 1889.  Every last disappearance near The Pit occurred after the mine explosion. In fact, when the recovery crew pulled out the bodies of the dead miners, they couldn’t find two of them. I guess they decided they’d been blown to pieces or buried too deep.”

          “So, did you find the cases of the missing hunter and that Carbonado school kid listed in that newspaper?” Charlie asked. I could tell she had read Carbonado: Stories and Folk Tales too.

          I nodded and added, “And more. The only pattern with each missing person is simple. They all disappeared after 1889. And they all went missing when they passed near The Pit . . . after dark.”

          Unable to contain himself, Bear pounded his fist on the table, and the librarian shot him a stern stare. “Then Old Ned does exist . . . or some sorta thing that lives under the ground. The Pit really is creepy," he hissed.”

          “To me,” I answered, “it kind of looks that way.”

          “I can’t think of any other explanation either.” Charlie folded her arms on the table as we all thought about it.

          At last Jason broke his silence. “We need to talk to Ben. He knows a whole lot more than he’s telling us.” We all mumbled, agreeing with him. Ben had been trying to protect us from something yesterday, but we needed the whole story, even if we had to pressure him to tell us.

          “How about tomorrow?” Brian didn’t want to wait.

          “Can you guys hang on until Saturday?” Charlie asked.

          “Why d’ya have to wait till then?” Brian wondered.

          “Saturday is when I get released from jail, caged up in my house, and that’s only on parole. If I sneaked out any earlier, my mom and dad would lock me up until the end of summer.”

          “We’ll wait until Saturday, Charlie. Besides, the extra time will help us sort out the new information. See if it all makes sense.” Everyone made eye contact with me.

          Charlie pushed her chair away from the table. “Hey, Jason, my dad would prescribe an ice pack for that eye three times a day for ten or fifteen minutes.” Then she ambled over to a bookshelf, grabbed a couple of books at random, and checked them out at the desk. Waving goodbye, she exited through the front door where her mother’s car was waiting outside.

          Planning to meet at the clubhouse on Saturday morning at ten, I realized that between now and then time would crawl by in inches.