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Updated: June 11, 2025
This industry, in its vast modern developments, depends entirely on the discovery made in England of a method by which iron might be smelted with coal in place of wood. The completed discovery was due to a succession of solitary men, beginning with Dud Dudley in the reign of James I., and ending a century later with Darby of Coalbrookdale.
Of the last the signaler hardly required an account; the growling thumps of heavy shells exploding, kept sending little shivers down the cellar walls, the shiver being, oddly enough, more emphatic when the wail of the falling shell ended in a muffled thump that proclaimed the missile "blind" or "a dud."
Big Bill waltzed him over the floor, regardless of his good-humored protest. "Tell us some more, Dud," demanded the cook. "Did yore friend Rumpty put hisse'f out by sittin' in a snowbank?" "I don't rightly recollect. Me 'n' Bob here was elected to lead the grand march an' we had to leave Rumpty-Tumpty be his own fire department.
The other two players dropped out, leaving only Bandy to contest the pot with Dud. "Once more," retorted the bow-legged puncher, shoving in chips. "And again." "Hmp! Claim an ace in the hole, do you? Well, I'll jes' give it one more li'l' kick." Hollister had showing a deuce of hearts, a trey of clubs, an ace of spades, and a four of hearts. He might have a five in the hole or an ace.
Dud adds, in his Treatise, that his brother-in-law, Richard Parkshouse, of Sedgeley, "had a fowling-gun there made of the Pit-cole iron," which was "well approved."
"Lost, and all in," Holway said in a whisper to Dud. The other man nodded. Neither of them made a move toward the stranger, who stopped in front of their camp and looked with glazed eyes from one to another. His face was drawn and haggard and lined. Extreme exhaustion showed in every movement. He babbled incoherently. "Seven eighteen ninety-nine. 'Atta-boy," he said thickly.
Take 'er easy, old man," he said in his shrill, high voice as he moved toward the man in the blankets. Then, in a low tone, while he pretended to arrange the bedding over the stranger, he asked a quick question. "Are you Elliot?" "Yes." "Don't tell them. Talk football lingo as if you was still out of your haid." Holt turned and called to Dud. "Says he wants some breakfast."
The aboriginal sense of humor may not be highly developed, but it is easily aroused. The friends of the outraged brave stamped up and down the dirt floor in spasms of mirth. They clapped him on the back and jabbered ironic inquiries as to his well-being. For the moment, at least, Dud was as popular as a funny clown in a sawdust ring. Colorow and his companions were fed. The stove roared.
Dud's first thought was that the troops had been drawn into a trap. Every man who had been carried over the edge of the mesa by the impetus of the charge was already unhorsed. Several were apparently dead. One was scudding for cover. Dud drew back promptly. He did not care to stand silhouetted against the sky-line for sharpshooters.
Bob lay on his bed, a prey to wretched dread. He had made up his mind to have it out with Bandy, but his heart was pumping water instead of blood. When he looked at the squat puncher, thick-necked and leather-faced, an ugly sneer on his lips, the courage died out of his breast. Dud was sitting with his back to the wall.
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