handling the controls. Only five feet more and -"
Steve's voice broke with a gasp. Rooted, he stood goggle-eyed; then his new
words came with a terrified shriek:
"Grandy's at the wrong lever! Look out - up by the platforms -"
The cry was too late. Old Grandy had swung away from the levers that
controlled the forward motion of the ladle. He had placed his hand upon another
rod; he was tugging it. The ladle was tilting; a yawning mouth was opening in
its side.
Nothing could have halted the deluge that came. Not even old Joe Grandy;
for he, least of all, seemed to realize his mistake. That was evidenced by the
fact that his back was turned toward the tilting cauldron, giving him no chance
to swing away to the safety of his perch.
Out from the mammoth ladle came a cataract of liquid steel, more terrible
than the flaming lava of a volcano. With its first gulp, the surge of molten
metal overwhelmed the unfortunate man who had released it. Grandy, a shriek upon
his lips, was plucked from the forward edge of his control perch. A bobbing
shape in a hissing, metallic wave, the gray-haired man was pitched to the floor
beside the pouring platforms.
As the wave struck, five other men were caught within its path. Roaring,
its own weight adding to the quick tilt of the ladle, the molten steel crashed
with the power of a Niagara, engulfing the doomed men below.
Not one of the five could scramble to safety. The cries that they managed
to utter were brief - a momentary recognition of the quick death which was
coming to them.
Steel scorched flesh, withering its victims before their bodies could sense
the pain of the terrific heat. A blast of torrid air swept through the huge
room, drowning the fumes of the furnaces. Then molten steel was everywhere,
pouring, spreading, seeking lower levels while men found their legs and ran
shrieking from the monstrous substance that sought them.
STEVE bolted forward. Harlin grabbed the foreman, hurled him back against
the office door. There was no help for the men upon the floor, except the aid
that they could give themselves. Harlin, above the level of the flow, held his
vantage point and shouted advice to the men.
Some heard the supervisor and heeded. They leaped for iron steps between
the furnaces; scrambled upward to levels of safety. Others did not hear.
Confused, they lost all sense of direction. Harlin saw three more workers go to
doom. Spreading steel caught their ankles, seemed to trip them as they howled.
They sprawled, splashing, into the hellish river that had gripped them.
A fourth man, farther away, stumbled at the foot of an iron stairway. He
could not follow Harlin's call; but a companion heard the supervisor's shout.
From the steps, the other worker snatched the last man to safety. The steel
lapped the base of the steps; its heat made the ironwork glow and quiver.
The supervisor sagged, weakened by his ordeal. Nine men had perished
including old Joe Grandy, whose slip had loosed the molten horror. The liquid
metal had reached its limits; it had lapped the fronts of furnaces, found an
emergency doorway. But that would be its farthest mark.
Steadying himself, Harlin managed to reach the office. He was looking for
Steve, to tell him that the steel would harden. There would be no more human
