At the Golden Promise Mine sinking operations were going on very successfully; three feet of the golden conglomerate had been penetrated, and still there were no signs of the dreaded barren pipe-clay formation appearing. Bob's theory had already been proved to be correct. Tons upon tons of rich stone had been raised to the surface. The actual width of the channel was but eight feet; but the amount of cubic contents held in the claim was bound to be several hundred of tons at least, even supposing the drift went no deeper than the already known three feet.
Covered with dust and grime, and blackened by powder smoke, Bob and Jack were working together one morning in the large chamber they had made in the lower workings, and Mackay stood patiently by the windlass awaiting the call to raise the boys from the danger below, for they were firing a difficult charge. They had grown quite accustomed to the use of gelignite by this time, and, as Mackay proudly informed Emu Bill, they never once had had a misfire.
On this occasion, however, some delay had occurred owing to the fuse which Mackay had sent down becoming detached from the cap. He always arranged the charges on the surface, calculating the number of plugs required, and the length of fuse necessary, when he finished drilling the holes below, leaving the boys to insert the charges and see them properly fired. At last came the warning from Jack—"All ready!"—as he slipped his foot in the loop of the wire rope which was hanging in readiness. In a few seconds he was on the surface, while the rope was again rapidly lowered for Bob, who was even then lighting a match to apply to the fuse. The two on top heard the match scratch on the box, and immediately thereafter the familiar sputtering of the fuse echoed to their ears, but still no sound from Bob! Yet the faint, insidious odour of the burning fuse crept up to their nostrils, and they knew that something had happened. Mackay's face grew livid.
"It's only a sixty seconds' fuse," he muttered hoarsely. "Stand by the windlass, Jack. I'll slide down the rope."
Jack seemed to awake from a stupor. "I'm lightest," he cried; and threw himself at the rope without waiting for Mackay to brake the windlass barrel.
The iron arms of the windlass spun round, a few more loose coils only remained on the barrel. The brawny Scot hesitated not an instant. He rushed at the gyrating bar, and received the shock of the descending steel on his bared chest. The windlass rope held firm. Another revolution, and it would have run off the barrel and dashed the boy who clung to its strands to a certain death beside his companion. It was all over in a few seconds. Not knowing how his impetuous action had nearly caused certain disaster, Jack slid down the rope with lightning speed, and almost immediately his steady call—"Heave away!"—was heard. And now came the trial of strength where all the science in the world could not assist; only twenty seconds' grace, a double load on the windlass, and twelve plugs of one of the most powerful explosives known beneath! But Mackay was equal to the task. The windlass arm spun round once again, and on the fifteenth second Jack swung into view, his foot resting in the loop, one lacerated hand grasping tightly at the rope, and supporting in his right arm the blood-dripping form of Bob, his comrade. Mackay reached out his strong arm, and drew them both to safety just as a thunderous explosion occurred which hurled tons of massive rocks to the shaft mouth and beyond.
Five minutes later all three were seated in the tent repairing their bruises, and making sundry comments on the occurrence. Bob's face was almost deathly pallid, and the blood still trickled from a deep gash in the back of his head; it appeared that just after he had applied the match to the fuse a portion of the iron roof of the excavation had given way, hurling him unconscious to the ground.
"I remembered no more," said he, "until I found myself in the tent here."
"It was a vera close shave, my lad," said Mackay, with suppressed emotion. "I'm no goin' to expatiate on Jack's quick action in the matter, but he maist certainly saved your life. It needed some nerve to gang doon on top o' a burnin' charge o' dynamite."
Bob smiled affectionately at his companion, and reached out his hand; and Jack, flushing almost guiltily, was forced to show his cruelly torn fingers.