A few pebbles and a little dirt came rattling down and rained over him, bounding from his head and shoulders. Some of the tiny particles of stone struck him on the face.
Then suddenly he began clawing like a madman at the crack, as if he would pull the whole mountain down upon him.
His efforts brought down more stones and earth.
He found a niche into which he set the torch, and then he fell on his knees, calling on the saints.
When he rose again to his feet he bethought himself of the knife and once more took it from the place where it was hidden. With that knife he began digging at the crack. He was compelled to stand in a cramped, crouching position, but he worked fiercely, furiously.
More and more the earth rattled over him and the tiny pebbles rained upon him. His eyes were filled and half blinded, his mouth and nostrils inhaled the dust and caused him to cough. The smoke of the torch choked him.
Still he worked on. It seemed a mad, hopeless task, for he knew that above his head the slope of the mountain extended far upward. Should he make an opening large enough for his body as far as he could reach, what then could he do?
Even though he knew that the chances were a million to one against him, he continued to labor at the roof of the cave, digging out the rocks and earth with his knife. The stuff thus set free began to heap itself in a little circular rim about his feet.
Once he stopped. The torch was dying down, and a glance showed him that it was almost burned out.
The thought of being again left in that frightful darkness made him quickly catch up the bit of burning wood that remained and hasten back to seek for more of the extinguished torches. With its aid he found two of them. He lighted one and returned to the spot where he had been at work.