He turned sharply and went on then, while Sam the jeweler, the rest of the loiterers clustered around him, looked appealingly toward Fairchild.
"What 'll we do?" he wailed.
Fairchild turned. "I don't know about you—but I 'm going to the mine."
"It won't do any good—bodies don't float. It may never float—if it gets caught down in the timbers somewheres."
"Have to organize a bucket brigade." It was a suggestion from one of the crowd.
"Why not borry the Argonaut pump? They ain't using it."
"Go get it! Go get it!" This time it was the wail of the little jeweler. "Tell 'em Sam Herbenfelder sent you. They 'll let you have it."
"Can't carry the thing on my shoulder."
"I 'll get the Sampler's truck"—a new volunteer had spoken—"there won't be any kick about it."
Another suggestion, still another. Soon men began to radiate, each on a mission. The word passed down the street. More loiterers—a silver miner spends a great part of his leisure time in simply watching the crowd go by—hurried to join the excited throng. Groups, en route to the picture show, decided otherwise and stopped to learn of the excitement. The crowd thickened. Suddenly Fairchild looked up sharply at the sound of a feminine voice.