"Hold fast, can you?"
"I'll try."
As many as could get at the handle pulled with might and main, and soon the handle came up, and the sand with it, forming a round mound. Then from the middle of the mound came Bob, white, limp, and all but exhausted.
"Bob, are you hurt?" asked Mark, anxiously, as he assisted his chum to firmer ground.
"I—I don't know," was the answer, and then poor Bob sank in a heap, too weak to stand. They made him as comfortable as they could and presently he got back his breath and sat up.
"I—I guess I am all right," he gasped. "But say, I don't want to be buried alive again!"
"Shouldn't think you would want to," said Si. "I wouldn't want to have it happen to me for a million dollars!"
"I thought I'd never be dug out."
"We went to work as fast as we could."
"I know it, and I am very thankful," said Bob, and thanked the miners from outside who had come to his aid. Then he limped to the tent, leaning on Si's arm, and Mark came limping behind the pair.