Clem caught his comrade by the arm and pulled him into a narrow entry near by.
"Go slow! We don't want to get smashed!"
He held up his safety-lamp.
"Look at that prop!"
The heavy timber was bending like a twig.
"Get on quick!" cried Anton, struggling against the grasp, but the young fellow held him fast.
"Don't lose your head!" he warned. "The current of air has stopped, sure sign that the way to the shafts is blocked. The nearer we get to the goaf (waste ground), the more likely we are to get crushed. Listen!"
The creaking grew louder, and then, suddenly, with a rush of sound, the gallery in front of them, into which Anton had been about to plunge, sagged. The bending prop went into splinters, and, with a roar, the whole roof fell, the broken rock coming to within a few yards of where they were standing.
"Close shave, that!" remarked Clem coolly.
Anton made no answer, but shivered as he looked. He realized that his comrade's warning had saved his life.