The mine doctor, who had been waiting at the face until the moment of breaking through, was the first through the hole. Rapidly he examined the unconscious men.
"One's nearly gone," he shouted back, "but I reckon we can save all three!"
A mighty cheer rolled through the galleries at the news that the North Gallery men were saved. It was echoed at the shaft and above ground.
Without loss of time, the men were brought to the open air and rushed to the mine hospital. Two hours passed before the first of them recovered consciousness.
The geophone expert was at his bedside, waiting impatiently.
"Have you been knocking any signals lately?" he asked, eagerly, as soon as the survivor was able to speak.
"No," the miner answered feebly, "we'd gave up. Thought it wasn't no use."
"I heard knocking again this morning," the expert announced. "The men at the far galleries must be alive still!"
Wednesday saw no diminution of the endeavor, but more than half the miners of the rescue crews were down and out, suffering to a greater or lesser degree from the terrible strain of the short shifts in the deadly mixture of fire damp and white damp. Yet volunteers were as plentiful as ever, for both the mine managers and the miners of neighboring collieries stood ready to help.
By Wednesday night came the cheering news that the roof overhead was more solid and that the rock fall had not broken in the floor. The cars rattled in and out, a car to each shaft in less than three minutes, loaded and pushed by willing hands. With the North Gallery men saved, both shafts had been set hauling the débris from the galleries leading to where Clem, Anton, and Jim were imprisoned.