“Yes, sir. That was nearly it,” came from below. “This time does it.”
They saw the light swing again a couple of hundred feet beneath them. Then it was stationary, and every man’s breath came with a catch, for all at once the stones began to glide again; increasing their rush till it grew tremendous, and the watchers felt that all was over, for the light disappeared and the odour that ascended was stifling.
“Haul! Haul!” came from below, sending a spasm of energy through all at the mouth as they pulled in the rope.
“Steady, steady, my lads,” cried the mate. “Got him?” he shouted.
“Ay, ay! Haul quick!” came in a stifled voice, and the mate and his companions felt a chill run through them as they grasped the fact that Smith was either exhausted or being overcome by the foul gas set at liberty by the falling stones.
“Haul steady, my lads, and quick,” said the mate, as he went down on one knee. “No; walk away with the rope.”
His order was obeyed, and the next minute he was reaching down as the dimly seen lantern came nearer and nearer, revealing Smith’s ghastly upturned face and the strange-looking figure he held. Then, almost flat upon his chest, the mate made a clutch, which was seconded by Drew, Panton aiding, and Oliver Lane was lifted out of the chasm and borne into the open sunshine, slowly followed by Smith, as the men cheered about the peculiar-looking figure—for clothes, face, hair, Lane was covered with finely-powdered sulphur, in a bed of which he had been lying.
“Better get him back to the brig,” said the mate.
“No, no!” cried Oliver, rousing himself. “I shall be better directly; I struck my head against a block of stone, or one of them struck me. It was so sudden. They gave way all at once, and it was hardly a fall, but a slide down. I was stunned though for a few moments.”
“A few moments!” cried the mate with a grim laugh. “Why, my lad, we were ever so long before we could make you answer.”