“Do you mean it? No games, or it’ll be the worse for you,” said the miner, sternly.
“I said I’d go with them,” growled Dinass. “I aren’t afraid, but I warn’t engaged to do this sort of thing.”
“You’ll go, then?”
“Are you deaf? Yersss!” roared Dinass; and as the miner took his foot from the prostrate man’s chest another moved to the doorway to guard against retreat.
But if Dinass had any intention of breaking away he did not show it. He rose to his feet, shook himself, and picking up his hat, which had been knocked off, put it on, took it off again, glanced round for one he considered suitable, snatched it from its wearer’s head, put it on his own and pitched the one he had worn to the miner he had robbed, and then stepped into the skep.
“There you are,” he said. “Now, then, lower away;” and as he spoke he stooped down quickly seized the dog by the collar, and swung him out of the skep.
“Don’t! Don’t do that,” cried Gwyn. “Let the dog come.”
But his words were too late; the rail was clapped down, the engineer had seized the handle; there was a clang, a sharp blow upon a gong, and it seemed to the boys that the floor they had just left had suddenly shot up to the ceiling. Then it gave place to a glow of light dotted with heads, and amidst a low murmur of voices there rose the furious barking of a dog.
Directly after, they were conscious of the singular sensation that is felt when in a swing and descending after the rise, but in a greatly intensified way. Then the glow overhead grew fainter and smaller, and the lanthorns they held seemed to burn more brightly, while a peculiar whishing, dripping noise made itself heard, telling of water oozing from some seam.
“For we always are so jolly, oh! So jolly, oh!” sang Dinass in a harsh, discordant voice. “How do you like this, youngsters?”