“No, no, you are wrong. The third from the left; I counted them this morning—six of these branches. Why, Hardock, there are seven of them now.”
“Yes, sir, seven, and that one running from the right-hand one makes eight. I did not see those two this morning by our one lanthorn. There are—yes—eight.”
“What are we all to do? My head is growing hopelessly confused.”
He gazed piteously at Hardock, who seemed to be in a like hopeless plight, suffering as they both were from exhaustion.
“I—I’m not sure, sir, now. We went in and out of so many galleries, all ending just the same, that I’m afraid I’ve lost count.”
“Oh, Hardock! Hardock!” groaned the Colonel, “this is horrible. We must not break down, man. Try and think; oh, try and think. Remember that those two boys are lost, and they are wandering helplessly in search of us. They will go on and on into the farther recesses of this awful place, and lie down at last to die—giving their lives for ours. There, there, I am babbling like some idiot. Forward, my men; there is no time to lose. We must find them.”
“Yes, sir; we must find them,” cried Hardock; “which passage shall we take?”
“Stop a moment,” said the Colonel, in a voice which seemed to have suddenly grown feeble; and he signed to the mining captain to light a candle and place it where they stood, while he tremblingly wrote on another leaf of his pocket-book,—
“Make for the pit-shaft.”
He tore out the leaf, and the men noticed how his hand trembled; and he stood waiting for it to be taken by Hardock, who had sunk on his knees and was holding the candle sidewise, so that a little of the grease might drip into a crack where he meant to stick the candle close to the side.