“There’s a good two hundred feet on it, and it’s gone right down into the water,” growled the man thoughtfully. “It’s him playing tricks with us, arn’t it?”
“Playing tricks! Who’s mad now?” cried Joe. “Will you pull up that rope?”
For answer the man jerked it again and again, then pulled up a few fathoms, and let them drop again with a splash.
“Now, then, do you hear that?” he cried. “If yer don’t ketch holt we’ll haul it all up, and leave yer.”
“Oh, Sam, Sam, Sam,” cried Joe, “let me go down. Do you hear me? If you don’t, I’ll jump.”
“Will you be quiet?” roared the man, fiercely. “You just stay where you are, or I’ll tie yer neck and heels with the rope. Think I want to go back and say there’s two on yer drownded. Stop where yer are.”
“But we can’t stand without doing something. Oh, Gwyn, Gwyn! How can I go and tell Mrs Pendarve what’s happened?”
“And how can I?” cried the man, angrily. “What d’yer both mean, coming tempting on me to let yer down. What’s the Colonel going to say to me?”
“Then you do think he’s drowned?” cried Joe, piteously.
“Who’s to help thinking he is?” said the man, gruffly, and he wiped the thick perspiration from his brow. “They all did say it was a onlucky mine, but I wouldn’t believe ’em.”