With their hearts beating heavily from excitement, the two lads followed the captain as he hurried back along the gallery to the spot where they had turned down; and then, as fast as they could go, they made for the pillared hall, expecting to find some of the men close by; but when they reached it, there being no sign of water, there was not a soul visible. There was proof, though, that it was not long since there were men there, for the ends of two candles were still burning where they had been stuck against the wall; tools were lying here and there, and a couple of half-filled skeps were standing on the low four-wheeled trucks waiting to be run along the little tramway to the shaft.
No one said so, but each saw for certain that there must have been a sudden alarm, and the men had fled.
“Come on,” said Hardock, hoarsely; but his heart was sinking, and Gwyn knew that there was a gradual descent toward the bottom of the shaft. But they walked rapidly on for fully half-an-hour before they came to the first trace of water, and it was startling when they did.
The gallery they were in entered the next—a lower one—at right-angles; and as they reached that end dry-footed, their lights gleamed from the face of running water which was gliding rapidly by in a regular stream of a few inches deep.
It was Joe who stooped quickly down now to scoop up some of the water and taste it, which he did in silence.
“Salt?” cried Gwyn, sharply.
There was no reply, and the lad followed his companion’s example and tasted the water.
“Salt, sir?” said Hardock.
“As the sea,” said Gwyn, with a groan. “Hah! good dog then. Here, here, here! Grip, Grip, Grip!”
For there had been a faint barking in the distance, but the noise ceased.