“Can we go round any way?” said Gwyn.
“No, sir; we must face it,” said Hardock; “and as quick as we can, for it gets lower and lower, and the water sets this way fast, so it must be rising. Ready, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Then come on.”
Hardock stepped down into the rapid stream, which was ankle-deep, the others followed, and they splashed rapidly along, to hear the barking again directly; and soon after Grip, who must have been swimming, came bounding and splashing along, barking joyously to meet them again, and barking more loudly as he found that his master was making for the way from which he had come.
“Can’t help it, old fellow. When it gets too bad for you, I must carry you,” muttered Gwyn, as they hurried along; their progress gradually becoming more painful, for the water soon became knee-deep, and the stream harder to stem.
But they toiled on till it was up to their waists, and so swift that it began to threaten to sweep them away; so, after a few minutes’ progression in this way, with the water growing yet deeper, Hardock stopped at a corner round which the water came with a rush.
“It’s downhill here, gen’lemen, all the way to the shaft, and even if we could face it, the water must be five-foot deep in another ten minutes, and round the next turn it’ll be six, and beyond that the passage must be full.”
“Then we must swim to the foot of the shaft,” said Gwyn, excitedly.
“A shoal of seals couldn’t do it, sir,” said the man, gruffly. “Come back, sir!” he roared, for, as if to prove his words, the dog made a sudden dash, freed himself from Gwyn’s grasp, and plunged forward to swim, but was swept back directly, and would have been borne right away if Gwyn had not snatched at his thick coat as he passed, and held him.