“I think this part will do,” he said, looking helplessly from one to the other.
“Not for long, Sam.”
“Yes, sir,” said the captain, feebly; “the water isn’t rising here.”
“It must be pouring into the mine like a cataract. Look how it’s rushing along here, and I can feel it creeping slowly up my legs.”
“Yes, sir, I’m afraid you are right. I’ve been thinking for some time that we couldn’t do any more.”
“Whereabouts are we now?”
“I’m not quite sure, sir; but if we go on a bit farther you’ll find one of my arrows on the wall.”
“Come on, then,” cried Gwyn, “you lead again with the light. No, Grip, old chap, I can carry you,”—for the dog had made a bit of a struggle to get down. He subsided, though, directly, nestling his muzzle close to his master’s cheek, and they went on, splash, splash, through the water till they reached one of the turnings.
“Don’t seem to be any arrow here, sir,” said Hardock, holding up his light. “Can’t have been washed out, because the water hasn’t been high enough.”
“But you said you had put an arrow at every turn,” cried Gwyn.