“Yes.”
“Just as if he had found a rabbit. He leaped up on the dry part at once, and if we follow there is plenty of room for us as well.”
“Beyond the water?” panted Joe.
“Yes. At the far end.”
Trembling with eagerness, they splashed through the now familiar way, conscious of the fact that a current of air was setting in the same direction—a foul hot wind, evidently caused by the water filling up the lower portions of the mine, and driving out the air; but no one mentioned it then.
The entrance of the place they sought was reached, and they were waist-deep, the water sweeping and swirling by with such force that, as Gwyn entered, lanthorn in hand, and Joe was about to follow, a little wave like an imitation of the bore which rushes up some rivers, came sweeping along and nearly took him off his feet, while Hardock, with a cry to his companions to look out, clung to the corner.
Gwyn turned in time to see Joe tottering, and caught at his arm, giving him a sharp snatch which dragged him in through the low archway where the water, though deep, was eddying round like a whirlpool. Then together they extended their hands to Hardock and he was dragged in.
“Runs along there now like a mill-race,” panted the man. “How did you manage, Mr Gwyn?”
“It was only going steadily when I followed Grip, and he swam in easy enough.”
“Must be coming in faster,” groaned Hardock. “Oh, my lads, my lads, say your prayers now, and put in a word for me; for I haven’t been the man I ought to have been, and I know it now we’re shut up in this gashly place.”