“Grip! Grip! Grip!” shouted Gwyn; and then, after waiting, he made his companions’ hearts beat by crying back to them loudly, “I don’t care, there is a way out here.”
“Can’t be, sir.”
“But Grip has gone through.”
“Nay, sir, he’s wedged himself up, and he’s dead, as we shall soon be.”
“Oh, Joe, Joe!” roared Gwyn, passionately; “kick out behind at that miserable, croaking old woman. There is a way out, for I can feel the hot air rushing up by me.”
“Ah!” groaned Hardock, “it’s very well for you young gents up there; but I’m at the bottom, and the water’s creeping up after me. To think after all these years o’ mining I should live to be drowned in a crack like this!”
Just then a loud rustling and scrambling noise was heard.
“What is it, Ydoll? What are you doing?”
“There’s a big stone here, wedged across the slope, or I could get higher. It’s loose, and I think I can—hah!”
The lad uttered an exultant shout, for with a loud rattle the flat block gave way, and came rattling and sliding down.