“Yes, yes,” gasped Abel; “but never mind me.”
“What! Want to be cut out carefully as a curiosity—fly-in-amber sort of a fellow?”
“No, no—my cousin! Buried alive, man. Hark! you can hear him digging underground.” The great sturdy fellow, who bore some resemblance to ruddy-haired Beardy, sufficient in the distance and under the circumstances of his excitement to warrant Abel’s misapprehension, stared at the snow prisoner for a few moments as if he believed him to be insane.
“He’s off his ’ead, mates, with fright,” he said in a low voice to his companions, who were freeing the shovels; but Abel heard him.
“No, no,” he cried wildly. “I know what I am saying. Listen.”
The great, frank-looking fellow laid his ear to the snow, and leaped up again.
“He’s right,” he roared excitedly. “There’s some one below—how many were with you, my lad?”
“Only my cousin—we were buried together—but don’t talk—dig, dig!”
“Yes, both of you, slip into it. Just here,” cried the big man, “while I get the pick and fetch this one out.”
“No, no, not there,” cried Abel frantically. “Dig yonder, there by the rock wall.”