He took Bennie’s hand and moved on. But, as he turned through an entrance into the next chamber, he was startled to see, in the distance, the light of another lamp. The sharp ears of the blind boy caught the sound of footsteps.
“Somebody’s comin’, Tom,” he said.
“I see the lamp,” Tom answered, “but I don’t know who it can be. There wasn’t anybody in the new chambers w’en I started down with the load. All the men went out quite a bit ahead o’ me.”
The two boys stood still; the strange light approached, and, with the light, appeared, to Tom’s astonished eyes, the huge form and bearded face of Jack Rennie.
[CHAPTER VII.]
THE SHADOW OF DEATH.
“Why, lads!” exclaimed Rennie; “lads!” Then, flashing the light of his lamp into the boys’ faces, “What, Tom, is it you? you and the blind brither? Ah! but it’s main bad for ye, bairnies, main bad—an’ warse yet for the poor mither at hame.”
When Tom first recognized Rennie, he could not speak for fear and amazement. The sudden thought that he and Bennie were alone, in the power of this giant whose liberty he had sworn away, overcame his courage. But when the kindly voice and sympathizing words fell on his ears, his fear departed, and he was ready to fraternize with the convict, as a companion in distress.
“Tom,” whispered Bennie, “I know his voice. It’s the man ’at talked so kind to me on the day o’ the strike.”