“I remember ye, laddie,” said Jack. “I remember ye richt well.” Then, turning to Tom, “Ye were comin’ up the fall; did ye find any openin’?”
“No,” said Tom, speaking for the first time since the meeting; “none that’s any good.”
“An’ there’s naught above, either,” replied Jack; “so we’ve little to do but wait. Sit ye doon, lads, an’ tell me how ye got caught.”
Seated on a shelf of rock, Tom told in a few words how he and Bennie had been shut in by the fall. Then Jack related to the boys the story of his escape from the sheriff, and how his comrades had spirited him away into these abandoned workings, and were supplying him with food until such time as he could safely go out in disguise, and take ship for Europe.
There he was when the crash came.
“Noo ye mus’ wait wi’ patience,” he said. “It’ll no’ be for lang; they’ll soon be a-comin’ for ye. The miners ha’ strong arms an’ stoot herts, an’ ye’ll hear their picks a-tap-tappin’ awa’ i’ the headin’—to-morrow, mayhap.”
“An’ is it night now?” asked Bennie.
“It mus’ be, lad. I ha’ naught to mark the time by, but it mus’ be along i’ the evenin’.”
“But,” interrupted Tom, as the thought struck him, “if they find you here, you’ll have to go back to the jail.”
“I ha’ thocht o’ that,” answered Jack. “I ha’ thocht o’ that, an’ my min’s made up. I’ll go back, an’ stan’ ma sentence. I ha’ deserved it. I’d ha’ no peace o’ min’ a-wanderin’ o’er the earth a-keepin’ oot o’ the way o’ the law. An’ maybe, if I lived ma sentence oot, I could do some’at that’s better. But I’ll no’ hide any longer; I canna do it!”