“Tom,” said Jack, after a moment or two of silence, “it’s a-goin’ hard wi’ us. Mos’ like it’s near two days sin’ the fall, an’ no soun’ o’ help yet. Na doot but they’re a-workin’, but it’ll tak’ lang to get here fra the time ye hear the first tappin’. The three o’ us can’t live that lang; mayhap two can. Ye s’all be the ones. I ha’ fixed on that fra the start. That’s why I ha’ ta’en no food.”
“An’ we’ve had it all!” broke in Tom. “You shouldn’t a-done it. The three of us ought to a’ fared alike—’cept, maybe, Bennie; he aint so strong, an’ he ought to be favored.”
“Yes, Tom, the weakes’ first. That’s richt; that’s why I’m a-givin’ my chances to you lads. An’ besides that, my life ain’t worth savin’ any way, alongside o’ yours an’ Bennie’s. Ye s’all share what’s i’ the basket atween ye. ’Tain’t much, but it’ll keep ye up as long’s the air’ll support ye. It’s a-gettin’ bad, the air is. D’ye min’ the lomp, how dim an’ lazy-like it burns? A mon’s got to ha’ such strength as food’ll give him to hold out lang in air like this.”
“I wish you’d ’a’ eaten with us,” interrupted Tom again. “’Tain’t right to let your chances go that way on account of us.”
Paying no attention to this protest, Jack continued:
“But I’ve a thing on ma min’, Tom, that I’d feel easier aboot an’ fitter for what’s a-comin’ if I told it. It’s aboot the father, lad; it’s aboot Tom Taylor, an’ how he cam’ to his death. Ye’ll no’ think too hard o’ me, Tom? It wasna the fall o’ top coal that killit him—it was me! Tom! lad! Tom! bear wi’ me a minute! Sit ye an’ bear wi’ me; it’ll no’ be for lang.”
The boy had risen to his feet, and stood staring at the man in terrified amazement. Then Jack rose, in his turn, and hurried on with his story:
“It wasna by intent, Tom. We were the best o’ frien’s; I was his butty. We had a chamber thegither that time i’ the Carbondale mine. But one day we quarrelled,—I’ve no call to say what aboot,—we quarrelled there in the chamber, an’ ugly words passed, an’ there cam’ a moment when one o’ us struck the ither.
“Then the fight began; han’ to han’; both lamps oot; a’ in the dark; oh, it was tarrible! tarrible!—doon on the floor o’ the mine, crashin’ up against the ragged pillars, strugglin’ an’ strainin’ like mad—an’ a’ of a sudden, I heard a sharp cry, an’ I felt him a-slippin’ oot o’ ma arms an’ doon to ma feet, an’ he lay there an’ was still.
“I foun’ ma lamp an’ lighted it, an’ when I lookit at him, he was dead.