The grinding noise of settling rock came up from the region of the fall, and then, for many minutes, the silence was unbroken.
After a while, Jack said, “Put the money where they’ll find it on ye, gin ye—gin ye don’t get oot.”
Then he rose to his feet again.
“You’re not goin’ to leave us?” said Tom.
“Yes, lad, I mus’ go. It’s the way wi’ hunger, sometimes, to mak’ a man crazy till he’s not knowin’ what he does. Ye s’all no ha’ that to fear fra me. Tom,” grasping the boy, suddenly, by both hands, “don’t come up into the new chambers, Tom; promise me!”
Tom promised, and Jack added, “Mayhap I s’all not see ye again—good-by—keep up heart; that’s the gret thing for both o’ ye—keep up heart, an’ never let hope go.”
Then he loosed the boy’s hands, picked up his lamp, and, with a smile on his face, he turned away. He passed down the airway, and out by the entrance where blind Bennie lay, still sleeping, and stopped and looked tenderly down upon him, as men look, for the last time in life, on those whom they love.
He bent over, holding his heavy beard back against his breast, and touched the tangled hair on the child’s forehead with his lips; and then, weak, staggering, with the shadow of his fate upon him, he passed out on the heading, and up into the new chambers, where the poisoned air was heavy with the deadly gas, and the lamp-flame scarcely left the wick; and neither Tom Taylor nor his blind brother ever saw Jack Rennie again, in life or in death.
When Tom went back to the waiting-place, Bennie awoke.