He stopped for an instant, then, recognizing the woman’s voice, he came up to her, and laid his hands on hers, and, before she could speak again, he said, “Ye’re lookin’ for the lads. They’re no’ come oot yet.”
“Sandy—are they safe?”
“We canna tell. There was mony ’at got this side o’ the fall afoor it comed; an’ some ’at got catched in it; an’ mos’ like there be some ’at’s beyon’ it.”
A car came up the slope, and the body of a man was lifted out, placed on a rude stretcher, and carried by.
Sandy moved, awkwardly, to get between the dread sight and the woman’s eyes. But she looked at it only for a moment. It was a man; and those she sought were not men, but boys.
“They’re a-workin’,” continued Sandy, “they’re a-workin’ like tigers to get to ’em, an’ we’re a-hopin’; that’s a’ we can do—work an’ hope.”
The man hurried away and left her, still standing there, to watch the car that came up from the blackness, at lengthening intervals, with its dreadful load, and to hear the shrill cry from some heart-broken wife and mother, as she recognized the victim. But they were always men who were brought out, not boys.
After a time, a party of workers came up, exhausted, and others went down in their places. The men were surrounded with eager questioners, but they had little to say. The work of rescue was progressing, that was all.
By and by Sandy came back.