Finally the hour came when the last drop had been drank. The tiny flame of the lamp seemed to have been the only link which connected them with the outer world, and then without any means of dispelling the profound darkness the bitterness of death came upon them.
Fred was the first to sink into a stupor from which he awakened only at rare intervals. Then Skip yielded to despair, and Sam was virtually alone.
All three were half sitting, half lying in the excavation they had made, and the moments passed unheeded. To Fred it seemed as if he had been unconscious for many days when he became aware that Sam was shouting wildly.
In a dazed way he raised his head, and after a while understood that his companion was saying in an incoherent tone:
"They're coming! They're coming!"
"Who? Who?" Skip asked, feebly, trying in vain to rise to his feet.
"The miners! Can't you hear the sound of their picks?"
When they could bring themselves to understand the meaning of Sam's words both the sufferers were revived by the excitement sufficiently to stagger to an upright position, but as only at intervals was the cheering sound heard, fatigue soon overpowered them again, and once more Sam alone remained conscious.
He made every effort to preserve all his faculties, and after another long, painful time of suspense he was rewarded by hearing a faint hail.
"Hello! lads, are you near?"