Bob began reluctantly to remove his own shirt, which he tossed to Steve.
"Now, what are you going to do?"
Rush did not answer. He began wrapping the two shirts about his head, having first made slits in one of them through which he could see. Both garments were finally twisted about his head until the latter looked several times its natural size.
"Now I want you to stick right here. If I am overcome you'll have to try your best to get me out."
"Yes; I'll be in nice shape to go after you. I'll singe the skin all off my body if I try it. You get out the best way you can, but, mind you, if that fire creeps much closer to the magazine you'll see me making a lively sprint for a safe place."
"There will be no safe place in the mine if that happens, Bob. I guess you won't run."
"No, I guess I won't, at that," admitted the lad. "What are you going to do when you get in there?"
"I am going to try to block the passage so the fire can't get to the magazine. I can't do any less than fail. I will shout if I get safely through the fire; then you will know that I am all right. Good-bye, Bob, if I do not see you again. In case anything happens to me, try to get the men as far away as possible before the blow-up occurs."
Steve Rush bravely bolted into the tunnel of fire. There was fire above his head, sparks falling in a perfect cataract about him, while the drift was full of suffocating smoke.
Bob stood with head bent forward in a listening attitude, apparently unmindful of the shower of burning cinders that fell over him. His whole attention was centred on listening for the call that would signal Steve Rush's safe arrival on the other side of the fire.