"Grab my feet, Bob!" Steve shouted at the top of his voice.
Bob Jarvis was a quick-witted boy as well. He fastened a firm grip on the ankles of his companion just as the floor of the cage began slipping from under him.
By this time the stolid foreigners were fully awake to the peril that confronted them. With cries that neither lad ever forgot, the men slipped from the cage that had turned turtle, plunging into the dark abyss, that quickly swallowed them up. There was one of the five miners, however, more quick of wit than his companions, who had also fastened to Steve's ankles. He and Bob Jarvis found themselves dangling in space while Steve, clinging to the iron cross bar above, was holding them up.
The two men were very much in each other's way, and the miner was fighting desperately to push Jarvis away down into the shaft.
"Quit that, you cowardly cur!" commanded the lad. "You'll have the three of us down if you don't look sharp. Steve, are you all right?"
"Yes, but be careful down there. Whom have you with you?"
"I don't know. He's a heathen—that's all I know about it."
"Me—me Dominick. Me——"
"So you're the loafer who tried to knife Steve that time when he saved you from being blown to the moon by dynamite? I ought to drop you, and I'll do it as sure as my name's Bob Jarvis if you don't stop your fighting. Steve, can you hold us?"
"I am afraid not for long," answered the plucky lad, who was supporting the two men by the sheer strength of his arms. "My arms are aching like a sore tooth, but I'll hold on till they come off. Don't make any more disturbance down there than you can help."