"No; you hit an apology for a man," was the quick reply.
By this time young Rush was bending over, looking down into the shadows that hung over the gutter along the side of the track. He made out the figure of a man lying there.
"Help me get him up, men," he cried. "Don't you see that he is hurt?"
"Serve him right if he is," growled the trammer, the workman who pushed the cars of ore out into the main level.
"I tell you he is hurt. Lend a hand here!" commanded the boy sternly.
Something in his tone led the others to obey his order promptly. They gathered up Contractor Spooner and carried him over to where the light from the candles could be thrown on his face.
"Douse him with a pail of water," suggested the drill-man.
Someone quickly adopted the suggestion, with the result that Spooner sat up almost at once, choking, roaring and threatening between his gasps for breath.
"Who—who did it? Who did it?" snarled the contractor, struggling to his feet. "Who hit me?"