At last Rush succeeded in crawling from under his human burden and the weight of ore and rock that hemmed them both in.
Steve's first act was to stretch forth a hand to his companion. The hand wandered from the face of the prostrate man down over the heart, where it paused.
A faint, irregular beating of that organ rewarded Steve's effort.
"He's alive," cried the lad, scrambling to his feet. "He's——"
A severe fit of coughing cut short the young miner's words. A dense cloud of suffocating powder smoke hung over the drift like a pall.
Steve dropped to the ground, pressing his face close to the earth, where he found the air better. After a few long breaths he began searching for a candle. He knew there had been one on the powder-man's cap when the explosion came. A search, however, failed to locate the candle.
"I wish I knew what to do for him," muttered the lad. "He surely will die here unless they get us out pretty soon, and I wouldn't give much for my own life if I had to stay in this awful air very long."
Steve uttered a long shout, which ended in a fit of coughing.
"No more shouting for me," he muttered, wiping the tears from his eyes—tears not caused by fear or grief.
He next tried shaking the powder-man, which drew a groan from the man, whereupon the lad quickly desisted.