“Sakes alibe!” he muttered. “I jus’ fink I keep my eyes open hereafter. Don’ wan’ nuffin’ mo’ to do wif dem greasers. I’ll jes’ wait fo’ Marse Frank to come back.”
But oh! had Pomp known the position of his master at that moment he would have been thrilled with horror.
Left alone at the bottom of the shaft, the sensations experienced by Frank and Barney were of the most despairing sort.
The air was foul and damp, and there were stagnant pools of water in places suggestive of diseases of horrible sort.
The companionship of the skeletons of former victims was not of the pleasantest.
Crawling into the driest places of the mine passages, Frank and Barney sank down quite overcome.
“Well, Barney,” said the young inventor, ruefully, “this is rather a bad outlook for us.”
“Bejabers, I should say so,” exclaimed the Celt in despair. “Shure I’m thinkin’ we’ll be afther dyin’ in this place.”
“I fear so.”
“But shure there’s no sure thing but that rescue might cum yet.”