Frank shot the rays of the lantern up through the darkness of the shaft.
Barney had overcome over fifty feet of the thousand. But it was hard to say what obstacles might not be before him.
Yet the plucky Irishman realized that any chance of the sort was better than lying down to die at the bottom of the shaft.
“Whurroo! Misther Frank!” he cried, with exultation. “Shure, I’m makin’ out foinely. There’s another beam jist over me head.”
Frank murmured an inward prayer for the success of his faithful servitor.
But a moment later all the hopeful plans were dashed.
An end of the rope came tumbling down. A moment later Barney came down and swung into the passage.
“Shure, Misther Frank, it’s the ind av us!” he said, dismally.
“What?” cried Frank, “couldn’t you go any further?”
“I cudn’t, Misther Frank. Shure the nixt beam was more nor eighty feet above me head an’ I cudn’t throw the rope over it nohow.”