“Now is our time. We can loosen this big rock and push it down, so that it will crush him as he comes out!”
“Aw, say, boss, why not plug him wid a bullet and be done wid it?”
“No; this quiet way is the best, and if anyone should, by any possibility, be around, that person will think it an accident. Go and bring that crowbar.”
The shoemaker kept at his task inside the tunnel, but it was growing too dark to work much longer, and he laid down his pick and started out, saying, as he did so, that it was no wonder gold was so costly, since it was so hard to dig, and it was still less of a wonder that men turned counterfeiters and thieves, when it was so much easier to be a bad man than a good one. Then, again, he took up his pick and tried to dig a few more strokes, but it was too dark and he came out of the tunnel and sat down on a rock, where he suddenly gave way to grief and sobbed as only strong men do.
“It is no use, no use! Dora, mein Dora, vere are you? Are you deat or lifing?”
Just then the moon rose over the brow of the mountain and fell upon his upturned face as he lifted his hands and prayed aloud:
“Oh, Gott! de fader abofe, send me mein chilt to me. I haf vaited so long for her dot mein heart shall surely preak. Oh, Gott! send me mein chilt!”
In the meantime John and Dopey, having loosened the rock, sneaked away silently, leaving the rock balanced on a hair almost. They circled around and escaped being seen by the rocks and tree-stumps, and stood at a safe distance from the mine, as the rock might rebound. In such a case it would be difficult to decide which way it would go. While they stood hidden, waiting the moment when the loosened rock should come crashing down, there was a soft sound, as of small feet brushing along the leafy rocks, and a plaintive voice became audible as someone sang:
“Tell me that you love me,
Tell me softly, sweetly, as of old.”