He bent over to grip the crouching man by the shoulder and lift him to his feet. Ashton writhed about and glared at him like a trapped wolf.
“Let go!” he snarled. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to do it!” 304
“Of course not,” replied Blake, releasing his grip but standing close that he might not have to shout. “It’s all right, old man––my fault. The knot slipped.”
“You own it! You own it’s your fault!” cried Ashton. “You’ve brought me down here into this hell-pit! We can’t get out! Lost! All your fault––yours!”
He made a frantic snatch and jerked the revolver from Blake’s holster. The engineer caught his wrist in an iron grasp and wrenched the weapon from him.
“None of that, old man,” he admonished with a cool sternness that chilled the frenzy of the other like a dash of ice water. “You’re here to do your work, and you’re going to do it. Understand?”
“My work!” repeated Ashton wildly.
“Yes, your work,” commanded Blake, his face as hard as iron. “We’re going to survey Deep Cañon down to the tunnel site. Your work is to carry rod. Do you get that?”
“Down the cañon?––deeper!”
“We can’t get back up here. There’s a place down there beyond the tunnel site where perhaps we can make it up the cañon wall.”