The boy stopped working and listened. There was a peculiar sliding sound that filled the air all about him, and from time to time a stone dropped to the floor with an echoing rattle.
"Come out." With an appalling roar the great mass of coal came down. John was badly squeezed, his light was extinguished, and all the breath was knocked out of him, but he managed to work himself free and make his way to the room. His only thought was of Bill, under that heap of coal somewhere, and of the need of help.
He rushed along blindly through the solid darkness, his hands outstretched before him, shouting as he went, "Help, quick!"
Some men who were working in the entry answered him.
"What's up?" they asked.
"Help! Bill lies under a whole lot of coal."
They hurried to the coal face, and John showed them where he thought the imprisoned man lay, buried under tons of coal; the men, seizing picks, wedges, and sledges, began working frantically to rescue their comrade.
For half an hour they toiled as they never toiled before. Then there was a cry of horror. The body was found. The poor fellow's arms were raised in the very act of swinging his pick, and he evidently had had an instant and well-nigh painless death.
"Well, boys, I hope mine comes as easy as his," said old Mike McGuire, who had witnessed many a similar scene.