Our hurried search for a lantern was vain, however, so we determined to set off without one. As we closed the door behind us, our clock struck eleven, and a moment later we heard faintly the eleven o’clock whistle up at the Pelican.
“Good!”cried Joe. “It isn’t the boiler blown up, anyhow, so Tom’s safe; for he is working underground and the explosion, whatever it was, was on the surface.”
With bent heads we pushed our way against the wind, until, looking up presently, I saw the light of a lantern coming quickly towards us.
“Here’s Tom, Joe,”I shouted. “Pull up!”
We stopped, and as the light swiftly approached we detected the beating footsteps of a man running furiously.
“Then there is an accident!”cried Joe. “Ho, Tom! That you?”he shouted.
It was Tom, who, suddenly stopping, held the lantern high, looking first at one and then at the other of us. He was still in his miner’s cap and slicker, his face was as white as a ghost’s, and he was so out of breath that for a moment he could not speak.
“Hurt, Tom?”I cried, in alarm.
“No,”—with a gasp.
“Anybody hurt?”