Once more did a band of heroic men work their way bit by bit into the mine, fighting the damp at every turn under Westbrook’s directions.
Barrington had looked at the preparations in amazement.
“How comes it that this Westbrook, this millionaire, knows the mine so well?” he stammered.
A woman standing near—Bill Somers’s wife—answered him.
“That’s Hustler Joe, sir,” she said softly.
Hustler Joe! John Barrington drew a deep breath as the memories of the Bonanza catastrophe came to him.
“Thank God for Hustler Joe!” he breathed fervently. “If anyone can save my little girl, ’tis he!”
“You’re right, sir—an’ he’ll do it, too,” returned the little woman, her eyes full of unshed tears.
XVII
Slowly, so slowly, the rescuers worked their way into the mine. One by one the unconscious forms of the miners were borne back to fresh air and safety. But no trace could be found of Miss Barrington and her band of sightseers.