At the moment when Skip Miller knocked away the joist which supported the timbers at the top of the tunnel, Fred had stooped to pick up his shovel, and this position saved him from being instantly killed.

One end of the shoring plank was yet held by the upright placed in the center of the cutting, and it remained at an angle, although pinning him down, while the earth covered him completely.

For a moment he was at a loss to know what had happened, and then he heard, as if from afar off, Joe calling him by name.

"Here I am under the timber," he replied.

"Are you hurt much?"

"I think not; but I shall stifle to death if the dirt isn't taken away soon."

"It ain't a sure thing that you won't stifle even then," he heard Bill say sharply. "Take hold, mate, an' let's get him from beneath while we have a chance to breathe."

Then the grating of the shovels was distinguished, and pound by pound the weight was removed until nothing save the timber held him down.

"Can you get out now?" Joe asked, and his voice sounded strangely indistinct.

"Not till the joist is pulled away."

"When that is done it's safe to say tons of the roof will follow," Bill muttered, and Joe asked:

"Does it hurt you much, lad?"

"The edges are cutting into my back terribly."

"Grin an' bear it as long as you can. Our only chance for life is to break through the wall into the old tunnel; but if that timber is taken away it's good-bye for all hands."

"Then don't bother about me. It's better one died than three."

There was no reply to this. The men were digging at the barrier of earth with feverish energy, and each instant respiration became more difficult. The slight amount of air which filtered through the bank of slate and sand was no more than sufficient for one pair of lungs.

The darkness was profound. The lamps had been extinguished by the shock, and five minutes later it was impossible to re-light them. The oxygen had become so nearly exhausted that a match would not burn.

Fred bit his lips to prevent an outcry. The huge timber was crushing him slowly but surely, and the pain was intense.

Each instant the blows of the men grew fainter. Strength and even the power of movement was rapidly succumbing to the noxious vapor.

Joe was the first to give up, and as the pick fell from his nerveless hands he said faintly:

"It's all over, lads. We might as well pull the timber from Fred, and die at the same moment."

"Don't weaken, mate," Bill said, imploringly. "Who knows but we're within a few inches of the other drift."

"Even if that's true, the chances are we'll be stifled by the gas."

"The alarm may be given in time to save us from the entrance."

"Sam can't have come back yet, an' before any one knows what has happened we shall be dead."

Joe had lost all courage and the apathy of despair was upon him. His words robbed Fred of the last hope, and as it fled consciousness deserted him.

Bill delivered a few more feeble blows with the pick, and then he in turn sank to the ground.

The hand of death was very nearly upon them, and the agonies of dissolution already passed.

Within a few feet of where the unconscious men lay, willing hands were working at the obstruction. No more than three could labor at once, but these were relieved every two minutes, in order that their energy might not be impaired by weariness, and meanwhile others shoveled the slate and earth into cars, that the drift might be kept clear.

Mr. Wright personally assisted in the labor, and it was he who began the cheering which ensued when an aperture was made in the barrier.

"At it with a will, boys," he shouted, "but be careful about removing the timber, for some of the poor fellows may be beneath it."

The foul air rushing out nearly overcame the laborers, but the eager rescuers heeded not their own peril, and the moment finally came when the unconscious ones were fully exposed to view.

"Pass out the men, and then dig beneath the boy; he must be released in that manner, otherwise we may all share their fate," and Mr. Wright shoveled the earth carefully away from Fred, while the others carried Joe and Bill into the drift.

From his place of concealment on the hillside Skip Miller saw a party of men come out of the slope bearing an ominous looking burden.

"One of them is dead," he whispered to himself, as his face paled.

Then came another party, and a few seconds later the third, each carrying a similar load, marched down the road leading to the village.

The sight nearly overpowered Skip; he shook as if in an ague fit, and after staring at the sad spectacle until the men had passed from view, he turned and ran through the grove, believing the officers were close upon him.

The news that two miners and a boy had probably been killed spread through the village rapidly, and Cale Billings was in Taylor's groggery when one of the late rioters brought the intelligence.

"It's a wonder they don't accuse us of havin' somethin' to do with the accident," the newcomer added, and the proprietor said sternly:

"I don't want to drive customers away, but if any who come here have had a hand in murder, they'd better not show their heads 'round this place again."

Billings looked disturbed, but made no reply. Although having had no direct share in the crime, he knew he was really an accomplice, and the knowledge that Taylor might inform against him was by no means pleasant.

It was eight o'clock in the evening when Skip ventured to come down from the hillside, and he looked like a boy who had been very ill. Even at this late hour he did not dare to walk through the village, but skulked around the outskirts until he saw Chunky, whom he hailed in a whisper.

"Where have you been?" Fred's chute mate asked in surprise.

"I had some work on the other side of the hill."

"Have you been there all day?"

"Yes. Jest got back. Are those fellows dead!"

Ordinarily Chunky was not quick to arrive at conclusions, but now he asked in a suspicious tone:

"How did you know anything about it if you've jest got back?"

"Oh, I heard from some of the fellows."

"Who?"

"Never mind," and Skip spoke sharply.

"Did they all get killed?"

"None of 'em; but the doctor says Fred won't be over it for three or four days. Joe an' Bill are both in bed, though they'll be out in the morning."

"Does Wright know who did it?"

"Did what?"

"Why, knock—whatever was done."

"I thought the roof of a cuttin' fell in 'cause it wasn't shored up enough."

"I s'pose that was the reason," Skip replied in a nervous way.

"It seems to me you know more about this thing than anybody else."

"You'd better not say that again," and Skip stepped forward a few paces with clenched fists.

"You can get the best of me, so I'll have to hold my tongue; but I reckon I've had all I want of the regulators. Tryin' to kill a feller who never did much of anything to you is a mean trick."

"Shut up or I'll knock your head off. You can't back out of our s'ciety, an' if you ever say I tried to kill anybody I'll pound you till there won't be an inch of skin left."

Chunky did not wait to hear more. He started at full speed toward his own home, and Skip was more alarmed than before.

"Now I'm in a worse scrape than ever, for he's jest fool enough to tell what he knows, an' then there will be trouble. I'd better go to meet Billings, an' perhaps he can help me out."

He could reach the rendezvous without going through the village, and greatly to his relief the leader of the rioters was waiting to receive him.

"Now this is somethin' like business," and Billings patted the boy on the head.

Skip stepped back; the touch of the man's hand now, when through him he had gotten into so much trouble, was disagreeable.

"What am I to do?" he asked fiercely.

"Help me finish what you've begun."

"I won't do it. They'll have me arrested, an' you must get me through the scrape."

"So I will after I've served the company out. We'll go off somewhere together."

"And I'm to leave home?"

"There's nothin' for it if Wright gets the idea that you knocked the timber away."

"If he doesn't know it already there are them who will tell him. Chunky thinks I did somethin' to help the thing along."

"He does, eh?" and now Billings began to look disturbed. "Is he likely to go to any of the bosses?"

"He might tell some one else who would do it."

"That's true. What with him an' Taylor, things begin to seem kinder scarey for me."

"I'm in worse trouble."

"You're right, an' that shows we two must keep together."

"But I don't want to leave home."

"You can't help yourself. Once in the scrape, it's bad to back out."

Skip had good evidence that the way of the transgressor is hard. He felt a decided repugnance to becoming Billings' constant companion, but he dared not go home, and it seemed as if there was no other course left open.

"It won't do to stay here very long, for folks might see us, and it wouldn't be hard to guess we were up to mischief. Will you go with me, or take the chances of bein' arrested?"

"I'll have to do what you say," Skip replied with a groan, and Billings started straight across the hill toward the abandoned shaft.

"Where are you going?"

"We'll hide for a while. It ain't safe to loaf 'round here much longer. Here's a dollar. Go to Taylor's an' get somethin' to eat. Tell him I want cooked food, 'cause I'm bound on a tramp."

"I don't dare show up there."

"Move on, or I'll break every bone in your body! You've got to toe the mark now if you don't want to go to jail."

Billings used the tone of a master, and Skip understood that his crime had brought him to slavery of the most degrading kind.

The groggery was filled with men when he arrived, and in the number he found safety. All were excitedly discussing the accident, some intimating that Billings had a hand in it, and no one paid any particular attention to the frightened boy who crept cautiously in, as if to avoid being seen.

"Wants grub, eh?" Taylor asked, when Skip made known his errand. "What's he up to? Afraid they'll nab him for what was done to-day?"

"I don't know."

"Now, look here, Skip Miller, I ain't got any too much love for you, but it don't seem right to let a boy go on as you've begun. Go home now, an' leave Billings to take care of his own business."

"If I don't carry back the stuff he'll say I stole his money."

"Well, take the grub, an' then get back as soon as you know how."

"All right," Skip replied meekly.

"If you're not home in half an hour I'll see your father to-night."

"I wish I dared to go," Skip said to himself as he hurried away with the bundle. "Workin' in the breaker ain't a marker to what it'll be runnin' around with Cale Billings."