During the time that Billings was making his preparations for the last act of his life, Sam and Fred remained seated a short distance from the cut which led to Skip's hiding place.

Both were listening intently for the first sound which should betoken the coming of the miners, and the falling earth which was displaced by Billings' feet as he worked in the cutting attracted their attention.

"There's some one in the tunnel we made," Sam whispered. "Let's creep up and find out who it is."

"That won't do, for there's no chance Billings would come back if he once got out, and we should arouse suspicions."

Despite this warning Sam advanced a short distance, and on becoming convinced that the tunnel really had an occupant rejoined Fred, as he whispered:

"We'd better sneak further along. I reckon somebody is on guard up there, and we musn't be seen so far down."

He had held the shovel during this excursion, and still retained it as they walked noiselessly along the drift until arriving at the mouth of the short slope.

Here the two halted at the moment when the confined gas, ignited by the open lamp, burst its bonds, and the shock sent them headlong up the incline.

Huge masses of earth were detached on every hand, except directly in the narrow way leading to Skip's hiding place, and on scrambling to their feet a solid wall shut them out from the drift.

"What was that?" Fred cried in alarm, as he assured himself his lamp was uninjured.

"An explosion, an' we're penned in here to starve to death," Sam replied, in a trembling voice.

"Can't we dig through this bank and reach the hole in the roof?"

"There is no longer any lower level, as we knew it, and unless we could make a new drift there'd be no use working."

"But this part of the mine seems to be all right."

"Yes, unless there's another explosion I reckon we can stay here 'til—"

"'Till what?"

"We shall starve to death after a while."

This mournful conversation was interrupted by Skip, who came running down the slope with the most abject fear written on every feature of his face.

Familiar as he was with the mine he had no need to ask for the cause of the noise, and understood as well as Sam the little hope there was for life.

"Are you shut in, too?" he cried.

"We're here," Sam replied, grimly.

"An' you'd been outside if I hadn't wanted to stay rather than take a flogging."

"You're right, Skip, but this ain't the time to find fault. All three are in the same box, an' we might as well be friendly."

"Won't they try to get us out?" Fred asked, faintly.

"Nobody knows where we are," Skip replied, bitterly.

"We told mother about you, and she'll be sure to repeat it to Joe and Bill now we're in such danger."

Skip's face brightened for an instant, and then he said, in a despairing tone:

"They don't know where this place is. Billings is certain the oldest miners never heard of the drift; he thinks it was made years before the workings were opened at Farley's."

"Joe and Bill have been down here."

"Even they wouldn't know where to start in. How long will the air hold out, Sam?"

"I don't know, but there's no need of usin' it any faster than's necessary. We'll put out two of the lamps; one is enough, an' we may be mighty glad to drink the oil."

Fred was very nearly incapable of action. The knowledge that his companions had lost hope literally dazed him, and he could not even follow Sam's suggestion.

Two of the lamps were extinguished, and since Fred was the only one retaining the means of dispelling the darkness, Sam and Skip forced him on ahead as they went still further into the tunnel where the air would be more pure.

"This is the only point from which we may expect aid," Sam said, "an' seein' that we can do nothin' it's better to stay here."

"Won't Joe and Bill try to help us?" Fred asked.

"They'll try, but whether it'll be possible to do anything is another matter."

"Can't we begin to dig? We've got one shovel."

"Neither of us knows in which direction to start, an' when workin' more food would be needed, therefore, to keep alive as long as possible we'd better stay quiet."

Skip threw himself on the floor close to the end of the cutting, as if reconciled to whatever might happen, and Sam sat down beside him.

"Do you think there is any chance that we can get out of here?" Fred asked after a long silence, and Sam replied, gravely:

"We may as well look the matter straight in the face. It's possible they can strike us without much trouble, but that ain't likely."

During half an hour the boys remained silent and motionless, as if each was trying to reconcile himself to the terrible doom which threatened, and then Fred said, with a feeble attempt at cheerfulness:

"It must be near supper time. Suppose we have one square meal?"

"Because a man knows he's slowly drowning there's no reason why he should try to keep his head under water more than is necessary," Sam replied, sternly.

"What do you mean?"

"We are not suffering with hunger now, but soon will be, so it's wise to wait till grub is absolutely needed to keep us alive."

"Then let's do something; this sitting still thinking of what is to come seems worse than the reality can ever be."

"Very well, we've got a shovel; we'll decide in which direction it's best to dig, an' begin operations."

"There surely is a chance of striking another drift."

"Yes, there's a chance," Sam replied, as if the conversation wearied him. "Each one shall say which course he thinks most likely to bring us out."

Skip wished to continue up the slope, arguing that each inch gained would carry them so much nearer the surface, while Fred believed it best to work through the mass of earth that had fallen, because there a pick would not be necessary.

"We'd better try Skip's plan," Sam finally said. "By making our way along the old drift a chamber of gas might be struck, when all hands would be suffocated. Come on, and I'll start it."

He wielded the shovel until tired, the others carrying the earth back to the foot of the slope in their hats, and then Fred tried his hand at the labor.

In this manner each did a certain amount of the work, but at the expense of no slight suffering. In the confined space it was very warm, and this exercise brought with it an intense thirst, which, of course, could not be quenched.

Skip drank a little oil now and then, but Fred could not force himself to taste the ill-smelling stuff.

There was no way by which the passage of time could be measured. When all were sleepy they laid down to rest, and on awakening a small quantity of food was dealt out. After the scanty meal had been eaten they continued what every one now believed was useless labor, ceasing only when the desire for slumber became overpowering again.

Reckoning these periods of work and rest as days and nights, seventy-two hours had elapsed when the supply of food was exhausted, and they realized that the final struggle was at hand.

The air remained reasonably pure, probably because a vent had been left somewhere in the choked drift, but there were moments when the odor of gas was perceptible, thus causing Sam to believe efforts were still being made to reach them by those on the outside.

But little work was done when the food had been consumed. Now and then one or the other would use the shovel in a listless way for a few moments at a time, but each had become so weak that any prolonged exertion was out of the question.

They slept as much as possible, and refrained from discussing the terrible situation. Fred no longer listened for the sounds which would tell that help was near at hand, and the odor of the oil did not prevent him now from taking his share when the scanty allowance was doled out.

Finally the hour came when the last drop had been drank. The tiny flame of the lamp seemed to have been the only link which connected them with the outer world, and then without any means of dispelling the profound darkness the bitterness of death came upon them.

Fred was the first to sink into a stupor from which he awakened only at rare intervals. Then Skip yielded to despair, and Sam was virtually alone.

All three were half sitting, half lying in the excavation they had made, and the moments passed unheeded. To Fred it seemed as if he had been unconscious for many days when he became aware that Sam was shouting wildly.

In a dazed way he raised his head, and after a while understood that his companion was saying in an incoherent tone:

"They're coming! They're coming!"

"Who? Who?" Skip asked, feebly, trying in vain to rise to his feet.

"The miners! Can't you hear the sound of their picks?"

When they could bring themselves to understand the meaning of Sam's words both the sufferers were revived by the excitement sufficiently to stagger to an upright position, but as only at intervals was the cheering sound heard, fatigue soon overpowered them again, and once more Sam alone remained conscious.

He made every effort to preserve all his faculties, and after another long, painful time of suspense he was rewarded by hearing a faint hail.

"Hello! lads, are you near?"

"Yes! yes! In the end of a short slope."

"How many are there?"

"Three."

"All well?"

"Two are pretty near gone. Hurry as fast as possible."

"Don't fret, lad, we're workin' the best we know how, an' have been these four days, though not allers on the right track."

Then from time to time the laborers shouted in order that they might not deviate from the right course, and Sam answered each call at the full strength of his lungs, which at the best was faint.

Nearer and nearer came the sound of shovels and picks until the trembling of the wall told that life, liberty, and food were near at hand.

Sam remained leaning close against the barrier that he might hear every hail, until he saw the face of a man appear from amid a shower of falling earth, and then, knowing the rescue was accomplished he lost consciousness.

Around the mouth of the shaft stood a great crowd when the inanimate boys were brought out. During the nights as well as days this throng remained waiting to see those known to be in the half-ruined mine. These anxious watchers, sympathizing with the three grief-stricken mothers, had left their posts only so long as was absolutely necessary, and had seen each lifeless body as it was sent to the surface, the last coming from the slope being the mangled remains of Cale Billings.

Each morning the newspapers had printed long articles regarding the disaster at Farley's, and in the list of those known to be dead were four names, the number of victims sacrificed that Billings might avenge a fancied wrong.

With the rescue of the boys the work was finished, and in the rear of the bearers all the watchers and laborers followed to the village, remaining in the streets until word was sent that no injuries had been sustained.

Then, perhaps for the first time, came the question of what was to be done now that Farley's was in such a condition as to preclude any possibility that the works could be opened for several months.

"It's a hard look-out for all of us," one old miner said to a mate, "but thank God that villain of a Billings has no more than four lives to answer for."