breath began to come in choking sobs, but he still struck strong,
savage blows into the clay before him, and the drive lengthened
quickly. Once he paused a moment to listen, and then distinctly heard
a sound as of a tool or stone being struck against the end of the new
drive. Jack was safe!

Tom dug on until the clay suddenly fell away from his pick and left a
hole, about the size of a plate, in the "face" before him. "Thank
God!" said a hoarse, strained voice at the other side.

"All right, Jack!"

"Yes, old man; you are just in time; I've hardly got room to stand
in, and I'm nearly smothered." He was crouching against the "face"
of the new drive.

Tom dropped his pick and fell back against the man behind him.

"Oh, God! my back!" he cried.

Suddenly he struggled to his knees, and then fell forward on his hand
and dragged himself close to the hole in the end of the drive.

"Jack!" he gasped, "Jack!"

"Right, old man; what's the matter?"

"I've hurt my heart, Jack!--Put your hand--quick!...The sun's going
down."