Steadily the rescuers gained ground. Every few minutes they relayed each other. Each man knew that his position was one of great danger. The fire might reach the shaft and cut them off from above. A cave of rock might release gases which might kill either by explosion or asphyxiation. A change of draught might fling a great tongue of fire at them and wipe the whole party out in a few seconds. Yet the work went on, hour after hour, steadily and without ceasing. For somewhere in one of the crosscuts which they were approaching, a group of haggard, anxious men were awaiting rescue, unless the fire had already snuffed out their lives. “The crosscut’s just ahead,” Carstairs announced. Byers was at the nozzle. The little man had stuck it out gamely. Only four of the original party were still working. The others had been relieved and sent to the surface. McClintock had just returned from the shaft where he had been with a man overcome by the heat. He was for the moment the freshest man in the group. “Two volunteers to search the crosscut while the rest hold back the fire,” called Carstairs. “I’ll go,” said a Maine lumberjack. “Same here,” added Hugh. They waited, watching for a chance to plunge into the side tunnel when the fire was momentarily low. “Now,” said McClintock, and he dived at the opening in the wall. The lumberjack followed him. So intense was the heat at the entrance to the crosscut that a little pool of water on the rock floor was boiling angrily. As they pushed deeper into it the heat decreased. Hugh shouted. A voice answered his call. He moved forward and presently stumbled over a body. “How many in here?” he asked. “Eleven.” “Where are the others?” “Dead,” came the answer. “Cut off by fire damp before we reached the crosscut.” “All of you able to travel?” “Yes.” Hugh heard the sound of footsteps stumbling toward him. Men came abreast of him and went past. He counted them—eleven. Then he stooped and picked up the body at his feet. In another minute he was staggering into the drift with his burden. The fire fighters fell back past the charred timbers and the hot rocks of the wall. “You’re through, boys,” Carstairs said. “I’ll send a fresh crew in to blast down the mouth of the drift and build a bulkhead against the fire. Then we’ll close the shaft and let ’er die down for lack of air.” The first thing Hugh did when he reached the foot of the shaft was to find the revolver he had hidden beneath a car; the next was to look over the rescued men for the one he wanted. He found him, standing beside Robert Dodson close to the cage. The mine owner was sobbing with the strain he had undergone. His nerve had gone. The big hulking figure at his back was Sam Dutch. Hugh kept in the background. He did not want to be recognized just yet. Meanwhile, he slipped into his trousers, shirt, and coat. In the pocket of his coat was something that jingled when he accidentally touched the wall.