McGlathery and the others, at first nervous, but now slightly reassured, worked on. But the ground under their feet became sloppy, and some of the silvery frosting on the roof began to drop and even trickle as water. Then a mass of sloppy mud fell. “Back, men!” It was the voice of Cavanaugh, but not quicker than the scampering of the men who, always keenly alive to the danger of a situation, had taken note of the dripping water and the first flop of earth. At the same time, an ominous creak from one of the beams overhead gave warning of the imminence of a catastrophe. A pell-mell rush for the lock some sixty feet away ensued. Tools were dropped, precedence disregarded. They fell and stumbled over the beams and between, pushing each other out of the way into the water and mud as they ran, McGlathery a fair second to none. “Open the door! Open the door!” was the cry as they reached the lock, for some one had just entered from the other side—the engineer. “For Christ’s sake, open the door!” But that could not be done so quickly. A few moments at least had to elapse. “It’s breakin’ in!” cried some one in a panicky voice, an ironworker. “Great God, it’s comin down!” this from one of the masons, as three lamps in the distance were put out by the mud. McGlathery was almost dying of fear. He was sweating a cold sweat. Five dollars a day indeed! He should stay away from water, once and for all. Didn’t he know that? It was always bad luck to him. “What’s the trouble? What’s the trouble?” called the amazed engineer as, unconscious of what was happening outside, he pushed open the door. “Git out of the way!” “Fer God’s sake, let us in!” “Shut the door!” this from a half dozen who had already reached safety assuming that the door could be instantly closed. “Wait! Cavanaugh’s outside!” This from some one—not McGlathery, you may be sure, who was cowering in a corner. He was so fearful that he was entirely unconscious of his superior’s fate. “To hell with Cavanaugh! Shut the door!” screamed another, a great ironworker, savage with fear. “Let Cavanaugh in, I say!” this from the engineer. At this point McGlathery, for the first time on this or any other job, awoke to a sense of duty, but not much at that. He was too fearful. This was what he got for coming down here at all. He knew Cavanaugh—Cavanaugh was his friend, indeed. Had he not secured him this and other jobs? Surely. But then Cavanaugh had persuaded him to come down here, which was wrong. He ought not to have done it. Still, even in his fear he had manhood enough to feel that it was not quite right to shut Cavanaugh out. Still, what could he do—he was but one. But even as he thought, and others were springing forward to shut Cavanaugh out, so eager were they to save themselves, they faced a gleaming revolver in the steady hand of the big foreman.