Old Moses was the leader of the prayer-meeting. He was a fireman besides, who had been for twenty-six years in the mine. At the time of the explosion, it appeared, he had been in a working close to that door on the heading where death had done so ghastly and complete a work. But the flame in its caprice had passed him by, and he and another man had been able to struggle through the afterdamp back along the heading, just in time to stem the rush of men and boys from the workings at the farther end. These men were at the moment in a madness of terror, and ready even to plunge into the white death-mist advancing to meet them, obeying only the instinct of the trapped animal to "get out." But Moses was able to control them, to draw them back by degrees along the heading till, in the distant workings where they were found, the air was more tolerable, and they could wait for rescue. George was the first to help the old fireman to his feet. But instead of listening to any praises of his own conduct, he was no sooner clinging to Tressady's arm than he called to Madan: "Mr. Madan, sir!" "Aye, Moses." "Have ye heard aught of them in the West Heading yet?" "No, Moses; we must get these fellows out first. We'll go there next." "I left thirty men and boys there this morning at half-past six. It was fair thronged up with them." The old man's voice shook. Meanwhile Madan and the doctors were busy with the transport of the seven unconscious men, some of whom were already dying. Each of them had to be carried on his back by two men, and as soon as the sick procession was organised it was seen that only three of the search party were left free--Tressady, Burrows, and the Scotch fireman, Macgregor. Up the level and along the heading, past the point where Dixon was still at work, over the minor falls that everywhere attested the range of the explosion, and through the pools of water that here and there gathered the drippings of the mine, the seven men were tenderly dragged or carried, till at last the party regained the main intake or roadway. George turned to Madan. "You will have your hands full with these poor fellows. Macgregor and I--Mr. Burrows, if he likes--will push on to the West Heading." Madan looked uneasy. "You'd better go up, Sir George," he said, in a low voice, "and let me go on. You don't know the signs of the roof as I do. Eight or nine hours after an explosion is the worst time for falls. Send down another shift, sir, as quick as you can." "Why should you risk more than I?" said George, quietly. "Stop! What time is it?" He looked at his watch. Five o'clock--nearly nine hours since they descended! He might have guessed it at three, if he had been asked. Time in the midst of such an experience contracts to a pin's point. But the sight of the watch stirred a pang in him.