So the lad pressed on with more confidence than before. After proceeding some distance he found by groping about that he had reached the place indicated. He took the middle drift, as directed, and hurried along this. He had no idea what time it was, but Steve imagined that it must be near noon. It seemed as though a long time must have passed since he entered the mine with the day shift, whereas, in truth, not quite two hours had elapsed. The lad was thinking over his misfortunes, smiling grimly to himself--for Steve Rush was not a boy to whine, no matter how great his adversity--when all at once the ground seemed to drop from under his feet. On all levels there are "rises," small chutes which extend from one level to another. These are in addition to the regular ore chutes and considerably smaller. They are used for filling cars below, when necessary, as ore is always dumped downward into a lower level, from which it is hoisted to the surface, thus saving the labor of loading. It was one of these rises into which Steve had stepped. To do so he had swerved from the tunnel through which he was passing, stepping into an open pocket in the rocks, believing that he was following the wall, on which he had kept one hand constantly. The lad uttered no cry, but he threw out both arms with quick instinct, hoping thereby to catch and hold himself. The force was too great, however, and Steve Rush shot down through the narrow opening, bound for the lower level. He did not know this; he did not know where he was going to land, but he fully expected that this last disaster would be the end of him and he shut his teeth tightly together, bracing himself to meet the shock that he knew must come within the next few seconds. CHAPTER V THE "MISSED HOLE" On the seventeenth sub-level of the Cousin Jack Mine the Spooner contract gang was working at high pressure. Two diamond drills were banging away like a battery of Gatling guns; men were rushing here and there, some were pushing small cars of red ore out through the drift to the level, where the electric trams would pick up the cars and rush them to the ore chutes. The pick men were breaking off the loosened pieces of ore dislodged by the last blast, while others were shoveling the ore into cars as if their very existence depended upon keeping up the pace. Spooner himself, clad in a suit of oilskins, was shouting at his men, nagging, urging, threatening and directing in a perfect volley of explosive words. A car had just been pushed out from the end of the drift where the drillers were working. It had reached a point directly underneath the rise and there it stuck, held fast by a piece of rock that had dropped to the track. Spooner leaped forward with an angry roar.