Mr. Dickson appeared, his face ashen. “An explosion in the South Road,” said he. “Rescue parties to work at once.” In an instant everything was forgotten but the one desire to help their brothers in distress. With picks and ropes and lanterns they hurried down the main road, just at the bend of which a sheet of flame flared out suddenly, entirely enveloping the first man, and setting his clothing on fire. In vain they played on the flames—it was useless. The fire had gained too much power. The rescuers were forced back to the cage at the bottom of the shaft, and all had to seek refuge above. Another sorrow had come upon the people of Marshfielden—their cup was full to overflowing as it was, yet Tragedy, the Humourist, was not yet content with his handiwork. For two days the fire raged, and the willing rescuers were helpless in the face of such odds; on the third it quieted sufficiently to enable a rescue party to descend. Gradually they fought the flames, but not a trace remained of the men who had been caught like rats in a trap when the first explosion came. So Marshfielden was again in mourning, and broken-hearted widows and fatherless children went to the touching little memorial service that was arranged for the lost ones. Alan was horror-stricken at the calamity that had befallen the mine. The thought of the men who had been burnt to death preyed on his mind; it was his first experience of such an accident, and it left upon him an indelible mark. The mine was once more in working order, and he was doing some accounts in the office below, when a voice startled him. It was the voice of Mr. Dickson, and very grave. “Go at once to the third shaft, Forsyth,” said he. “The telephone has failed, and Daniels has reported that there is something wrong with the air pumps there.” “What? In the lower engine house?” “Yes. We can get no further information. Make a careful examination, and if you suspect any danger, order the shift off and close the gates.” “Very good,” and Alan, glad to have something to do that would occupy his mind, left the office, and jumped on to one of the empty trolleys that was being run by the cable to the second shaft, and would take him very near his destination. At the second shaft there were anxious faces. “Something wrong at number three shaft, sir,” said one of the men. “Daniels ’phoned us, but before he could tell us anything definite, the connections broke down.” “Thanks,” said Alan shortly. “How many men are working there?” “None, sir. They’ve not been working it to-day. Daniels and two other men have been inspecting a bulge that has appeared in the roof, and were arranging to have it fixed up with supports.” Mechanically Alan walked down the low road that led to the third shaft. He pushed aside the heavy tarpaulins that hung across the roadways, and kept the current of air from flowing in the wrong direction, and as he passed through each one, he sniffed the air eagerly.