Chet sprang up, and even the slower Digby showed interest. The pounding feet were coming rapidly nearer. The boys ran around the corner of the high board fence to the edge of the road. There, coming down the hill, and out from the belt of timber that surrounded the mountain above the town, was a man in yellow overalls and cowhide boots. He was without a cap, his shirt was open at the throat, and every indication about him showed excitement. “Goodness!” gasped Chet. “What can that mean?” “It’s Dan Gubbins—and he’s so scared he can’t shut his mouth!” observed Dig. This seemed true. Dan Gubbins ran with his mouth wide open and fear expressed unmistakably in his rugged features. He was one of the men working in the mine in which Mr. Havens and Mr. Fordham were interested. “Hey, Dan! what’s the matter?” shouted Dig, as the big miner came closer. “She’s caved!” croaked the man, his throat so dry he could scarcely speak. “Who’s caved?” demanded Dig. “What’s caved?” asked Chet, better understanding the vernacular. “The Silent Sue! She slumped in like rotten ice in February!” gasped the big miner, leaning against the fence near the boys. “Oh, my Jimminy! It’s awful!” Chet turned pale. Dig reddened and gulped back a sob with difficulty. “You—you don’t mean the mine’s all caved in?” stammered the latter. “The shaft,” replied Dan. Chet, the practical, demanded: “How many are caught in the cave-in?” “There’s five down there, besides—” Dan halted and stared at the boy with sudden apprehension. Then, after a moment, he whispered: “My golly, Chet! whatever am I to tell your mother? Yer dad’s down there with ’em!” “Father!” exclaimed Chet, seizing Dig’s hand. “Is my father in it too?” cried Dig, ready to burst into tears. “Mr. Fordham warn’t there noways,” said Dan, getting his breath and able now to speak more intelligibly. “Whatever am I to tell your mother, Chet?” he repeated. “You won’t say anything to her, Dan,” replied the boy, firmly. “I’ll tell her myself. But give me the particulars. We want to know how it happened. Isn’t there any hope? Can’t we get at them down there?” “Dunno,” returned the miner. “Rafe Peters is in charge, and they are digging like prairie-dogs to get down into the gallery. Everybody down there is all right so fur. Ye see, it was like this: There was a blast goin’ to be shot in Number Two tunnel. Ye know where that run to?” Chet nodded. “Over toward the old Crayton Shaft—that’s open now—on the other side of the mountain. Father was saying the other day that the Silent Sue’s Number Two must be getting pretty near the old diggings.” “That’s it,” said Dan Gubbins, nodding, and wiping his moist forehead with the back of a hairy hand. “Well, they got ready that shot, which was a heavy one. The timbering of the lower part of the shaft didn’t suit Mr. Havens and he told Tony to put in new cross-braces and some new planks.” “Tony Traddles?” demanded Chet.