hes too long, and
crossed the space between floor and roof with a small slant, but it was
meant to do so, in order that when its lower end was driven forward
until it stood upright it would wedge fast the beam above. Then
Thirlwell brought an ax and struck the prop some heavy blows with its
back while Scott steadied the top. It was almost in place, and the bent
timber was getting loose, when the top slipped and shook the beam. There
was an ominous crack and a few small stones broke away and fell on
Scott's head.

"I've got her butted solid now," he shouted after a short breathless
struggle with the timber. "Be quick! The roof's coming down!"

Thirlwell saw the danger. So long as the prop slanted, it would not
support the beam, and if the beam gave way, the roof would fall and
crush them before they could get from underneath. He thought he had a
few moments to hammer the prop straight, and swung the ax savagely while
the sweat ran down his face. He dared not look up again, but the
ominous cracking went on and while he wondered what was happening,
Driscoll ran past. A big stone fell beside the man as he seized another
prop and with a tense effort jambed it under the beam.

"I'll take some weight off her while you shore her up," Driscoll gasped.

He had brought a heavy mallet, but before he used this he dragged the
foot of the timber round, bending his body forward while his arms got
stiff and hard, as if carved from wood. His sullen face was darkly
flushed and the swollen veins stood out from his forehead. Thirlwell saw
him for a moment as he lifted his ax, and remembering the scene
afterwards, thought the fellow had looked a model of savage strength. It
was obvious that he had no fear.

In the meantime, he was vaguely conscious that Driscoll had saved his
life. He and Scott had stayed too long, and could not have fixed their
prop before the beam gave way had not the other come to help. For that
matter, they were not out of danger yet. Unless they could wedge the
timber in the next few moments, the roof would come down. There was not
room to swing the ax properly, his body was cramped from bending, and he
could not lift his head. Stooping in the low tunnel, he nerved himself
for a tense effort and struck several furious blows. The prop quivered,
groaned as it felt the pressure from above, moved an inch or two, and
stood upright. Then Thirlwell dropped his ax and staggered back. He felt
limp and exhausted, and wanted