to get away. The beam would hold the roof
for some minutes and might do so for a time.

"You can let up now, Driscoll," Scott called out when they stopped a few
yards off. "We'll see if the prop will stand before we do anything
else."

"Guess I'll fix the other," Driscoll replied.

"Come out," Scott insisted. "You don't know if it's safe."

Driscoll glanced round for a moment. His hat had fallen off and the
miner's lamp flared and smoked in the water at his feet. His hair was
wet with the drops from the roof, and a thin streak of blood ran down
his face from a cut a falling stone had made. But his heavy eyes had a
fixed, obstinate look.

"You hired me to mind the timbers; it's my job."

Scott acquiesced with a gesture and he and Thirlwell watched. There was
a risk that in wedging the extra prop the man might loosen the first;
and then, if neither was able to bear the load, the rock above would
fall and bury him. For all that, Driscoll looked undisturbed and did not
stop until he had carefully driven the timber into its proper place.
Then he turned to Scott and his glance was slow and dull.

"I want you to send two of the boys along."

"Why do you want them?"

"I've got to have some help. She won't hold up long unless we run
another beam across."

"It would be prudent," Thirlwell agreed, and went down the gallery with
Scott to the working face.

"What do you think of Black Steve?" Scott asked when they had sent the
men and stood near a lamp. "He wasn't scared just now!"

"I'm puzzled," said Thirlwell thoughtfully. "The fellow was quite cool.
If he hadn't come with the prop, I expect the roof would have buried
us. But that's another thing. Why did he come?"

Scott smiled. "We were plainly in some danger, but I don't imagine Black
Steve was moved by a generous impulse to save our lives. In fact, if it
had promised him some advantage, I rather think he'd have seen us
buried."

"You don't claim it was a sense of duty?"

"Not in a way; Steve's too primitive. On the whole, I think he explained
the thing best when he said it was his job. A fellow of his kind doesn't
reason like you; perhaps he did once, but lost the habit in the bush.
He's, so to speak, atavistic; moved by instincts, like the Indians and
animals."

"But I don't see--"

"Perhaps it isn't very obvious," Scott admitted. "For all that, the
Indian's instinctive obstinacy carries him far. Steve had undertaken to
look after our timbering, he's u