you 'ear anything more?"

Fairchild obeyed, shaking his head in a negative to Harry's question,
then squeezed into the fissure, edging along beside Anita, while Harry
followed.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously.

"Harry heard some sort of noise from above, as if the earth was
crumbling. He 's afraid the whole mine 's going to cave in again."

"But if it does?"

"We can get out this way--somehow. This connects up with a
spring-hole; it leads out by Crazy Laura's house."

"Ugh!" Anita shivered. "She gives me the creeps!"

"And every one else; what's doing, Harry?"

"Nothing. That's the funny part of it!"

The big Cornishman had crept to the edge of the fissure and had stared
for a moment toward the cross-cut leading to the stope. "If it was
coming, it ought to 'ave showed up by now. I 'm going back. You stay
'ere."

"But--"

"Stay 'ere, I said. And," he grinned in the darkness, "don't let 'im
'old your 'and, Miss Richmond."

"Oh, you go on!" But she laughed. And Harry laughed with her.

"I know 'im. 'E 's got a wye about 'im."

"That's what you said about Miss Richmond once!"

"Have you two been talking about me?"

"Often." Then there was silence--for Harry had left the fissure to go
into the stope and make an investigation. A long moment and he was
back, almost creeping, and whispering as he reached the end of the
fissure.

"Come 'ere--both of you! Come 'ere!"

"What is it?"

"Sh-h-h-h-h-h. Don't talk too loud. We 've been blessed with luck
already. Come 'ere."

He led the way, the man and woman following him. In the stope the
Cornishman crawled carefully to the staging, and standing on tiptoes,
pressed his ear against the vein above him. Then he withdrew and
nodded sagely.

"That's what it is!" came his announcement at last. "You can 'ear it!"

"But what?"

"Get up there and lay your ear against that vein. See if you 'ear
anything. And be quiet about it. I 'm scared to make a move, for fear
somebody 'll 'ear me."

Fairchild obeyed. From far away, carried by the telegraphy of the
earth--and there are few conductors that are better--was the steady
pound, pound, pound of shock after shock as it traveled along the
hanging wall. Now and then a rumble intervened, as of falling rock,
and scrambling sounds, like a heavy wagon passing over a bridge.

Fairchild turned, wondering, then reached for Anita.

"You listen," he ordered, as he lifted her to where she could h