with
determination. "I 've got a quarter of a million in this myself!"

They went on, fifty yards, a hundred. Creeping now, they already were
within the zone of light, but before them the two men, double-jacking
at a "swimmer", had their backs turned. Onward--until Harry and
Fairchild were within ten feet of the "high-jackers", while Anita
waited, stone in hand, in the background. Came a yell, high-pitched,
fiendish, racking, as Harry leaped forward. And before the two
"high-jackers" could concentrate enough to use their sledge and drill
as weapons, they were whirled about, battered against the hanging wall,
and swirling in a daze of blows which seemed to come from everywhere at
once. Wildly Harry yelled as he shot blow after blow into the face of
an ancient enemy. High went Fairchild's voice as he knocked Blindeye
Bozeman staggering for the third time against the hanging wall, only to
see him rise and to knock him down once more. And from the edge of the
zone of light came a feminine voice, almost hysterical with the
excitement of it all, the voice of a girl who, in her tensity, had
dropped the piece of stone she had carried, to stand there, hands
clenched, figure doubled forward, eyes blazing, and crying:

"Hit him again! Hit him again! Hit him again--for me!"

And Fairchild hit, with the force of a sledge hammer. Dizzily the
sandy-haired man swung about in his tracks, sagged, then fell,
unconscious. Fairchild leaped upon him, calling at the same time to
the girl:

"Find me a rope! I 'll truss his hands while he 's knocked out!"

Anita leaped into action, to kneel at Fairchild's side a moment later
with a hempen strand, as he tied the man's hands behind his back.
There was no need to worry about Harry. The yells which were coming
from farther along the stope, the crackling blows, all told that Harry
was getting along exceedingly well. Glancing out of a corner of his
eye, Fairchild saw now that the big Cornishman had Taylor Bill flat on
his back and was putting on the finishing touches. And then suddenly
the exultant yells changed to ones of command.

"Talk English! Talk English, you bloody blighter! 'Ear me, talk
English!"

"What's he mean?" Anita bent close to Fairchild.

"I don't know--I don't think Taylor Bill can talk anything else. Put
your finger on this knot while I tighten it. Thanks."

Again the command had come from farther on:

"Talk English! 'Ear me--I'll knock the bloody '