“How did it happen?” he said to the mine boss as he stepped from his wagon.  “Where was it?”

“Up in the north tier, sir.  We don’t know how it happened.  Some one must ‘a’ gone in below, where the fire-damp was, with a naked lamp, an’ touched it off; an’ then, most like, it run along the roof to the chambers where the men was a-workin’.  I can’t account for it in no other way.”

“Has any one come out from there?”

“Yes, Billy Williams.  He was a-comin’ out when it went off.  We found him up in the headin’, senseless.  He ain’t come to yet.”

“And the others?”

“We’ve tried to git to ’em, sir, but the after-damp is awful, an’ we couldn’t stan’ it; we had to come out.”

“How many men are up there?”

“Five, as we count ’em; the rest are all out.”

The carriage came up the shaft, and a half-dozen miners, with dull eyes and drawn faces, staggered from it, out into the sunlight.  It was a rescuing party, just come from a vain attempt to save their unfortunate comrades.  They were almost choked to death themselves, with the foul air of the mine.  One of them recovered sufficiently to speak.

“We got a’most there,” he gasped; “we could hear ’em a-groanin’; but the after-damp got—­so bad—­we—­” He reeled and fell, speechless and exhausted.

The crowd had surged up, trying to hear what the man was saying.  People were getting dangerously near to the mouth of the shaft.  Women whose husbands were below were wringing their hands and crying out desperately that some one should go down to the rescue.

“Stand back, my friends,” said Burnham, facing the people, “stand back and give these men air, and leave us room to work.  We shall do all in our power to help those who are below.  If they can be saved, we shall save them.  Trust us and give us opportunity to do it.  Now, men, who will go down?  I feel that we shall get to them this time and bring them out.  Who volunteers?”

A dozen miners stepped forward from the crowd; sturdy, strong-limbed men, with courage stamped on their dust-soiled faces, and heroic resolution gleaming from their eyes.

“Good! we want but eight.  Take the aprons of the women; give us the safety-lamps, the oil, the brandy; there, ready; slack off!”

Burnham had stepped on to the carriage with the men who were going down.  One of them cried out to him:—­

“Don’t ye go, sir! don’t ye go! it’ll be worth the life o’ ye!”

“I’ll not ask men to go where I dare not go myself,” he said; “slack off!”

For an instant the carriage trembled in the slight rise that preceded its descent, and in that instant a boy, a young slender boy, pushed his way through the encircling crowd, leaped in among the men of the rescuing party, and with them went speeding down into the blackness.

It was Ralph.  After the first moment of surprise his employer recognized him.