By the time the two men had reached the foot of Conway’s chamber, they were nearly prostrated by the foul air they had been compelled to breathe.  Both were still feeble from recent illnesses and were without the power to resist successfully the effects of the poisoned atmosphere.  They made their way up the chamber in silence, their limbs unsteady, their heads swimming, their hearts beating violently.  At the breast Conway clambered up over the body of the mule and thrust his lighted lamp against the walled-up aperture.

“He’s gone through here!” he cried.  “He’s opened up the hole an’ gone through.”

The next moment he was tearing away the blocks of slate and coal with both hands.  But his fingers were stiff and numb, and the work progressed too slowly.  Then he braced himself against the body of the mule, pushed with his feet against Ralph’s rude wall, and the next moment it fell back into the old mine.  He brushed away the bottom stones and called to his companion.

“Come!” he said, “the way’s clear an’ we’ll find better air in there.”

But Bachelor Billy did not respond.  He had fallen against the lower face of coal, unconscious.  Conway saw that he must do quick work.

He reached over, grasped the man by his shoulders, and with superhuman effort drew him up to the shelf and across the body of the mule.  Then, creeping into the opening, he pulled the helpless man through with him into the old mine, and dragged him up the chamber out of reach of the poisoned current.  He loosened his collar and chafed his wrists and the better air in there did the rest.

Bachelor Billy soon returned to consciousness, and learned where he was.

“That was fulish in me,” he said, “to weaken like that; but I’m no’ used to that white damp.  Gi’ me a minute to catch ma breath an’ I’ll go wi’ ye.”

Conway went down and walled up the opening again.  When he came back Bachelor Billy was on his feet, walking slowly down the chamber, throwing the light of his lamp into the entrances on the way.

“Did he go far fra the openin,’ thenk ye?” he asked.  “Would he no’ most like stay near whaur he cam’ through?”

Then he tried to lift up his voice and call to the boy; but he was too weak, he could hardly have been heard across the chamber.

“Call ‘im yoursel’, Mike,” he said; “I ha’ no power i’ my throat, some way.”

Conway called, loudly and repeatedly.  There was no answer; the echoes came rattling back to their ears, and that was all that they heard.

“Mayhap he’s gone to the headin’,” said Billy, “an” tried to get oot by the auld slope.”

“That’s just what he’s done,” replied Conway, earnestly; “I told ’im where the old openin’ was; he’s tried to get to it.”

“Then we’ll find ‘im atween here an’ there.”

The two men had been moving slowly down the chamber.  When they came to the foot of it, they turned into the air-way, and from that they went through the entrance into the heading.  At this place the dirt on the floor was soft and damp, and they saw in it the print of a boy’s shoe.