They began to appreciate the fact that a thorough exploration of the mine could not be made in a short time by two worn-out men.  Billy blamed himself for not having thought sooner to send for other and fresher help.

“Ye mus’ go now, Mike,” he said.  “Mayhap it’d take days wi’ us twa here alone, an’ the lad’s been a-wanderin’ aroun’ so.”

But Conway demurred.

“You’re the one to go,” he said.  “You can’t stan’ it in here much longer, an’ I can.  You’re here at the risk o’ your life.  Go on out with ye an’ get a bit o’ the fresh air.  I’ll stay and hunt for the boy till the new men comes.”

But Bachelor Billy was in earnest.

“I canna do it,” he said.  “I would na get farther fra the lad for warlds, an’ him lost an’ a-dyin’ mayhap.  I’ll stan’ it.  Never ye fear for me!  Go on, Mike, go on quick!”

Conway turned reluctantly to go.

“Hold out for an hour,” he shouted back, “an’ we’ll be with ye!”

Before the sound of his footsteps had died away, Billy had picked up his lamp again and started down on the easterly side of the fall, making little side excursions as he went, hunting for foot-prints on the floor of the mine.

When he came to the heading, he turned to go back to the face of the fall.  It was but a few steps.  There was a little stream of water running down one side of the passage and he lay down by it to drink.  Half hidden in the stream he espied a miner’s lamp.  He reached for it in sudden surprise.  He saw that it had been lately in use.  He started to his feet and moved up closer to the fall, looking into the dark places under the rock.  His foot struck something; it was the oil-can.  He picked it up and examined it.  There was blood on it; and both can and lamp were empty.  He looked up at the face of the fall and then the truth came slowly into his mind.  The boy had attempted to climb through that wilderness of rock, had reached the precipice, had fallen to the floor, had spilled his oil, and had wandered off into the dreadful darkness, hurt and helpless.

“Oh, the puir lad!” he said, aloud.  “Oh, the puir dear lad!  He canna be far fra here,” he continued, “not far.  Ralph!  Ralph!”

He waited a moment in silence, but there was no answer.  Then, hastily examining the passage as he went, he hurried down along the heading.

At one place he found a burned match.  The boy had gone this way, then.  He hastened on.  He came to a point where two headings met, and stopped in indecision.  Which route had Ralph taken?  He decided to try the one that led to the slope.  He went in that way, but he had not gone ten rods before he came upon a little heap of charred rags in the middle of the passage.  He could not understand it at first; but he was not long in discovering what it meant.  Ralph had burned his jacket to light up the path.

“Ah! the sufferin’ child!” he murmured; “the dear sufferin’ child!”