For the taut rope was being jerked violently by the struggles of the weight at the end of it.  Both men with grunts and sighs hauled it in foot by foot.

“All right, sir,” cried George, cheerfully.

He had one foot against the well, and was pulling manfully; the burden was nearing the top.  A long pull and a strong pull, and the face of a dead man with mud in the eyes and nostrils came peering over the edge.  Behind it was the ghastly face of his master; but this he saw too late, for with a great cry he let go his hold of the rope and stepped back.  The suddenness overthrew his assistant, and the rope tore through his hands.  There was a frightful splash.

“You fool!” stammered Bob, and ran to the well helplessly.

“Run!” cried George.  “Run for another line.”

He bent over the coping and called eagerly down as his assistant sped back to the stables shouting wildly.  His voice re-echoed down the shaft, but all else was silence.