“We’ll put this up and then I think I’ll get a fresh beam across.”

Scott helped him to raise the timber.  It was a few inches too long, and crossed the space between floor and roof with a small slant, but it was meant to do so, in order that when its lower end was driven forward until it stood upright it would wedge fast the beam above.  Then Thirlwell brought an ax and struck the prop some heavy blows with its back while Scott steadied the top.  It was almost in place, and the bent timber was getting loose, when the top slipped and shook the beam.  There was an ominous crack and a few small stones broke away and fell on Scott’s head.

“I’ve got her butted solid now,” he shouted after a short breathless struggle with the timber.  “Be quick!  The roof’s coming down!”

Thirlwell saw the danger.  So long as the prop slanted, it would not support the beam, and if the beam gave way, the roof would fall and crush them before they could get from underneath.  He thought he had a few moments to hammer the prop straight, and swung the ax savagely while the sweat ran down his face.  He dared not look up again, but the ominous cracking went on and while he wondered what was happening, Driscoll ran past.  A big stone fell beside the man as he seized another prop and with a tense effort jambed it under the beam.

“I’ll take some weight off her while you shore her up,” Driscoll gasped.

He had brought a heavy mallet, but before he used this he dragged the foot of the timber round, bending his body forward while his arms got stiff and hard, as if carved from wood.  His sullen face was darkly flushed and the swollen veins stood out from his forehead.  Thirlwell saw him for a moment as he lifted his ax, and remembering the scene afterwards, thought the fellow had looked a model of savage strength.  It was obvious that he had no fear.

In the meantime, he was vaguely conscious that Driscoll had saved his life.  He and Scott had stayed too long, and could not have fixed their prop before the beam gave way had not the other come to help.  For that matter, they were not out of danger yet.  Unless they could wedge the timber in the next few moments, the roof would come down.  There was not room to swing the ax properly, his body was cramped from bending, and he could not lift his head.  Stooping in the low tunnel, he nerved himself for a tense effort and struck several furious blows.  The prop quivered, groaned as it felt the pressure from above, moved an inch or two, and stood upright.  Then Thirlwell dropped his ax and staggered back.  He felt limp and exhausted, and wanted to get away.  The beam would hold the roof for some minutes and might do so for a time.

“You can let up now, Driscoll,” Scott called out when they stopped a few yards off.  “We’ll see if the prop will stand before we do anything else.”

“Guess I’ll fix the other,” Driscoll replied.

“Come out,” Scott insisted.  “You don’t know if it’s safe.”