hoisted to the surface and emptied of their spoil.  Once—­it must have been after three o’clock—­other men seemed suddenly to mingle among those perspiring surface workers and the unmistakable neigh of a horse came faintly from out the blackness of a distant thicket.  The two lying in the chaparral rose to their knees, bending anxiously forward.  Brown drew back the hammer of his rifle, while Hicks swore savagely under his breath.  But those new figures vanished in some mysterious way before either could decide who they might be—­into the shaft-house, or else beyond, where denser shadows intervened.  The two watchers sank back again into their cover, silently waiting, ever wondering what was happening beyond their ken, down below in the heart of the hill.

Some of this even Winston never knew, although he was a portion of it.  He had gone down with the descending cage, standing silent among the grimy workmen crowding it, and quickly discerning from their speech that they were largely Swedes and Poles, of a class inclined to ask few questions, provided their wages were promptly paid.  There was a deserted gallery opening from the shaft-hole some forty feet below the surface; he saw the glimmer of light reflected along its wall as they passed, but the cage dropped to a considerably lower level before it stopped, and the men stepped forth into the black entry.  Winston went with them, keeping carefully away from the fellow he supposed to be foreman of the gang, and hanging back, under pretence of having difficulty in lighting his lamp, until the others had preceded him some distance along the echoing gallery.  The yellow flaring of their lights through the intense darkness proved both guidance and warning, so he moved cautiously forward, counting his steps, his hand feeling the trend of the side wall, his lamp unlit.  The floor was rough and uneven, but dry, the tunnel apparently having been blasted through solid rock, for no props supporting the roof were discernible.  For quite an extended distance this entry ran straight away from the foot of the shaft—­directly south he made it—­into the heart of the mountain; then those twinkling lights far in advance suddenly winked out, and Winston groped blindly forward until he discovered a sharp turn in the tunnel.

He lingered for a moment behind the protection of that angle of rock wall, struck a safety match, and held the tiny flame down close against the face of his pocket compass.  Exactly; this new advance extended southeast by east.  He snuffed out the glowing splinter between his fingers, crossed over to the opposite side, and watchfully rounded the corner to where he could again perceive the twinkling lights ahead.  His foot met some obstacle along the floor, and he bent down, feeling for it with his fingers in the dark; it proved to be a rude scrap-iron rail, evidence that they carried out their ore by means of mules and a tram-car.  A few yards farther this new tunnel began to ascend slightly, and he again mysteriously lost his view of the miners’ lamps, and was compelled to grope his way more slowly, yet ever carefully counting his steps.  The roof sank with the advance until it became so low he was compelled to stoop.  The sound of picks smiting the rock was borne to him, made faint by distance, but constantly growing clearer.  There he came to another curve in the tunnel.