They moved slowly forward along the deserted tunnel, not unlike two convicts in lock-step.  Burke sullenly growling, a burly, shapeless figure under the light in his hat; Winston alert, silent, watchful for treachery, the glimmer of the lamp full on his stern face.  Their shadows glided, ever changing in conformation, along the walls, their footfalls resounding hollow from the echoing passage.  There were no words wasted in either command or explanation.  Without doubt, the foreman understood fairly well the purpose of this unknown invader; but he realized, also, that the man had never lightly assumed such risk of discovery, and he had lived long enough among desperate men to comprehend all that a loaded gun meant when the eye behind was hard and cool.  The persuasive eloquence of “the drop” was amply sufficient to enforce obedience.  Farnham be hanged!  He felt slight inclination at that moment to die for the sake of Farnham.  Winston, accustomed to gauging men, easily comprehended this mental attitude of his prisoner, his eyes smiling in appreciation of the other’s promptness, although his glance never once wavered, his guarding hand never fell.  Burke was safe enough now, yet he was not to be trifled with, not to be trusted for an instant, in the playing out of so desperate a game.  At the angle the two halted, while the engineer cautiously reconnoitred the dimly revealed regions in front.  He could perceive but little evidence of life, excepting the faint radiance of constantly moving lights down Number One tunnel.  Burke stood sullenly silent, venturing upon no movement except under command.

“Anybody down that other entry?”

The foreman shook his head, without glancing around, his jaws moving steadily on the tobacco that swelled his cheek.

“Then lead on down it.”

Winston stretched forth his unused left hand as they proceeded, his fingers gliding along the wall, his observant eyes wandering slightly from off the broad back of his prisoner toward the sides and roof of the tunnel.  To his experience it was at once plainly evident this preliminary cutting had been made through solid rock, not in the following of any seam, but crossways.  Here alone was disclosed evidence in plenty of deliberate purpose, of skilfully planned depredation.  He halted Burke, with one hand gripping his shoulder.

“Are you people following an ore-lead back yonder?” he asked sharply.

The Irishman squirmed, glancing back at his questioner.  He saw nothing in that face to yield any encouragement to deceit.

“Sure,” he returned gruffly, “we’re follyin’ it all down that Number Wan.”

“What ’s the nature of the ore body?”

“A bit low grade, wid a thrifle of copper, an’ the vein is n’t overly tick.”

“How far have you had to cut across here before striking color?”

“‘Bout thirty fate o’ rock work.”

“Hike on, you thief,” commanded the engineer, his jaw setting threateningly.