It proved a decidedly crooked passage, the top uneven in height, clearly indicating numerous faults in the vein, although none of these were sufficiently serious to necessitate the solution of any difficult mining problem.  In spite of the turns the general direction could be ascertained easily.  The walls were apparently of some soft stone, somewhat disintegrated by the introduction of air, and the engineer quickly comprehended that pick and lever alone had been required to dislodge the interlying vein of ore.  At the extreme end of this tunnel the pile of broken rock lying scattered about clearly proclaimed recent labor, although no discarded mining tools were visible.  Winston examined the exposed ore-vein, now clearly revealed by Burke’s flickering lamp, and dropped a few detached specimens into his pocket.  Then he sat down on an outcropping stone, the revolver still gleaming within his fingers, and ordered the sullen foreman to a similar seat opposite.  The yellow rays of the light sparkled brilliantly from off the outcropping mass, and flung its radiance across the faces of the two men.  For a moment the silence was so intense they could hear water drip somewhere afar off.

“Burke,” asked the engineer suddenly, “how long have you fellows been in here?”

The uneasy Irishman shifted his quid, apparently considering whether to speak the truth or take the chances of a lie.  Something within Winston’s face must have decided him against the suggested falsehood.

“Well, sorr, Oi ‘ve only been boss over this gang for a matter o’ three months,” he said slowly, “an’ they was well into this vein be then.”

“How deep are we down?”

“Between sixty an’ siventy fate, countin’ it at the shaft.”

“And this tunnel—­how long do you make it?”

“Wan hundred an’ forty-six fate, from the rock yonder.”

Winston’s gray eyes, grave with thought, were upon the man’s face, but the other kept his own concealed, lowered to the rock floor.

“Who laid out this work, do you know?  Who did the engineering?”

“Oi think ut was the ould man hisself.  Annyhow, that ’s how thim Swades tell ut.”

Winston drew a deep breath.

“Well, he knew his business, all right; it’s a neat job,” he admitted, a sudden note of admiration in his voice.  His glance wandered toward the dull sparkle of the exposed ore.  “I suppose you know who all this rightly belongs to, don ’t you, Burke?”

The foreman spat reflectively into the dark, a grim smile bristling his red moustache.

“Well, sorr, Oi ’m not mooch given up to thinkin’,” he replied calmly.  “If it’s them ide’s yer afther, maybe it wud be Farnham ye’d betther interview, sure, an he ’s the lad whut ‘tinds to that end o’ it for this outfit.  Oi ‘m jist bossin’ me gang durin’ workin’ hours, an’ slapin’ the rist o’ the toime in the bunk-house.  Oi ’m dommed if Oi care who owns the rock.”