Bachelor Billy heard the story calmly, asked about the means being taken for the boy's rescue, and then sat for a few moments in quiet thought.

Finally he said: "Andy, gi' me ma clothes."

Andy did not dare to disobey him. He gave his clothes to him, and helped him to dress.

The man was so sick and dizzy still that he could hardly stand. He crossed the room, took his cap from its hook and put it on his head.

"An' where do yez be goin' to I donno?" inquired Andy, anxiously.

"I'm a-goin' to the breaker," replied Bachelor Billy.

"Ah, man! but ye're foolish. Ye'll be losin' your own life, I warrant, an' ye'll be doin' no good to the boy."

But Billy had already started from the door.

"I might be able to do a bit toward savin' 'im," he said. "An' if he's beyon' that, as mos' like he is, I s'ould want to get the lad's body an' care for it mysel'. I kenned 'im best."

The two men were walking up through the narrow street of the village.

"I hear now that it's Mrs. Burnham's son he is," said Andy. "Lawyer Goodlaw came yesterday wid the news."

Billy did not seem surprised.

He trudged on, saying simply:--

"Then he's worthy of his mither, the lad is, an' of his father. I'm thankfu' that he's got some one at last, besides his Uncle Billy, happen it's only to bury 'im."

The fresh, cool air seemed to have revived and strengthened the invalid, and he went on at a more rapid pace. But he was weak enough still. He wavered from side to side as he walked, and his face was very pale.

When the two men reached the site of the burned breaker, they went directly to the opening to learn the latest news concerning the search. There was not much, however, for them to hear. The shaft was entirely cleaned out and men had been down into the mine, but they had not been able to get far from the foot, the air was so very bad.

A rough part.i.tion was being built now, down the entire depth of the opening, a cover had been erected over the mouth of the shaft, and a fan had been put up temporarily, to drive fresh air into the mine and create an atmosphere there that would support life.

It was not long after the arrival of the two men before another party of miners stepped into the bucket to be lowered into the mine.

Bachelor Billy asked to be allowed to go with them, but his request was denied. They feared that, in his present condition, the foul air below would be fatal to him.

The party could not go far from the foot of the shaft, no farther, indeed, than the inside plane. But they found nothing, no sign whatever of the missing boy.

Others went down afterward, and pushed the exploration farther, and still others. It seemed probable that the lad, driven back by the smoke and gas, had taken refuge in some remote portion of the mine; and the portion that he would be apt to choose, they thought, would be the portion with which he had been most familiar. They therefore extended the search mainly in that direction.

But it was night before they reached those chambers which Ralph had been accustomed to serve with cars. They looked them over thoroughly; every entrance and every corner was scrutinized, but no trace of the imprisoned boy could be found.

Bachelor Billy had not left the place. He had been the first to hear the report of each returning squad, but his hope for the lad's safety had disappeared long before the sun went down. When night came on he went up on the bank and sat under the tree on the bench; the same bench on which he had sat that day in May to listen to the story of Ralph's temptation. His only anxiety now was that the child's body should be brought speedily from the foul air, so that the face might be kept as fair as possible for the mother's sake.

Conway, who had gone down into the mine with the first searching party, had been overcome by the foul air, and had been brought out insensible and taken to his home. But he had recovered, and was now back again at the shaft. It seemed to him, he said, as though he was compelled to return; as though there was something to be done here that only he could do. He was sitting on the bench now with Bachelor Billy, and they were discussing the lad's heroic sacrifice, and wondering to what part of the mine he could have gone that the search of half a day should fail to disclose his whereabouts.

A man who had just come out from the shaft, exhausted, was a.s.sisted up the bank by two companions, and laid down on the gra.s.s near the bench, in the moonlight, to breathe the fresh air that was stirring there.

After a little, he revived, and began to tell of the search.

"It's very strange," he said, "where the lad could have gone. We thought to find him in the north tier, and we went up one chamber and down the next, and looked into every entrance, but never a track of him could we get."

He turned to Conway, who was standing by, and continued:--

"Up at the face o' your chamber we found a dead mule with his collar on. The poor creature had gone there, no doubt, to find good air. He'd climbed up on the very shelf o' coal at the breast to get the farthest he could. Did ye ever hear the like?"

But Conway did not answer. A vague solution of the mystery of Ralph's disappearance was dawning on him. He turned suddenly to the man, and asked:--

"Did ye see the hole in the face when ye were there; a hole the size o' your head walled up with stone-coal?"

"I took no note o' such a thing. What for had ye such a hole there, an' where to?"

"Into the old mine," said Conway, earnestly, "into old No. 1. The boy saw it yisterday. I told 'im where it wint. He's broke it in, and crawled through, he has, I'll bet he has. Come on; we'll find 'im yet!" and he started rapidly down the hill toward the mouth of the shaft.

Bachelor Billy rose from the bench and stumbled slowly after him; while the man who had told them about the mule lifted himself to his elbows, and looked down on them in astonishment.

He could not quite understand what Conway meant.

The superintendent of the mine had gone. The foreman in charge of the windla.s.s and fan stood leaning against a post, with the light of a torch flaring across his swarthy face.

"Let me down!" cried Conway, hastening to the opening. "I know where the boy is; I can find 'im."

The man smiled. "It's against orders," he responded. "Wait till Martin comes back an' the next gang goes in; then ye can go."

"But I say I know where the boy is. I can find 'im in half an hour.

Five minutes delay might cost 'im his life."--

The man looked at Conway in doubt and wonder; he was hesitating between obedience and inclination.

Then Bachelor Billy spoke up, "Why, mon!" he exclaimed, "what's orders when a life's at stake? We _mus'_ go doon, I tell ye! An ye hold us back ye'll be guilty o' the lad's daith!"

His voice had a ring of earnestness in it that the man could not resist. He moved to the windla.s.s and told his helpers to lower the bucket. Conway entreated Bachelor Billy not to go down, and the foreman joined in the protest. They might as well have talked to the stars.

"Why, men!" said Billy, "tha's a chance as how the lad's alive. An that be so no ither body can do for 'im like me w'en he's foond. I wull go doon, I tell ye; I _mus'_ go doon!"

He stepped carefully into the bucket, Conway leaped in after him, and they were lowered away.

At the bottom of the shaft they found no one but the footman, whose duty it was to remain steadily at his post. He listened somewhat incredulously to their hasty explanations, he gave to them another lighted lamp, and wished them good-luck as they started away into the heading.

In spite of his determination and self-will, Bachelor Billy's strength gave out before they had reached the head of the plane, and he was obliged to stop and rest. Indeed, he was compelled often to do this during the remainder of the journey, but he would not listen to any suggestion that he should turn back. The air was still very impure, although they could at times feel the fresh current from the shaft at their backs.

They met no one. The searching parties were all south of the shaft now, this part of the mine having been thoroughly examined.

By the time the two men had reached the foot of Conway's chamber, they were nearly prostrated by the foul air they had been compelled to breathe. Both were still feeble from recent illnesses and were without the power to resist successfully the effects of the poisoned atmosphere. They made their way up the chamber in silence, their limbs unsteady, their heads swimming, their hearts beating violently. At the breast Conway clambered up over the body of the mule and thrust his lighted lamp against the walled-up aperture.

"He's gone through here!" he cried. "He's opened up the hole an' gone through."

The next moment he was tearing away the blocks of slate and coal with both hands. But his fingers were stiff and numb, and the work progressed too slowly. Then he braced himself against the body of the mule, pushed with his feet against Ralph's rude wall, and the next moment it fell back into the old mine. He brushed away the bottom stones and called to his companion.