"Well, what was he doing?"

"Oh, I don't know, unless he was chipping the stones to try whether a vein of tin runs up there."

"Well, it may," said Gwyn, thoughtfully. "Why shouldn't it?"

"I don't know why it shouldn't, but it isn't likely."

"Why not, when the mine runs right under there."

"What? Nonsense!"

"It does. I was down that part with Sam Hardock one day when the wind was blowing hard, and Sam could hear the waves beat and the big boulders rumble tumbling after as they fell back."

"How horrid!" said Joe, looking at his companion with his face drawn in accord with his words. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Forgot all about it afterwards; never remembered it once till you began to talk like this."

"But how strange!" said Joe.

"Oh, I don't see why it should be strange. The old folks found a rich vein, and when they did they followed it up wherever it went; and that's, of course, why it's such a rambling old place. But that's what old Dina.s.s is after. He thinks that if he can find a new vein, he'll get a reward."

"What a game if he finds one running out through the rocks!"

"I don't see how it's going to be a game."

"Don't you? Why, to find that he has discovered what already belongs to us; for of course the foresh.o.r.e's ours, and even if it wasn't he couldn't go digging down there for ore."

"Why?"

"Because, for one thing, the waves wouldn't let him; and for another, we shouldn't allow him to dig a hole down into our mine. There, come on, and let's take them some fish; and I want to get on my dry clothes.

What are you thinking about?"

"Eh?"

"I said what are you thinking about?"

"Tom Dina.s.s."

"Not a very pleasant subject either. I get to like him less and less, and it's my opinion that if he gets half a chance he'll be doing something."

"Hallo!"

"Oh, here you are, Master Gwyn."

"Yes; what's the matter, Sam?"

"You'll know quite soon enough, sir. Come on up to the mine. Harry Vores has just gone back there. It was him brought me the news."

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

GRIP'S BAD LUCK.

"Why don't you speak?" cried Gwyn, angrily. "Has there been an accident? Surely father hasn't gone down!"

"Oh, the Colonel's all right, sir," said Hardock, genially. "The gov'nor hasn't gone and lost himself."

"But there has been an accident, Sam," cried Joe.

"Nor the Major aren't gone down neither, sir," said the man. "Here, let me carry that fish basket. Didn't remember me with a couple o' mullet, did you?"

"Yes, two of those are for you, Sam; but do speak out? What is wrong?"

"Something as you won't like, sir. Your dog Grip's gone down the mine."

"What for? Thinks we're there? Well, that's nothing; he'll soon find his way up. Why did they let him go down?"

"Couldn't help it, sir," said the man, slowly.

"What--he would go? I did miss him, Joe, when I went home. I remember now, we didn't see him after we went to the mine. He must have missed us, and then thought we had gone down."

"Sets one thinking of being lost and his coming after us," said Joe, slowly. "Well, he can't lose his way."

"But how do you know he went down, Sam?" asked Gwyn, as they approached the mine.

"Harry Vores heerd him."

"What, barking?"

"'Owlin'."

"Oh, at the bottom of the shaft. Dull because no one was down. Then why did you suggest that there was an accident? You gave me quite a turn."

"'Cause there was an accident, sir," said Hardock, quietly; and he led the way into the great shed over the pit mouth, where all was very still.

Gwyn saw at a glance that something serious had happened to the dog, which was lying on a roughly-made bed composed of a miner's flannel coat placed on the floor, beside which Harry Vores was kneeling; and as soon as the dog heard steps he raised his head, turned his eyes pitifully upon his master, and uttered a doleful howl.

"Why, Grip, old chap, what have you been doing?" cried Gwyn, excitedly.

"Don't torment him, sir," said Vores; "he's badly hurt."

"Where? Oh, Grip! Grip!" cried Gwyn, as he laid his hand on the dog's head, while the poor beast whined dolefully, and made an effort to lick the hand that caressed him, as he gazed up at his master as if asking for sympathy and help.

"Both his fore-legs are broken, sir, and I'm afraid he's got nipped across the loins as well."

"Nay, nay, nay, Harry," growled Hardock; "not him. If he had been he wouldn't have yowled till you heerd him."