Then the shovels set to work and tossed the coal which the shots had dislodged back into the roadway and soon the boring machines were busy again, eating into the coal; for those tireless arms of Robert’s never halted.  He swung the handle or wielded the pick or shovel, never taking a, rest, while the sweat streamed from his body working like some mechanical product for always in his mind he was calculating his chances for being able to blast it through the barrier before the moss rose.

“It has only a stoop length an’ a half to rise now,” reported one of the men.  “It’s creeping up like the doom o’ the day o’ judgment.  But I think we’ll manage.  If these shots do as well as the last ones we should be within two feet of them, an’ surely to God we can bite the rest of it, if we canna blaw it.  Let me stem the shots, Rob, an’ you take a rest.”

“You go to hell,” was the unexpectedly astounding reply; for no one had ever heard Robert Sinclair use language like this before.  “As soon as thae shots are off an’ if they blaw as well as the others we’ll turn out the coal an’ then you can gang up the pit, every yin o’ you.  I’ll soon blow through the rest of it, and if you are all up by then it will make for speed in getting the others out.  We’re going to have a race for it even though we manage as I’m thinking to.  So get out of the way and don’t talk.  Again the air’s getting too dam’d thick for you all remaining here.  There’s hardly as muckle as would keep a canary living,” and again he called to those on the other side to beware of the shots, and again ran out to a place of safety while the explosions took place.

Once more the result of the shots was good; but the smoke choked and blinded them and one man was overcome by the fumes.  They carried him out the road a bit and after he showed signs of coming round, Robert gave instructions for him to be taken to the surface.

“Oh, Lod, but it’s nippin’ my e’en,” said one as he rubbed his eyes and blew his nose, sneezed and finally expectorated.  “It’s as thick as soor milk, be dam’d!”

“Well, get him up, and I’ll away back and redd out the shots and try and get it through again.  The moss is rising quicker noo an’ it has only aboot eighty feet to come.”

So back he went among the thick choking volume of smoke, tripping and stumbling and staggering from side to side as he scrambled on.  Would he be in time to blast the barrier down before the steadily creeping moss rose to cut off his only avenue of escape?

“My God!  What’s that?” he asked himself as he paused while a rumble and crash behind him told him that the old shaft had caved in burying his comrades in rocks and moss and water.