e men grew fainter. Strength and even the
power of movement was rapidly succumbing to the noxious vapor.

Joe was the first to give up, and as the pick fell from his nerveless
hands he said faintly:

"It's all over, lads. We might as well pull the timber from Fred, and
die at the same moment."

"Don't weaken, mate," Bill said, imploringly. "Who knows but we're
within a few inches of the other drift."

"Even if that's true, the chances are we'll be stifled by the gas."

"The alarm may be given in time to save us from the entrance."

"Sam can't have come back yet, an' before any one knows what has
happened we shall be dead."

Joe had lost all courage and the apathy of despair was upon him. His
words robbed Fred of the last hope, and as it fled consciousness
deserted him.

Bill delivered a few more feeble blows with the pick, and then he in
turn sank to the ground.

The hand of death was very nearly upon them, and the agonies of
dissolution already passed.

Within a few feet of where the unconscious men lay, willing hands were
working at the obstruction. No more than three could labor at once, but
these were relieved every two minutes, in order that their energy might
not be impaired by weariness, and meanwhile others shoveled the slate
and earth into cars, that the drift might be kept clear.

Mr. Wright personally assisted in the labor, and it was he who began the
cheering which ensued when an aperture was made in the barrier.

"At it with a will, boys," he shouted, "but be careful about removing
the timber, for some of the poor fellows may be beneath it."

The foul air rushing out nearly overcame the laborers, but the eager
rescuers heeded not their own peril, and the moment finally came when
the unconscious ones were fully exposed to view.

"Pass out the men, and then dig beneath the boy; he must be released in
that manner, otherwise we may all share their fate," and Mr. Wright
shoveled the earth carefully away from Fred, while the others carried
Joe and Bill into the drift.

From his place of concealment on the hillside Skip Miller saw a party of
men come out of the slope bearing an ominous looking burden.

"One of them is dead," he whispered to himself, as his face paled.

Then came another party, and a few seconds later the third, each
carrying a similar load, marched down the road leading to the village.

The sight nearly overpowered Skip; he shook as if in an ague fit, and
after staring at the