ed his mind
that his elbow bled no more, and that was all the cheer he had, for now
his torch went out for good and with its last gleam he'd looked at his
watch and seen that it was half after two in the morning. Night or day,
however, promised to be all the same for Amos now, and he couldn't tell
whether daylight would penetrate the fall of stone when it came, or if the
rock was too heavy to allow of it. And in any case a gleam of morning
wouldn't help him, for the Goyle was two good miles from Merripit village,
and a month might well pass before any man went that way. Nor would Amos
be the wiser if a regiment of soldiers was marching outside. So it looked
as if chance had only put off the evil hour, and he sat down on a stone
and chewed a bit of tobacco and felt he was up against his end at last.
Weariness and chill as he grew cold acted upon the man, and afore he knew
it he drew up his feet, rested his head on his sound arm, and fell into
heavy sleep. For hours he slumbered and woke so stiff as a log. But the
sleep had served him well and he found his mind active and his limbs
rested and his belly crying for food.

He poked about and at last saw something dim that thrust out of the dark
on the ground, and then it got brighter, and he marked low down, no higher
than his knee, a blue ghost of light shooting through some cleft among the
stones. It waxed until he could put down his watch and read the hands by
it. And he found it was past six o'clock.

He set to work at the rocks again presently, but surrounded by darkness he
didn't know where to begin and knew that a hungry man, with nought but his
two hands, could make no great impression on all that stone; but he turned
where the ray came through and putting his head to the earth, found there
was a narrow channel out to the daylight, and wished he could take shape
of a badger and so get through.

Time dragged and hope waned. But the water proved a source of strength,
and Amos knew a man can hold out a long time if water ban't denied. His
life passed through his mind with all its ups and downs, and he found time
to be thankful even in all his trouble that he was a bachelor without wife
or child to mourn him. And then his thoughts ran on to the great mystery
there would be and the hunt after him; and he saw very clear indeed that
all would go just as it done before, and the police would never find a
trace, and Ernest Gregory would weep his eyes out of his head very near