ng large enough for his body as far as he could reach, what
then could he do?

Even though he knew that the chances were a million to one against him,
he continued to labor at the roof of the cave, digging out the rocks and
earth with his knife. The stuff thus set free began to heap itself in a
little circular rim about his feet.

Once he stopped. The torch was dying down, and a glance showed him that
it was almost burned out.

The thought of being again left in that frightful darkness made him
quickly catch up the bit of burning wood that remained and hasten back
to seek for more of the extinguished torches. With its aid he found two
of them. He lighted one and returned to the spot where he had been at
work.

It seemed that already he had spent many days in that cave of death. He
wondered that he was not overcome with hunger, and he felt an awful
longing for water. Oh, for a drink, for a swallow, for a drop!

"There's plenty of water outside," he snarled. "There are streams, and
rivers, and lakes! I'd give my everlasting soul to drink from one of
them now!"

Dig! dig! dig! He was working in the same frantic manner as before. His
strength still held out, and he was glad of that. Even if he could not
escape, this was something to occupy his mind for the time and prevent
him from going mad.

Suddenly a considerable mass of earth, set free by his efforts, fell
into the cave. A stone, the size of a man's fist, struck him on the
shoulder, but he did not mind the pain.

"I'm dragging the mountain down upon me!" he grated. "I don't care! I am
glad! Let it come! Let it fall!"

He stood with one shoulder against the roof, reaching up into the hole
he had made, still cutting away with this once keen knife, which was now
dulled and blunted.

Suddenly something snapped--something fell on the heap of stones and
earth at his feet.

It was the blade of the knife, which had been broken in the middle!

As he stood staring at the broken blade he found the light again growing
dimmer, and then he saw that the second torch had burned to the point of
expiring.

He lighted the last torch.

When that was burned out he could not escape the dreadful darkness that
would close over him.

But the broken knife--the only tool with which he could work was
useless!

He dropped in a sitting posture on the ground and covered his distorted,
terror-drawn face with his hands. For some time he sat thus, without
moving, without making a