puny efforts as his. From the lip of the pit I was
bawling at him to come up out of the way; but not until he had strained
himself well-nigh senseless would he unlock his fingers from their
grip, and even then he would not voluntarily resign his place. But I
could not wait. Sliding down into the pit, I hoisted him on to my
shoulder and gave an upward heave, and then turned-to with the hoe,
battering savagely.

The flagstone was of granite, and I doubled up my weapon but scarcely
splintered the hard surface. So the edges had to be dug round
laboriously; and even then, when thoroughly loose, the weight was so
great that I could scarcely lift it. But at last the great slab was
heaved up on edge, and below there lay a hole whose blackness almost
choked the falling sunbeams. The sight of it--or the wet earthy smell
which came through--somehow made me shiver.

I looked up. Weems was craning over the edge of the pit, his eyes
goggling, and lips drawn back from his clenched teeth. He looked
unpleasant, to say the least of it, and a thought dangerous as well.
There was a bit of the wild beast peeping out somewhere.

"Come along," said I.

"How can we see?"

"Oh, I forgot that. Feel for matches in my coat pocket."

"I've better than matches. A candle; what do you say to that?"

Still he stayed glowering at me.

"Well, why the devil don't you go and get it, man?" I asked.

"Oh yes, to be sure," said he, and disappeared.

"You'll go mad, my son," thought I, "if your delicate nerves are kept
under this strain much longer," and leaned back panting against the
side. The fellow seemed to take a long time hunting for what he wanted,
but at last I heard the sound of his footsteps and looked up.

Lucky for me did I look up then too, for my eye caught a glint of the
white sunshine as it was reflected off some bright surface, and with
the inspiration of the moment I stepped into the opening at my feet and
fell noisily through amid a small avalanche of rubble. Picking myself
up, I looked out from the darkness, and saw, as I expected, Weems
standing at the brink above nervously fingering the nickel-plated
revolver.

"What have you got that blasted thing for?" I sang out.

"Oh, you see--er--there's no knowing what one might meet with down
there--er--and it's well to be ready--er--in case----"

"You lying little viper."

"Oh, I assure you----"

"Thanks, I want none of your assurances. But I'll give you one. If you
put a foo