eir prey, and drawn up
the slope.

As he stepped from the car at its mouth, and they saw what it was he
bore so tenderly and proudly, a mighty cheer went up from the assembled
throng. Another and another. They were wild with joy. The long suspense
was over, the terrible strain was relaxed, and they gave way to their
feelings.

Suddenly they noticed that the drooping head of the lad was not lifted
from the broad shoulder on which it rested. His arms hung limp and
lifeless. A great silence came over the multitude. They stood
awe-stricken, as in the presence of death, and pressing aside in front
of the advancing miner, they made way for him to pass.

Still bearing his burden, unconscious of all besides, and looking
neither to the right nor to the left, Tom Evert passed through the human
lane thus formed, and went home--home to the rude, unpainted house in
which Paul was born, and which, during the darkness and despair of the
past five days, had been a constant picture before his mind's eye--home
to the mother whose tenderest love has ever been for her crippled boy.
Home!

Although Tom Evert, with eyes and ears only for his own, had no thought
of the others for whom he had broken open the prison door, there was no
lack of warm hearts and willing hands to help them.

Following close after the miner Warren Jones entered the breast, and
directly behind him was Jack Hobson. The light from their lamps dazzled
the eyes that for three days had lived in a darkness as absolute as
though no light existed in the universe. Turning them away from the
light, the prisoners listened eagerly for the voices of their
deliverers. The first words they heard were from the mine boss, the man
on whom they had depended, and who they knew had planned and carried out
their rescue.

"Are you all here, men?"

"There's nine of us."

"And all alive?"

"All alive yet, thank God; though Boodle, poor lad, is wellnigh gone."

"Where is Derrick Sterling?"

"Here I am, sir," came a weak but well-known voice from back in the
darkness.

Before Mr. Jones could locate it, the young man who had followed him so
closely into the breast sprang to the side of the lad, and seizing his
hand, exclaimed,

"Derrick Sterling, you are a splendid fellow, and this is one of the
very happiest moments of my life!"

"Who are you?" asked Derrick, faintly.

"My name is Allan McClain," was the answer, "and if you will give me
your friendship I shall consider it