"Somebody coming."
An instant later, the boots withdrew quickly. An odd little squeak of
surprise followed, a strange gurgling, and a succession of rapid shocks,
as though some one were pummeling the earthen walls.
"Got the beggar," panted Heywood. "Only one of 'em. Roll clear, Rudie,
and let us pass. Collar his legs, if you can, and shove."
Squeezing past Rudolph in his niche, there struggled a convulsive bulk,
like some monstrous worm, too large for the bore, yet writhing. Bare
feet kicked him in violent rebellion, and a muscular knee jarred
squarely under his chin. He caught a pair of naked legs, and hugged
them dearly.
"Not too hard," called Heywood, with a breathless laugh. "Poor
devil--must think he ran foul of a genie."
Indeed, their prisoner had already given up the conflict, and lay under
them with limbs dissolved and quaking.
"Pass him along," chuckled his captor. "Make him go ahead of us."
Prodded into action, the man stirred limply, and crawled past them
toward the mine, while Heywood, at his heels, growled orders in the
vernacular with a voice of dismal ferocity. In this order they gained
the shaft, and wriggled up like ferrets into the night air.
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