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"None o' my dommed funeral, beggin' yer pardon, miss," he condescended
to mutter in slight apology. "Long as the pay goes on, Oi 'd jist as
soon work on top as down below. H'ist the female into the bucket, ye
overgrown dood!"
Stutter Brown, still nervous from recurring doubts, awkwardly assisted
his vivacious charge to attain safe footing, anxiously bade her hold
firmly to the swaying rope, and stood, carefully steadying the line as
it slowly disappeared, hypnotized still by those marvellous black eyes,
which continued to peer up at him until they vanished within the
darkness. Leaning far over to listen, the young miner heard the bucket
touch bottom, and then, with a quick word of warning to the man
grasping the handle, he swung himself out on the taut rope, and went
swiftly down, hand over hand. Mike, still grumbling huskily to
himself, waited until the windlass ceased vibrating, securely anchored
the handle with a strip of raw-hide, and composedly sat down, his teeth
set firmly on the pipe-stem, his eyes already half closed.


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