The Democratic advocate., 1908-01-17

twenty minutes at the most. Already his

lungs were suffering from the clOseneSs and
the dust. His lantern was growing dim.
The water about his feet was rising rapidly
1t is fearful thing to feel that your
span of life is measured by certain num-
Der of breaths. Sandy did not know what
scheme for his rescue might be on foot
beyond that sloping wall 1t would not
do to depend too much on his friends. He
might suffocate before help could reach
him. He must make fight for himself.
How far was it through the mass of
wheat? Again he tapped on the steel,
and back came answering taps not far
away. The barrier could not be very thick
at the top. He must force way through
it In this lay his only hope.
All depended on the position and size of
the rent through which the grain had en-
tered the tunnel. fit were in the middle
Of the roof and very large, there was no
possibility of success.
He sat his lantern down ON the bear
ing, and crawled cautiously up the soft
slope, careful not to start the wheat flow
ing again.
He burrowed with his hands into the
summit of the barrier. It did not seem
so very solid; but when he withdrew them,
he could feel the kernels follow.
Thrusting his face close up to the steel,
he made quick dive into the yielding
mass, hoping to be able to push his body
through it. But it was frmer than he
had thought, and he was compelled to drag
himself back defeated, ears, nose and
mouth full of dust.
Staggering down the slope, he dropped
in heap in the deepening water. The
air was now barely breatheble. The light
from his lantern had become a mere smoky
blur. Insensibility and death would be
his portion if he remained there a few
minutes more. Yet what use to make
another attempt?
On the oilers dulled ears and dizzy
senses fell again series of persistent in
quiring taps. He shook off the creeping
stupor, and started up. What were his
friends doing to help him? He had bare
ly reason to tap back in token that he was
still alive. Then, crazed to think that he
must die with safety SO near, he hurled
himself like mailman upon the grain.
Better to perish fighting than to suffocate
without effort.
The consciousness that this was his last
chance brought back clearness to his mud
died brain. Painfully exploring the sum-
nit with his fnger-tips, he decided that
the pressure was less on the right side.
Crowding himself up between wheat and
steel, choking and blinded, he dug and
wriggled and fought his way deeper and
deeper into the mass, which allowed him
to progress by inches, but closed roun!
him like water.
Well for him that he was thin and tall S
Otherwise he would never have been abld
to wedge himself between the curved plates
and the thousands of resisting kernels.
As he pushed himself along keeping
little air-space beneath his face and work
ing the grain behind him, he felt on his
left side the steady, merciless pressure from
above, bruising him almost beyond en-
durance.
Sandy had now penetrated so far into
the wheat that he could not get back. His
strength was nearly gone. The kernels
were close up against his nostrils, they filed
his ears, they fought to crowd between his
lips. He could not draw breath.
His fingers, thrust despairingly straight
before him, conveyed the news that the
mass was growing looser. He made two
or three frantic efforts, wriggled forward a
few inches farther, and then stopped. His
hands had broken through into an empty
space, but he could not make another mo-
tion
Just then his wrists were seized by his
friends, and he as wdragged, bruised
and bleeding and all but insensible, into
the open tunnel beyond the barrier.