Huge boulders were rolled back.

Men pawed earth and shale with their naked hands.
Rock-hammers fell with blows that would have cracked the heart of a granite obelisk.

Half an hour--three quarters--and Blackton came back to where Peggy was standing, his face black and grimed, his arms red-seared where the edges of the rocks had caught them, his eyes shining.
"We're almost there, Peggy," he panted.

"Another five minutes and----" A shout interrupted him.

A cloud of dust rolled out of the mouth of the tunnel, and into that dust rushed half a dozen men led by old Donald.
Before the dust had settled they began to reappear, and with a shrill scream Peggy Blackton darted forward and flung her arms about the gold-shrouded figure of Joanne, swaying and laughing and sobbing in the sunshine.