And we 've got to 'ope for the best." Then, while Fairchild stood motionless and silent, the big Cornishman forced himself forward, to stoop by the side of the heap of bones which once had represented a man, to touch gingerly the clothing, and then to bend nearer and hold his carbide close to some object which Fairchild could not see.

At last he rose and with old, white features, approached his partner.
"The appearances are against us," came quietly.

"There 's a 'ole in 'is skull that a jury 'll say was made by a single jack.

It 'll seem like some one 'ad killed 'im, and then caved in the mine with a box of powder.

But 'e 's gone, Boy--your father--I mean.