Tackle the foot wall." They said no more.

Fairchild withdrew his drill from the "swimmer" or straightforward powder hole and turned far to the other side of the chamber, where the sloping foot wall showed for a few feet before it dived under the muck and refuse.

There, gad in hand, he pecked about the surface, seeking a spot where the rock had splintered, thereby affording a softer entrance for the biting surface of the drill.

Spot after spot he prospected, suddenly to stop and bend forward.

At last came an exclamation, surprised, wondering: "Harry!" "Yeh." "Come here." The Cornishman left his work and walked to Fairchild's side.