They leaped for it, spurning aside the brittle fragments of dry rot, tugging at what they had found. Fifty bars of heavy metal, each weighing between thirty and forty pounds, about nine inches long, four in width, tapering, and two in thickness. The five of them staggered to the flares, hugging each a bar in their arms, eyes shining, uttering inarticulate cries of triumph.
The bars were dull, seeming more like lead than iron, until Sheridan slashed one with a drill and the soft metal shone yellow. Half of the trove was theirs. The second wagon could not be very far away. Jackson and the two riders jumped for the picks with a shout. Quong stood under a flare, his face sphinxlike as ever, his eyes like balls of jet.
"It must be nearly dark outside," he said. Sheridan stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. The flush of success flooded him and he tingled with excitement. Then he reacted to Quong's calm and looked at his watch. They had been in the caves for more than five hours. They were all streaked with sweat and grime. His own muscles began to assert their ache. The engine of his body clamored for fuel and water.
"Never mind that until later, boys," he said. "We can tackle it better after we eat and rest up a bit. We'll transfer what we've got to the Chapel. It will take ten trips."
As they toted the heavy bars back through the passages and piled them in the White Chapel, near the entrance, their fever slowly died down. Need of a drink and of supper took precedence with Red
