The creaking of the windlass ceased, and the ascending body stopped--evidently the Chinee was pausing to get his breath.
"Go on!" screamed Hugh.

"Keep at it, John! Don't let it beat you! Wind away!" Faintly came the gasped reply, "No can! No more can do!" He lowered himself in the water as far as he could, to deaden the blow in case of the fellow falling back on him, and screamed encouragement, threats, and promises up the well.

Suddenly from above came a new voice altogether, a white man's voice.
"Right oh, boss! We've got him." The windlass recommenced its creaking, and the figure at the end of the rope continued its slow, upward journey.

Hugh saw the body hauled slowly to the top and grabbed by a strong hand; then it disappeared, and the sunlight once more streamed, uninterrupted, down the shaft.

The bucket came down again, and Hugh clutched it and yelled out, "Haul away!" He could hear the men grunting above as they turned the handle.
When he had been hauled about fifteen feet there was a crack; the old windlass had collapsed, and he went souse, feet first, into the water.
He sank till he touched the bottom, then rose gasping to the surface.
A head appeared, framed in the circle of the well, and a slow, drawling colonial voice said: "Gord! boss, are you hurt?
The windlass is broke." "No, I'm not hurt.