o the man in charge and
warned him that such charges of powder as that must be covered if any
more blasting were to be done.

Again next morning big rocks struck the house, and broke a window. In
the absence of a ranger, I walked down and requested the Turk in charge
of the labor to use a little more discretion. Our house was newly
painted inside and out. My windows were all clean, new curtains were up,
the floors were newly waxed, and we were quite proud of our place of
abode. I said to the Turk I was afraid the roof would leak if such sharp
rocks hit it. He replied insolently that if he blew the roof off, the
Santa Fe would put another on. I went back to the house in fear and
trembling, and picked up my sewing. For half an hour I sewed in quiet.
Then a terrific explosion rent the air. There was ominous silence for an
instant, then the house crumpled over my head. The ridgepole came
crashing down, bringing part of the roof and ceiling with it. Rocks and
a great boulder fell into the room, knocking the stove over. Ashes and
soot went everywhere. One rock grazed me and knocked the sewing basket
from my lap. Part of a railroad tie carried the window sash and curtains
in with it and landed on the piano.

I have a vague recollection of searching vainly for my thimble, and then
of grimly determining to locate the Chief's gun. It is well he wore his
arsenal that day, else the usual order of things would have been
reversed--a Christian would have massacred a Turk!

While I was aimlessly wandering around through the wreckage, half dazed,
White Mountain and the Superintendent rushed in. They frantically pulled
me this way and pushed me that, trying to find out if I were hopelessly
injured, or merely killed. They found out I could still talk! Then they
turned their attention to the Turk and his men who came trooping in to
view the remains. It seemed they had put down a charge of four sticks
and it had failed to explode. So they had added four more and let her
ramble. It was _some_ blow-up! At least the Turk found it so.

"What do you want me to do?" that unfortunate asked me, after the Park
men finished with him.

"Oh, go outside and die!"

"White Mountain, give me your pocketbook. I'm going to buy a ticket to
West Virginia. I've had enough of the great open spaces," I continued.

"Why go now?" he wanted to know. "You've escaped death from fire, flood,
and fools. Might as well stay and see it through."

So we started sho