of that fuse these annals would
end grewsomely with this chapter. For, as he lighted the fuse and walked
leisurely out of the short tunnel, directing his steps toward a
sheltering abutment of the ledge which assured protection from the
flying fragments loosened by the explosion of the heavy charge, Grace
Carter slowly sauntered into view on the other side of the tunnel mouth,
her hands full of some mountain blooms which she had gathered on the
opposite slope of the ridge.

Neither saw the other until she stood directly in front of the
excavation. He was lighting his pipe, his back towards her; she,
thinking him to be about to leave the mine on his descent to the cabin,
gayly called out:

"What's your hurry?"

Not dreaming of her dangerous proximity to the tunnel's mouth, he turned
slowly, for the wind was fairly strong and he had not as yet secured a
satisfactory light. He was about forty yards away. For one
nerve-paralyzing second he was incapable of motion or speech. Then the
pipe clattered on the slide-rocks and he was leaping like a cougar over
the treacherous footing, a great cry bursting hoarsely from his white
lips:

"Run! For God's sake, run! Away from the tunnel!"

Dazed by the awful fear in his voice, and misinterpreting the only two
distinct words of his otherwise inarticulate command: "Run" and
"Tunnel," she bolted obediently into the yawning mouth of the
excavation. For a few seconds, with eyes blinded by the sudden
transition from sun-glare to comparative darkness, she did not perceive
the spluttering flare of the fuse. Then all at once came comprehension
and in the shock of it she was as a marble statue. Paralyzed with horror
at the awful death hissing there a scant five feet away, she seemed
rooted to the ground; for the life of her she could not move hand or
foot, standing numbly there waiting for the end. Each second seemed an
eternity before his coming. His coming--to what? To share the horrible
death that menaced her? She found her voice in one agonized scream of
warning, but even as it left her lips he came dashing into the tunnel,
shouting incoherent blasphemies and holding out both arms.

A pile of litter on the floor of the tunnel entrapped his foot. A
treacherous stone turned beneath his flying tread, and wildly striving
to regain his balance, he pitched forward to her feet, striking his head
on the rocks. He lay very still, a thin stream of blood trickling down
his forehead.

As a tig