r backward--in the direction of the rack-bar itself.

Locke tried to throw Balcom's body out of the way. It was too late. With
a thud Balcom crashed full upon the plunger, driving it home.

There was a blinding flash, a dull roar, and the earth rocked. Huge
boulders were tossed about like feathers and the roof of the passage
caved in.

Balcom was killed instantly. Locke, with better fortune, had been hurled
to the ground, where the earth and rocks, in falling, had formed a sort
of arch over his body.

He was alive, though barely conscious. He knew that soon a search would
be made for him. But, buried under tons of earth and rock, could any
rescuers reach him in time? Was this the end?

CHAPTER XXIV

For a long time Locke lay quite still. The shock to his nervous system
had been terrific, and, although physically almost uninjured, he had
lost his usual grip on himself and felt very helpless.

He felt terribly tired. The thought came to him that he had done enough,
reached his limit of endurance. He craved sleep, a long sleep, and
forgetfulness.

But youth and the undying desire for life and accomplishment won over
this deadly mood and he began to take note of his position. His mind
became clearer and the ringing in his ears, caused by the explosion,
gradually passed away.

Then, like a flash, the question entered his mind of how he was able,
buried under tons of debris, to breathe so freely. Why was the air not
vitiated?

He tried to move slowly and quietly so as not to dislodge any of the
rocks that formed an arch over his body. He succeeded beyond his
expectations, for his body was in a sort of natural pocket and not one
of his limbs was inextricably bound. Thus, twisting his body, he managed
to draw himself into what seemed to be an even more open space.

He hardly dared to breathe, so fearful was he that any moment he might
reach a point where further progress would be impossible. He moved
slowly, gropingly, then suddenly he recoiled in horror, for his hand had
come in contact with something which he recognized to be a man's face.

In his shaken condition it was some seconds before he could control the
wild jangling of his nerves. Then he searched his pockets and, finding a
match, lighted it. There, covered to the armpits by dirt and rocks, was
the body of Balcom, whose last act before his own death had been an
attempt to murder Locke.

Locke shuddered and redoubled his efforts to escape from th