, had made a rush, only to
be struck down by the rock, that now lay within an inch of him; yet
struck into safety for all that. Had he gone a yard farther, the life
would have been smashed out of him instantly.

But now, what? The flowing blood sent a sickening chill through the boy.
Had he done this much only to be able to see his pardner die? He drove
his teeth into his hand again at the thought. What was that? Was it a
trick of the tunnel, his heart sounding in his own ears, or a rhythmic
beat from outside? Hollow and dull fell that "clatter-clum-clatter-clum."

"Bud!" screamed Ches, "T'ank God, dat's Bud!"

After half a dozen efforts he climbed the dirt pile and went back through
the treacherous holes. The rider came so fast! "Oh!" groaned the boy,
"I'll never make it! Bud'll t'ink we're off somewheres an' pull
on!--_Bud_! BUD!" he called at the top of his lungs; but the tunnel
swallowed the little voice.

Desperation made him entirely reckless. It was any way to get out before
the mail-man was beyond call. Glairy with sweat, he pulled, tugged,
squirmed and wriggled along, until a dirty, small bundle rolled down
almost under the mail-rider's feet.

"Whoa!" shouted Bud with an astonished oath. "What's the--why boy, what's
the matter? Damn it! how you scart me!"

One look at him froze the man; he said no more, but waited, watching the
working face of the child, who was mastering himself once more, in order
to tell a quick, straight story, that no time might be lost.

"Der tunnel's fell in, Bud; Jim's in dere where der frame's held. He's
livin' yet, but he's got a tur'ble cut in his head."

The mail-rider drew out paper and tobacco, and rolled a cigarette. It was
his method of biting his hand. He loved the man inside that dark blotch
on the hill-side with an affection only known where men are few and
strong. And because he loved him, Bud was going to keep his head cool and
clear, to find the right thing to do and do it the right way.

For all his calm outer man the mind within was whirling. He turned to the
tense little face before him for help, and with an admiration that knew
no bounds.

"How far back?" he asked.

"T'ree frames was held--dere was seven, ten foot apart--how much is dat?"

"Forty feet--ten foot apart! No wonder! Oh, Jim! How could you have been
so careless?"

The boy's shoulders shook once. "He worked like er horse--now it's all
gone an' he's in dere--" The face was contorted out of all