CHAPTER XLIII.

Tuesday morning dawned,––a day never to be forgotten in the history of the little mining camp, or in the lives of many outsiders as well.

A strange thrill of subdued excitement ran through the little group, assembled before breakfast in the porch, as they realized that the day to which they had looked forward with varying anticipations had at last arrived; and there was, unconsciously, a look of watchful expectancy on every face.

Even Nature herself seemed in sympathy with them. For a few days the heat had been intense, devouring with its scorching breath every vestige of verdure on the mountain sides and foothills, and leaving them dull and dun. On this particular morning the heat seemed more terrible than ever, and there was not a breath of air stirring to cool the oppressive atmosphere. The earth and sky were suffused with a bright, red light, which gradually died away into a dim, purplish haze, through which the sun ascended like a ball of fire; while every blade and leaf hung motionless, as if awaiting breathlessly the coming of some great catastrophe.

“This portends a storm,” said Houston, as he watched the strange phenomena.

“Yes,” added Morton Rutherford, “an electric storm, and, if I am not mistaken, a very severe one.”

“How strange!” exclaimed Leslie, in a low tone, to Lyle, “everything is so hushed and still; it seems as if the elements, like ourselves, were just waiting.”

“I don’t like it,” Lyle answered, “it seems ominous,” and she shuddered visibly.

There was little breakfast eaten that morning, and the group of friends adjourned to the porch on the pretext of watching the weather, thereby attracting the attention of Haight, who still remained at the table.

“What’s in the wind now, I wonder,” he soliloquized.

“There was some kind of excitement here last evening, and everybody seems on the qui vive this morning. I guess I’d better look into this,” and calling Minty to him, he gave her a quarter, with his most insinuating smile, saying in low tones:

“You find out to-day, if you can, whether there’s anything unusual going on among those folks out there, and let me know.”

She pocketed the money with her customary giggle, as she responded, nodding her head emphatically, “You jest betcher life I will.”

Haight then departed for the mills, and Houston soon after left for the mines, while an hour or two later Morton Rutherford, taking one of the horses, rode leisurely in the direction of the Y, where he was to await a telegram from Van Dorn, immediately upon the arrival of the Eastern train at Silver City.

In due time the message came, in cipher:

“Party arrived all right; over on evening train.”

To which Rutherford replied as follows:

“All quiet here. Will wire later if anything occurs.”

Then starting on his return up the canyon, he urged his horse forward with all possible speed, conscious that the most critical time was now approaching, and fully decided regarding his course of action on reaching the camp.

At the mines, Houston found everything progressing as usual, the work going forward in the same unending, monotonous routine.

At the Silver City office of the mining company, however, the greatest excitement was prevailing. Having been utterly unable to obtain any clue as to the whereabouts or the intentions of Mr. Cameron, the mining company, to guard against being taken wholly by surprise, had devised a new scheme. Every morning had found Mr. Wilson seated on the early train which left Silver City for the East at five A. M., and which was sidetracked at a small station about ninety miles distant, to give the right of way to the regular, West-bound Pacific Express. Here both trains stopped for about fifteen minutes, affording Mr. Wilson ample opportunity to pass through the West-bound train, and satisfy himself whether or not there were any old acquaintances aboard. Failing to find the party for whom he was seeking, he himself returned to Silver City on the same train.

On this particular morning, however, upon cautiously entering one of the sleepers, he had seen, seated in one section, apparently in close consultation, three gentlemen, one of whom he immediately recognized as Mr. Cameron. Opposite and facing him, was an elderly man whose face Mr. Wilson was unable to see, but the back of whose head presented a severely judicial appearance, while at Mr. Cameron’s right was seated the English expert who had come out early in the season with Mr. Winters’ party. Evidently, Mr, Cameron was en route for the mines.

Mr. Wilson had hastily retreated, and, stopping at the little station only just long enough to send a wire to the company, had returned to the east-bound train, to continue his journey indefinitely, which had not been a part of the programme prepared by the officers of the said company in common with their various other plans. But Mr. Wilson had suddenly come to the conclusion that there were other localities better suited to his health just at that particular time than the great and glorious North West which had so long been his favorite theme, and whose praises he had so persistently sung.

It was about ten o’clock when Mr. Wilson’s telegram, announcing his discovery, reached the Silver City office, creating general consternation. After a hurried consultation, numerous papers and documents were hastily stored in a private vault belonging to the officers of the company, a dispatch was sent out over their private wire to Haight, informing him of the situation and giving certain instructions; after which Mr. Blaisdell and a confidential clerk betook themselves to the depot to await the arrival of the Pacific Express. Concealing themselves among the crowd, they watched Mr. Cameron and his associates as they left the train, and having waited till they were safely ensconced within a carriage, ready to start for their hotel, Mr. Blaisdell then ordered his clerk to take another carriage and follow them, remaining at the hotel long enough to ascertain all he possibly could concerning their movements, after which he was to report at the office.

Turning once more toward the crowd, Mr. Blaisdell expected to meet Mr. Wilson, but to his astonishment and perplexity, he was nowhere to be seen. From the conductor, however, who had thought Mr. Wilson’s conduct rather peculiar, he learned the facts in the case.

“Yes, sir,” said that individual in conclusion, swinging himself on to the departing train, “if that’s the man you’re looking for, he’s vamoosed sure, and judging by the way he got aboard that train, he’ll be traveling for some time to come.”

Great was the indignation of the remaining officers of the company on learning of the sudden departure of their worthy president, and it was not lessened when, upon investigation at the office, it was discovered that Mr. Wilson had not only relieved the company of his presence, but of all the available funds in their private vault as well, which, at that time, happened to be considerable; nevertheless, for obvious reasons, it was decided best to say nothing about it for a few days.

The clerk, on his return from the hotel, stated that none of Mr. Cameron’s party had registered, but had gone immediately to their rooms, where they had ordered a private lunch served. He had seen nothing more of them, but had seen Van Dorn there, however, and upon inquiry had learned that he had been there since the preceding day, apparently waiting for some one, evidently this party, as, immediately upon their arrival, he had sent a cipher dispatch to some one at the Y; and one of the party had been heard to inquire quite particularly at what time the evening train would leave Silver City for Cokeville, a small station near the Y.

It was evident that Van Dorn was in league with Mr. Cameron’s party, and that they intended going out to the camp that evening; prompt action was necessary. A message was sent to Haight, and after his reply, it was decided that desperate measures were also necessary.

While Morton Rutherford was leisurely riding toward the Y, Haight, sitting at his desk in his dingy, stifling office, suddenly heard his name clicked by the little telegraphic instrument near him. Having given the usual signal in return, the following message came over the wire with peremptory haste:

“Get everything in readiness at once; Cameron coming on eastern train with mining expert and attorney. Get everything ready for the final touch and await further instructions in about two hours.”

Haight sprang to his feet, and calling one of the men, ordered, “Send Maverick to me as quickly as you can.”

In a few moments the slouching figure of Maverick stood in the door-way.

“Come in, Jim, and shut that door,” said Haight, in a quick, decisive tone that Maverick knew meant business.

“Jim, in what shape is the powder in those mines? How long would it take to get everything ready for action?”

Maverick’s eyes gleamed; here evidently was to be a piece of work such as he enjoyed!

“The powder’s all there,” he replied, “all there, jest in the right places, an’ all there is ter do is ter lay the trains ’round there an’ fix a few fuses; ’twouldn’t take more’n half an hour, or sech a matter.”

“Think you could get it all done at noon, while the men are away?”

“Yes, easy.”

“Very well, now listen; you are to get everything ready so that it will be nothing but ’a touch and a go,’ as soon as I say the word, understand? Get everything ready this noon, give the men warning that there’s going to be some blasting, and then, as quick as you’ve had your dinner, you be around here prompt, and stay within sight of this room till I send you word to quit. You know the rest, what directions Blaisdell left the last time he was here; you know what you’re to wait for, and if you get a signal from me, you know what you’re to do.”

“You bet I do, and I’ll do a damned good job, too,” Maverick replied, with a grin; “but what’s the signal, boss?”

“Let me see, I want something you’ll recognize without any trouble, and that nobody else would notice, or think meant anything. Where will you be?”

“Out there, behind them rocks; I can see your winders plain from there.”

“Yes, but if I made you any signal there, or put anything in the window, others would see it as well as yourself.”

“I’ll tell you what, boss,” said Maverick, glancing at the window on the right of Haight’s desk, where hung an old, dilapidated shade, which had been lowered its full length in an effort to keep out the intolerable heat, “you let that there shade hang jest as it is till you want me, and when I see that yanked up, I’ll know what it means, and you’ll hear from me in jest about ten minits at the latest. But say, boss, what’s all this racket about, anyhow? Some o’ them eastern chaps comin’ out here?”

“That’s none of your business, Jim,” said Haight in a joking way, “you attend to what you’ve been told, and don’t meddle with what don’t concern you.”

“Is old Cameron comin’ out here?” persisted Maverick, with an expression of fear and hatred combined, visible in his countenance.

“Cameron!” exclaimed Haight, with a slight start, and wondering at Maverick’s appearance, “What do you know about him?”

“I know he owns these ’ere mines, damn him!” answered Maverick doggedly.

“Do you! Well, that’s enough, go along, you’re not interested in Cameron.”

“Ain’t I though!” said Maverick with a snarl and an oath, the hatred and wrath increasing in his face; “Me’n him has got an old score to settle yet. I only wisht he was a goin’ ter be in them mines this afternoon. When’s he comin’?”

“I don’t know,” answered Haight shortly, “probably before very long though.”

“When you git word he’s comin’ I wan’ter know it, that’s all,” growled Maverick.

“Well,” said Haight, beginning to lose his temper, “when you see that curtain raised, you may know he’s coming, and pretty damned quick too; now get out of the way, and attend to your business. Remember I’ve told you to give the men warning.”

“Yes,” said Maverick, with a leer, “’specially the new superintendent, you’d like me ter give ’im an extra warnin’ I s’pose.”

There was a corresponding leer on Haight’s face, as he replied with a peculiar grimace,

“You’ve had your orders; if you are particularly anxious to give anybody an extra warning, go ahead!”

With a low, cruel laugh, Maverick withdrew, and a few moments later was shuffling along in the direction of the mines intent upon the work of destruction assigned to him, his face distorted with mingled fear and rage, his usually dull eyes gleaming with the fires of revenge.

Haight hastened to the house to take a hurried dinner, and having learned from Minty that Morton Rutherford had gone to the Y, he again charged her to immediately report to him whatever she might learn, and returned to the office to await further instructions from the company.

To Houston, constantly on the alert for danger signals, Haight’s hurried and excited manner was the first indication of approaching trouble. It was evident that the company had received some inkling of impending danger, but of the extent of their information, or the nature of their communications with Haight, he had no means of ascertaining. Stating that he wished to see Morton Rutherford immediately upon his return, and that he would be at the Yankee Boy, near the entrance to the incline shaft, he hastened back to the mines at an earlier hour than usual.

Finding Jack and Mike who had already returned, he told them of his surmises, and arranged a set of signals,––a certain number of blows on the rocks above them,––whereby he would give them warning if he found indications of immediate danger, upon which they were to make their escape in an opposite direction, by means of a tunnel, designated as tunnel No. 3, where he would speedily join them.

On returning to the shaft, he found the majority of the men returning to their work as usual, Maverick having given them no warning, partly through his own cowardice, and partly through a determination that Houston should have no hint of what was to follow.

Meanwhile, the long threatened storm was rapidly approaching with signs of unusual severity. Heavy clouds had obscured the sun and were, moment by moment, growing denser and blacker, while the heat was, if possible, more intense than before. There was that ominous calm that presages the coming of the tempest, while the air grew oppressive almost to suffocation. In the distant canyons, far up among the mountains, could be heard the muffled roaring of the wind, while the branches began to sway occasionally under the first hot breath of the approaching hurricane, which seemed like a blast from a furnace.

On through the fast-gathering storm rode Morton Rutherford, urging forward his foam-covered horse, feeling by a certain, unerring intuition, that that ride through the winding canyon was a race between life and death. Having reached the camp, and left his dripping, panting horse at the stables, he walked rapidly on to the house, arriving shortly after Houston had left, and just in time to meet Maverick, hurrying to the house for a bit of food, his work of preparation having taken longer than he anticipated.

One look at his malignant, demon-like face convinced Rutherford that he had arrived none too early, and that his own plans must be put in execution very soon.

Pausing only long enough to exchange a few words with his brother and the ladies, in reply to their eager questions, he hurried on to the mines, he and they all unaware of a figure skulking behind him, in the fast-deepening gloom, in the direction of the mills. From an open window, aided by the peculiar condition of the atmosphere in those altitudes before a storm, which transmits the slightest sound with wonderful distinctness, Minty had overheard most of the conversation, and was hastening to fulfill her contract with Haight.

CHAPTER XLIV.

Morton Rutherford was not the only one who had observed the expression on Maverick’s face. To Lyle it seemed she had never seen such venomous malignity as was in the look which he gave her. Stepping into the dining room a few moments after Morton had left, she heard imprecations and curses mingled with her own name and that of Mr. Cameron, and realized at once that their secret was known; then, as he hastily left the house, she heard a few words of bitter hatred which would have no special meaning to his wife, but which Lyle, knowing what Houston and his friends had been anticipating for the last few days, readily understood.

The wind was now raging down the canyon with terrific force, but Lyle had but one thought, to warn those whom she loved and save them from danger. Catching up a light wrap which she threw about her shoulders, she rushed out of the house, passing Miss Gladden and Ned, who were in the porch watching the storm, and who tried to detain her.

“Lyle, what is the matter? Where are you going?” they cried.

“To the mines!” Lyle answered, raising her voice above the roar of the storm; “They are going to fire the mines, and they are all there, Morton and Everard and Jack. I must warn them if I can!”

“Lyle, come back!” shouted Ned, “let me go!”

She shook her head; “I must go, I know the mines,” she cried, and turning ran down the road, battling with the terrific wind, and was out of sight, almost before they realized what had happened.

Meanwhile, Morton Rutherford had found Houston without difficulty. “They are coming, Everard,” he announced, in a low tone, “they will be here to-night. What are the indications here?”

“I judge from Haight’s manner, that word of some kind has been received from headquarters, but just what is to be done, or whether there is any immediate danger, I cannot yet tell.”

“I am going over to Haight’s office for a few moments,” said Rutherford, “I may catch some message from the company that will show us the situation.”

“Just what I was intending to suggest,” said Houston.

“You will remain here until I come back?”

“Yes, unless I should detect some certain signs of danger; in that case I shall warn the men, and shall start for tunnel No. 3, that part of the mine will be safe for a while, in any event.”

“Very well, you will probably hear from me within twenty or thirty minutes,” and Rutherford started for the mills.

Haight, on returning to the office from dinner, waited some little time for the expected dispatch. At last it came:

“Cameron just arrived with Englishman, Lindlay, and attorney; going out to the mines on evening train. Are at Arlington Hotel, Van Dorn at same hotel and in telegraphic communication with some one at the Y. There is a conspiracy somewhere; what do you know? Answer at once; is everything ready?”

He was still studying the contents of the telegram, wondering just what the conspiracy might mean, when Minty slyly entered, and by means of the information she had secured, furnished him the needed key to the situation. In a few moments the following answer was returned:

“The truth is out; have just discovered Houston is Cameron’s nephew, out here in his interests; Van Dorn et al. working with him. Cameron coming out to-night for the grand coup. Everything is ready awaiting your orders.”

Just as the message was sent, Maverick passed on his way to his post, and seeing him, Haight stepped to the door and called him:

“I say, Jim, I’ve learned the truth at last about that superintendent of ours, damn him! You seemed so interested in old Cameron this morning, I thought you’d like to know that it has turned out that this Houston is his nephew.”

“Houston, old man Cameron’s nephew!” gasped Maverick, with a terrible oath, and growing fairly livid, “How’d ye get onto that?”

“No matter how, Jim, but it seems he’s been out here all summer getting onto some of our little business ways and reporting to the old man, and now he’s got the old fellow out here to see the fun. Never mind, Jim, I guess the fun will be on the other side after all. I’ll attend to my business and you’ll attend to yours, but I thought you’d go at it with a better relish after this little piece of news.”

Maverick passed on his way, regardless of the storm, incapable of coherent speech, muttering oaths and curses intermingled with the vilest epithets, Haight watching him with a grim smile for a few moments. Then going back to his office, he had but just reseated himself at his desk, when Morton Rutherford entered the outer room. “Damn him! what is he sneaking around here for?” Haight soliloquized, at the same time hastily transferring a revolver from his desk to his pocket, “I’ll spoil that mug of his if he attempts any funny business here.”

This movement was seen by Rutherford, who was watching him closely, but he appeared to take no notice of it and entered the office as usual, with a civil greeting to Haight. The latter sprang to his feet, taking his position close by the shaded window, his right hand grasping the revolver in his pocket.

Rutherford’s lips curled with scorn and contempt as he looked at Haight; he saw there could be no semblance of civility between them, it was to be open war.

“You are a coward!” he said.

“And you are a sneak,” Haight hissed in reply, “prying around here when you had better be minding your own business.”

“Let me tell you that I am attending to my own business, and you will find before you are much older, that I have more right here than you.”

For a moment Haight hesitated, astonished by Rutherford’s words and manner, then was about to make some reply, when the click of the instrument attracted his attention. Keeping his eye on Rutherford, he gave the answering signal with his left hand, then listened intently for the message. It came, containing the final orders and the farewell words of the Silver City office:

“Send the mines to hell, and Houston and his crowd with them. Look out for yourself. Good-bye.”

In his interest in the message, Haight seemed, for an instant, to have partially forgotten Rutherford’s presence, his eyes dropped toward the instrument, and in that instant, Rutherford cleared the space between them at a bound, gripping Haight firmly with one hand, while with the other he knocked the revolver which Haight had hastily drawn, half way across the room. With a single blow he knocked Haight to the floor, partially stunning him, but as he regained his senses, he rolled over towards the window, and with a strength born of desperation, struggled to his knees, and before Rutherford realized what he was trying to do, the shade flew upward to the top of the window. Even then, Rutherford would have thought little of it, had not Haight betrayed himself by a leer of fiendish triumph. In an instant Rutherford understood that it had been some pre-arranged signal.

“You cowardly villain!” he exclaimed, and pausing only long enough to give him a blow which left him unconscious on the floor, he rushed forth into the darkness and fury of the storm, in the direction of the mines.

As he did so, he stumbled against a small boy, running even more swiftly in the same direction.

“Mister, Mister Houston! is that you?” rang out Bull-dog’s voice, above the storm.

“No, my boy, I am going to find Mr. Houston, to save him if I can.”

“Oh, sir, let me go! I know about it, they’re goin’ to fire the mines, I heerd Jake say so, and I was a goin’ to find Mister Houston myself; I’ll get there quicker, ’n I know the mine better ’n you.”

“But, my boy, you risk your own life,” said Rutherford.

“Never mind that, sir; Mister Houston, he’s been my friend, ’n his life’s worth more’n mine anyhow; I’ll risk it,” and he was already rushing on ahead, shouting back to Rutherford, “You go to the tunnels, sir, you can help him there.”

“Tell him the signal has been given!” called Rutherford, and Bull-dog, swinging his ragged hat in reply, sped swiftly on through the raging wind.

Rutherford paused for a moment, then started in the direction of the tunnels. At that instant, Lyle, still struggling against the fury of the wind, had just reached the ground surrounding the mines; in a few seconds more she would have been within the fatal boundary line, but Bull-dog’s voice, as he rushed past, warned her back.

“Go back, go back, Miss Lyle! they’ve given the signal to fire the mines, I’m goin’ to warn ’em; don’t be afraid, I’ll save ’em, Mister Houston and Jack,” and with these words, he rushed on, disappearing through the incline shaft.

Lyle retreated a few steps, and then paused, looking wildly about her, dreading, expecting, she scarcely knew what.

Suddenly the darkness seemed divided by a blinding flash, which spread into a sheet of flame, enveloping her within its lurid folds, while peal after peal of deafening thunder crashed and roared about her, and the lightning flashed and gleamed till it seemed as if earth and sky were commingled in one mass of flaming combat.

Scarcely had the blinding flashes died in darkness, and the reverberations of the thunder still echoed and re-echoed among the surrounding mountains, when the earth began to rock and vibrate beneath her feet; there was the sound of a terrific explosion, she felt for an instant a strange sensation as if floating through the air,––then she knew nothing more; she had been thrown to the ground, unconscious, by the shock.

Meanwhile, down the rough, narrow road, leading to the mines, Leslie Gladden and Ned Rutherford were making their way, having started immediately after Lyle, but unaccustomed to the furious mountain storms and unfamiliar with the road, they made slow progress in the darkness and tempest.

“Miss Gladden, this is too hard for you,” said Ned, as they paused once, gasping for breath, “I don’t believe it is safe either, you ought never to have come.”

“What do I care for difficulty or danger?” she replied, “Think of Lyle going through this storm alone; I only pray she may not have been too late!”

Scarcely had she finished speaking, when, without an instant’s warning, the timber through which they were passing suddenly seemed one mass of blinding flame, while almost simultaneously came the deafening crash of the thunder.

“Great Heavens! that must have struck awfully near us!” exclaimed Ned, but no cry escaped from Leslie’s lips, as, shuddering, she clasped his arm more closely and struggled bravely on.

It was not until a few seconds later, when there came the sound of the terrible explosion, followed by the bursting and crashing of the rocks, while the ground quivered and trembled as though shaken by an earthquake, that, for an instant, her courage failed, and with a low cry, she sank to the ground, shivering with horror. But only for an instant, and then she rose to her feet, dizzy and trembling from the shock, but brave and determined as ever.

“Come,” she said hoarsely, “we must hasten; perhaps we can help them in some way, even if we are too late to save them.”

Speechless from a horrible, sickening realization of all which that terrible shock might mean to those whom they were striving to save, Ned silently helped her forward. They had gone but a few steps, when there suddenly burst upon the dark and stormy heavens a dull, red glare, which grew brighter moment by moment, and on emerging from the timber into the open ground, a frightful scene met their gaze.

Dense clouds of smoke were pouring from the shafts of the nearest mine, while, at a little distance, could be seen the mills, their whole interior already ablaze with light. In that end of the buildings containing the sorting rooms and Haight’s office, the fire was raging, having come in contact with quantities of chemicals which had increased its fury.

“Great Cæsar!” ejaculated Ned, “the mills were struck, and are on fire.”

But Leslie uttered a sharp cry, and ran swiftly down the path to where Lyle lay unconscious, followed quickly by Ned.

“Poor child, poor child!” she moaned, “oh, merciful heaven, she came too late, and they are all lost!”

Then, as she knelt beside the unconscious form, there came another terrific explosion, which seemed to jar even the rocks about them to their very foundations, while from the already smoking shafts, the flames now issued, towering higher and higher, and adding new terror to the scene.

Men were seen running from all directions, from the distant groups of mines, rushing to the burning mills, where the little fire corps belonging to the camp, were already engaged in a futile battle with the flames; but around the Yankee Boy mine there was no sign of life.

The rain now began to descend in torrents, and the first dash of the storm seemed to revive Lyle, whom Leslie and Ned had raised to a sitting posture in their efforts to restore her to consciousness. Slowly she opened her eyes with a bewildered look, then springing to her feet, still weak and trembling, but resolute and determined, she gazed about her at the flaming shafts and burning mills, and suddenly cried,

“Oh, I can remember now! I remember it all, it has come back to me,––the terrible wreck, the burning cars all around us, and my mother crushed in the wreck; then the people carried us out and they put me down beside her, lying so white and still, and then,––then that villain came and took me away,––I can see it all,” and she shuddered.

Then looking at Leslie and Ned, who were watching her with startled faces, she seemed trying to recall the present situation. Before either of them could speak, however, there came the report of another explosion, more distant and deeper underground than any that had yet occurred, and the sound seemed to bring back to Lyle the memory of her last moments of consciousness before the first terrible shock, while the faces of her companions were blanched with terror.

“I know now,” she exclaimed quickly, “I was too late, but Bull-dog warned them, and they are probably safe; we must go to the tunnels, they will make their escape there, and we may help them.”

She ran swiftly down the path leading the way, while they followed only too gladly, their hearts filled with new hope.

The men, finding it impossible to check the flames at the mills, were flocking in the direction of the Yankee group of mines. Fearing, however, to approach very near the scene of danger, they gathered in groups here and there, while a company of wretched women, the wives and daughters of the few married men who worked in the fated mines, ran hither and thither, sobbing and wringing their hands in their agony of fear and suspense for their own loved ones. Seeing Lyle leading the way to the tunnels, they all, men and women, followed in the same direction.

The fury of the storm had passed; a heavy rain was still falling, but the wind had subsided, and the clouds had lifted and were already breaking away.

Arriving at the tunnels, they found a crowd of men, among them a number who had made their escape from the mines. The hearts of Ned Rutherford and Lyle throbbed with joy as they descried Morton standing among the crowd, but Lyle’s heart sank again with sickening dread as she saw no signs of Everard Houston or of Jack, while Leslie Gladden moaned in despair. Morton Rutherford was unhurt, except for a few bruises from flying rocks, and he was pleading with some of the men, and offering large sums of money to any one or two who would go with him into the tunnel in search of Houston and some of the missing men.

“Mr. Houston told me that this part of the mine would be safe for some time,” he shouted, “and I will pay a thousand dollars to any one who will go with me as guide.”

For a moment no one responded, then one of the men who had escaped, spoke,

“No sir, I wouldn’t go back in that there mine for five thousand dollars, I’m out, an’ I stays out,” while another added, “’Twouldn’t be of no use, sir; mos’ likely he was catched in some o’ them cave-ins; he stopped to give us all warnin’ an’ he was about the last one to start.”

“Cowards!” exclaimed Lyle, stepping forth among them with blazing eyes, “he risked his life to save yours, and you will not even try to save him. Morton,” she added, turning toward her lover, “I know every step of the tunnels, and I will go with you.”

The men slunk back like whipped curs, but made no response. The miners employed by the company throughout this group of mines were of the lowest class, and they were none too friendly to Houston, while the better class of men employed in the other mines were not familiar with these workings.

Morton Rutherford advanced to meet Lyle; “My darling,” he said, in low tones, “I cannot allow you to subject yourself to danger.”

“I would rather share the danger with you,” she replied proudly, “besides we must save them.”

“I will go, too,” said Ned eagerly, “I surely can help.”

Lyle was about to suggest that he remain with Miss Gladden, but Leslie herself interposed.

“No, no, I do not need him,” she said earnestly, “I would suffer no more waiting alone, and he may do much good.”

At that instant, two young men from another group of mines stepped forward; “If you please, sir,” said one of them, “we don’t want no money, and we can’t act as guides, not being acquainted with the lay of things around here, but we’d like to help you, for we like Mr. Houston, and we’re his friends.”

Their offer was gladly accepted, and preparations were hastily and silently made by the little party. Wet cloths and sponges were fastened across the lower portion of their faces, to prevent their inhaling the smoke and gases, while ropes were securely tied about their waists, the ends of which were to be held by persons on the outside. A frequent jerking of the rope would assure those outside that all was right in the tunnel, but a suspension of the jerking would indicate that that person had been overcome by the gases, and he would be immediately drawn out to the fresh air, by those at the outer end of the line.

Pausing only for a bright smile of encouragement to Leslie, Lyle led the way into the tunnel, followed by Morton and Ned, the two miners bringing up the rear, and all disappeared in the subterranean darkness.

CHAPTER XLV.

When Bull-dog’s voice rang out above the storm, with its warning to Lyle, Houston, standing near the entrance of the shaft, alert, watchful for the first indication of danger, heard the words distinctly and acted instantly.

Having given the usual danger signal, he shouted, “To the tunnels, boys, for your lives! The mine has been fired, go to the tunnels!”

On returning from giving the agreed signal to Jack and Mike, he heard Bull-dog’s voice above him in the shaft, calling his name and shouting the warning.

“Come, my boy,” shouted Houston in return, “we’ll start for the tunnels.”

“Yes sir, I’m a comin’, I know the way, but don’t you wait fer me ’cause you may git catched.”

“I shall not leave you, Bull-dog, we’ll go together,” Houston answered, waiting for the little figure gliding swiftly toward him in the darkness.

Suddenly the rocks by which they were surrounded began to quiver and vibrate; there was a deafening roar followed by a terrific crash, and an instant later, a mass of loosened rock was tearing its way through the shaft.

“Cling to the wall, Bull-dog,” shouted Houston, at the same time seizing a projecting ledge with a vise-like grip, and swinging himself upward, where he hung by his hands and wrists. It was a horrible position, but his powerful, athletic muscles bore the strain until the grinding, tearing mass had passed, and he dropped, scratched and bruised, but otherwise unhurt, to the ground.

As he did so, he heard a faint moan, and hastening in the direction from whence it came, found Bull-dog, who, unable to spring high enough to escape the passing rocks, had been swept along and partially buried under the debris that followed.

“My boy, are you hurt?” asked Houston, bending over him in the darkness, and removing as fast as possible the mass of crushed and broken rock under which he lay.

“Not much, I guess,” replied the little, familiar voice, in tones that tried to be brave and cheery, but which quivered with pain, “I tried to hold on, Mister Houston, but that big rock was a little too much fer me.”

As Houston at last freed him, the little fellow tried to rise, but sank quickly back, with an involuntary cry:

“I guess I’m done fer––Mister Houston,” he gasped faintly, “but I don’t care––if you only––get out safe.”

The smoke and gases were now pouring down the shaft, and Houston realized that there was no time to be lost. Very tenderly he lifted the little form in his arms, and began, as rapidly as possible, the descent of the shaft, groping his way amid the rocks, toward the cut leading to the tunnels, through which he hoped to escape.

The motion roused Bull-dog who had fainted. “Mister Houston,” he cried, “don’t mind me––I wanted to save you, and I guess you can make it yet, if you hurry and don’t bother with me; I won’t mind bein’ left here, ’cause I’ll know then that you’re safe.”

“Don’t you worry, my boy,” replied Houston, and his own voice trembled, “we’ll reach daylight all right, but we’ll reach it together; I’ll never leave you.”

There was no reply except a contented, confiding nestling of the little head against Houston’s shoulder; then, as a second explosion thundered above them, jarring the foundations of the rocks once more, he murmured drowsily, “There she goes again,” and sank into unconsciousness.

The smoke was now so stifling that Houston was obliged to go upon his hands and knees, carrying Bull-dog in one arm; his progress was necessarily slow, but to his great joy he succeeded in finding the cut leading to tunnel No. 3; then, to his horror, he discovered that the entrance was blocked by a mass of earth and loose rock which had caved in.

Laying Bull-dog carefully down, he examined the obstruction, and found there was a small opening at the top, and that the mass was of such a character that it could easily be removed with pick and shovel, but he had nothing. With desperate energy, he began tearing away the earth and rocks with his hands, then to his intense relief, after a few moments’ work, he heard voices on the other side. Houston listened; it was Jack and Mike, who, having waited for him in the tunnel, expecting him to join them immediately, had become alarmed at his non-appearance, and were returning with their picks and shovels, which they had taken out with them, calling him and searching for him.

Houston shouted, and they hastened to the rescue, and the entrance was very quickly cleared sufficiently for Houston to crawl through. Before passing through, himself, however, he lifted Bull-dog, and carefully handed the unconscious form to Jack.

“Who is this?” the latter asked in surprise.

“Bull-dog, the little hero who has saved our lives by sacrificing his own,” Houston replied.

“Is he still living?”

“Yes, but unconscious.”

Silently and tenderly Jack handed the little fellow to the tender-hearted Mike, who at once started toward the tunnel with his burden, while Jack turned to assist Houston.

At that instant, there came the third explosion, which was farther underground than either of those preceding. It was but a short distance from them, and an immense scale of overhanging rock quivered for an instant, then fell, throwing its fragments in every direction. Mike, at the distance which he had already gained, escaped unhurt. Jack and Houston sprang in opposite directions, but the pieces of flying rock overtook them, though they escaped being buried beneath the mass as it fell. They were both thrown to the ground; Houston staggered to his feet, badly bruised and cut and his left arm broken, but Jack remained motionless.

Hearing Houston’s call, Mike quickly returned, and he and Houston found that Jack was still alive, though badly injured about the head. The full extent of his injuries they realized they would be unable to ascertain until they could reach the surface. Together they consulted as to the best course to pursue. Mike wished to go back and get help immediately, but Houston insisted that they must first remove Jack and little Bull-dog as speedily as possible, as there was danger of other explosions following now in rapid succession, and also danger from the smoke and gases of the gradually approaching flames, which were consuming the timbering of the various shafts, and would at length communicate with the tunnels also.

Instructing Mike to lay Jack’s head across his shoulder, Houston then clasped his right arm closely about Jack’s neck and shoulders. Mike, carrying Bull-dog on one arm, with the other was to lift Jack underneath the knees; and in this way they started for the tunnel.

Houston suffered excruciating pain from the arm hanging helpless at his side, but he traveled forward without a murmur, scarcely conscious of his own suffering in his anxiety for Jack. The cut was comparatively short, but their progress was slow.

Nearly overcome by the suffocating gases and the smoke, and faint from pain and loss of blood, Houston had just staggered into the tunnel, when he heard the welcome sound of the voices of Lyle and of Morton Rutherford, and knew that they were saved.

CHAPTER XLVI.

Meanwhile, the work of destruction went swiftly forward, explosions following in quick succession and with terrific force, throughout the Yankee group of mines, and the adjoining claims; while the flames from the burning shafts were rivaled by those which spread from the mills to the shops, storehouses and stables, and finally, to the miners’ quarters, till all were speedily reduced to ashes.

Around the entrance to tunnel No. 3, a large crowd had gathered, not only from the various mines, but also from neighboring mining camps, all anxiously awaiting the return of the rescue party.

At last they appeared. The first to emerge into daylight, was Ned Rutherford, bearing in his arms the crushed and mutilated form of little Bull-dog. Behind him came Houston, partially supported by one of the young miners and by Lyle, his left arm hanging at his side, his face deathly white beneath the blood and grime, but firm and dauntless as ever. As he stepped forth into the light, a wild cheer rose on the air, but Houston, raising his right hand with a deprecatory motion, silently pointed backward toward the tunnel, where, slowly emerging into view of the crowd, were Morton Rutherford and Mike, carrying, with the assistance of the other miner, the bleeding and unconscious form of Jack.

The cheers were hushed, and the crowd silently surged about Houston and the two motionless, unconscious forms laid side by side upon the ground, their heads pillowed upon the rough jackets of the men, folded and tenderly placed beneath them by the hands of Lyle and Leslie, the latter half fainting with excitement.

The men crowding about Houston congratulated him with a hearty hand-clasp, unaccompanied by words, except for an occasional inquiry as to his own condition.

“I am all right,” he said in reply to the latter, “my arm is nothing, the merest trifle; my only thought is for the two lives which I fear have been sacrificed for mine.”

Anxiously he bent above the prostrate forms. Jack’s head was frightfully gashed, and his heavy, labored breathing indicated that his brain was already affected. Houston spoke a word to Morton Rutherford, who quickly withdrew, and taking the swiftest horse in camp, was soon speeding down the road to the Y, in a second race against death.

Houston next knelt beside Bull-dog; a faint fluttering about the heart was the only sign of life. The little waif was well known among the mining camps of that vicinity, and there were few dry eyes in the crowd as Houston told the story of his heroism.

Houston saw the end was very near, and gently slipped his right arm under Bull-dog’s head. Slowly the little fellow opened his eyes, looking, with a happy smile, into the face bending so tenderly over him. At that instant, the sun, bursting through the clouds, threw a ray of golden light in shining benediction across the little white face. His eyes brightened still more; “We’re safe!” he whispered joyously. There was a slight quiver, and the little form was still.

The sun, shining as brightly and serenely as though storms were unknown, looked down into that beautiful canyon upon a strange scene of ruin, desolation and death. Amid the wreck and debris of the explosions, lay the little hero who had saved so many lives that day, upon his face a child-like smile which it had never worn in life; while farther on down the canyon, beside the smoking embers of the milling plant, lay the one whose signal had wrought all this destruction. The men, rushing into the burning mills, had found the electrical apparatus in ruins, as though torn to pieces by giant hands, and beside it upon the floor lay Haight, a ghastly sight, his face blackened and distorted, his right arm and side seared and shriveled, by the mighty servant who had suddenly burst its fetters.

Slowly and tenderly Jack was borne to the house, and laid in the room which had been Houston’s, which Lyle had made ready for him with loving care, her tears falling fast as she recalled his farewell of the preceding night. To the house came also his two faithful friends, Mike and Rex, for the little cabin was no more, Jack had indeed spent his last night beneath its roof, though the succeeding night, to which he had looked forward, was far different from his anticipations.

Days afterward, his gripsack, packed with such care on that last night in the cabin, was found by Houston concealed among the rocks, where Jack had hidden it on the morning of that eventful day, intending, when his work was done, to set forth upon his wandering life once more.

Morton Rutherford, on arriving at the Y, had sent the following cipher dispatch to Van Dorn:

“Come out on special at once. The mines have been fired by telegraphic orders from Silver City office. Everard badly cut and arm broken, but not seriously injured. Jack but just alive. Bring surgeons and nurse as quickly as possible.”

Having sent this message, and finding there was a very good physician at the Y, he sent him at once to the camp, to remain there until the surgeons should arrive, doing meantime all in his power to relieve the sufferers. Then giving orders for one of the company’s men to take his horse, and replace it with a fresh one, Morton returned to the station to await Van Dorn’s reply.

At the house, Jack was being cared for by Mike and one of the older miners, who had had considerable experience in nursing, Houston doing everything which his crippled condition and the intense pain he was suffering, would permit.

On the arrival of the physician from the Y, he first visited Jack, and leaving directions to be carried out for his temporary relief, next attended to the setting of Houston’s arm and the dressing of his wounds. The operation required some time, but at last it was completed, and Houston returned to Jack’s room.

The room had been darkened, and in accordance with the physician’s directions, Jack’s beard had been shaven and his hair closely cut, to relieve his head as much as possible. His breathing was more natural, but he lay quiet and motionless as before.

As Houston approached the bed in the dim light, he scarcely recognized his friend, so great was the change in his appearance, but as he drew nearer, he started visibly. Something in the smooth face and closely clipped head seemed wonderfully familiar, and carried him back to the days when he had first entered his uncle’s home. Bending over him for an instant, he scanned the features more closely. It was enough! The face with its patrician features carved in such perfect beauty, though lined by sorrow, was the face of his cousin,––his boyish hero and ideal.

With a quick, dry sob, Houston turned from the bedside, more deeply moved than any of his associates had ever seen him.

“Great God!” he exclaimed, in low tones, “it is Guy Cameron! my cousin Guy!” and bending over the unconscious form once more, while the great tears coursed slowly down his face, he murmured:

“Guy, dear old fellow, and you have known me all this time! God grant this has not come too late!”

With a low cry, Lyle had sprung to Houston’s side, while Leslie and Ned Rutherford followed, and the others looked on in mute wonder and astonishment. Her quick ear had caught the name.

“What name did you say?” she cried eagerly, “Did you say Guy Cameron? Is Jack––my Jack––is he my mother’s brother?”

Houston bowed in assent, he could not speak.

“Oh,” moaned Lyle, “no wonder that he loved us so! and we have not loved him half enough!” and dropping on her knees beside the bed, sobbing bitterly, she seized the hand, nearly as white as the sheet upon which it lay, and covered it with passionate kisses.

A few moments later, Morton Rutherford entered the room; Lyle was still kneeling by the bedside; beside her was Leslie, quietly weeping. Ned’s eyes were suspiciously red, while in one corner, honest-hearted Mike was vainly trying to check his fast-flowing tears upon the sleeves of his blouse. Morton looked quickly toward the strangely altered face upon the pillows, and was struck by its wondrous beauty.

Glancing inquiringly at Houston, as he advanced to meet him, he asked anxiously:

“Is he worse?”

“No, there is no change yet, one way or another,” Houston replied in low tones, and continued, “Morton, we were speaking last night, at the cabin, of my uncle’s son,––my cousin, Guy Cameron.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“He is found,” Houston’s voice trembled, and he could say no more, but Morton understood. He gazed with new and tearful interest upon the beautiful face in its death-like calm; then beckoning to Houston, he said, as they passed from the room:

“Ah, you have at last found the key to the wondrous bond between you, and to his self-sacrificing love toward you and yours.”

For a few moments they recalled certain incidents in their acquaintance with the silent, yet gentle and courteous occupant of the little cabin, and much that had seemed mysterious was now clear and plain in the light of this recent revelation.

At last Morton said; “I must hasten back to the Y,” at the same time handing his friend the telegram received from Van Dorn:

“Leave in half an hour on special, with surgeons and nurse. Whitney and Lindlay remain here to attend to business. Warrants for arrests have been issued.”

“That is good,” said Houston, with a sigh of relief, “They are already on their way. And now, my dear Morton, I have one other commission for you, if you are willing to perform it.”

“You know I am at your service,” Morton replied.

“My aunt, whose faith and love have watched and waited for her son’s return during all these years, must be brought here as quickly as possible. I am not in very good condition for travel, and do not feel that I can leave Guy. I know I can trust her in your care, you will be to her as a son, and such she will regard you when she knows all, and I commission you in my name to meet her and bring her out here.”

“That I will very gladly do, my dear Everard, and at once; there must be no delay. By going out this evening, I will be able to take the early train east from Silver City: the special arrives at 6:10, the six o’clock train being held at the Y, until after its arrival. I will return to the Y, meet Mr. Cameron and have a word with him, and go directly on to Silver City on the regular train.”

Thirty minutes later, having hastily packed a small grip, and taken a tender farewell of Lyle, who knew his errand, and with tearful eyes bade him “God-speed,” Morton Rutherford left the house, accompanied by Ned, who was to return with Mr. Cameron and Van Dorn.

The sun was slowly sinking behind the crests of the mountains, flooding the surrounding peaks with glory, when a wagon drawn by four panting, foaming horses, drew up before the house.

From the front seat beside the driver, Ned Rutherford and Van Dorn sprang hastily to the ground, turning quickly to assist a fine-looking, elderly gentleman, with iron-gray hair and beard, whose dark, piercing eyes bore a strong resemblance to those of both Houston and Jack. He needed little assistance, however, and having alighted, turned with firm step and erect bearing, but with an expression of deep anxiety, toward the house, followed by the two young men, and by three strangers.

At that instant Houston appeared within the little porch, his left arm in a sling, his face pale and haggard, though with a grave smile of affectionate welcome.

Even in that brief instant, Mr. Cameron could not but observe the change which those few short months had wrought in the face of Everard Houston, the high-born son of wealth and culture, the pet of society; it had matured wonderfully; alert and keen, yet grave and thoughtful, he looked as though he had found a deeper and broader meaning to life than he had ever dreamed of in his luxurious eastern home.

“My boy!” exclaimed Mr. Cameron, hastening toward him, “are you sure you have escaped without serious injury?”

“Quite sure,” Houston replied, limping slightly, as he advanced to meet his uncle, “my arm was hurt, and I am somewhat scratched and bruised and a little weak, but otherwise, sound as ever.”

“Thank God for that! I don’t mind the loss of the property if you are safe; all the way out here, my boy, I have been reproaching myself for ever allowing you to come out to this country.”

“My dear uncle,” Houston replied, with peculiar emphasis, “I think you will soon find you have reason to be very glad and grateful that I came.”

Mr. Cameron introduced the two surgeons and the nurse; “I feared,” he said, “from your sending for these gentlemen that you might be hurt far more seriously than I knew.”

“No,” said Houston, “but the one who has nearly sacrificed his own life in helping to save mine, needs their best skill, and I sent for them on his account.”

“That was right,” replied Mr. Cameron, “all that money can do shall be done for him,” while one of the surgeons said, “We will see our patient at once, Mr. Houston, if you please.”

“You will see him very soon,” Houston replied with grave courtesy, “but there are reasons why my uncle must first see him, and alone.”

Mr. Cameron looked surprised, but silently followed Houston into the room which had been occupied by the two brothers, but which was now prepared for him. Then observing something peculiar in Houston’s manner as he closed the door, he asked:

“What is it, my boy?”

“Pardon me, if I seem abrupt, uncle,” Houston answered, “but every moment is precious in saving a life unspeakably dear to each of us.”

Mr. Cameron looked startled; Houston continued:

“You have been like a father to me all these years, and I have felt toward you as a son, but to-day I have the joy of bringing you to the one, who holds in your heart, and always will hold, precedence even over myself.”

“Everard, my boy!” exclaimed Mr. Cameron, in tones vibrating with suppressed emotion, “what is it? Speak quickly, do not keep me in suspense,”

“My dear uncle,” said Houston very tenderly, “the lost is found.”

Mr. Cameron sank, nearly overcome, into the nearest chair, while his face grew deathly white.

“Guy?” he gasped, looking upward at Houston.

“Yes,” said the latter brokenly.

The strong man covered his face with his hands, while his powerful frame shook with emotion.

Houston, when he was able to speak, told him, very briefly, of his meeting with Jack, of their association, and the strange bond of sympathy and affection between them, of Jack’s devotion, and how at last, he had been enabled to recognize him.

Controlling himself with a mighty effort, Mr. Cameron rose, saying:

“Take me to him.”

Opening the door connecting the two rooms, Houston signaled to those within to leave the room, then led the father into the presence of the son whom he had so long mourned as dead.

Mr. Cameron walked to the bedside, and looked long and earnestly upon the white face, drawn with pain, but still beautiful, and bearing to a great extent, the imprint of his own features; then as he tenderly clasped the hand lying upon the sheet, he murmured brokenly, between great, tearless sobs:

“It is he, my boy, my son! Thank God, it is not too late!”

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