He glanced upward at the surrounding peaks.

"To-morrow I go forth again into the mountains,—those towers of refuge and strength,—and in their soothing solitudes I shall once more find peace!"

Then he retired. But to Jack, resting for the last time in his cabin home, to those then peacefully sleeping in the little mining camp, or to the others speeding westward through the night, on the wings of steam, there came no vision, no thought of what the morrow was, in reality, to bring.



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 Caesar!" 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!"



CHAPTER XLVII.

There was a long consultation between the physicians and surgeons following a careful and thorough examination of their patient, before the rendering of their decision.

He had received various injuries of a serious character, but the injury to the head was far the most dangerous of all. There was a possibility that with the most careful nursing and the most skillful medical aid, he might live, but his recovery was exceedingly doubtful,—one chance out of a hundred.

"Do your best," was Mr. Cameron's reply to this decision, "do your best, regardless of cost; if you wish counsel, have it; send out another nurse, the best you can secure, to relieve this one, and I wish one or the other of you gentlemen to remain here constantly, we must not be left without a physician. I may as well inform you now," Mr. Cameron added, with great dignity, in conclusion, "that your patient is my son."

Astonishment was depicted upon the faces of the physicians, but Mr. Cameron continued:

"For some months my nephew has been out here incognito, engaged in unearthing the dishonest schemes and plots of the mining company who constituted our western agents, and I have just discovered that he was aided in this work by my son, who, unknown to me, was out here in disguise, working with the same end in view. You will, of course, understand, gentlemen, that money is no object; do everything within your power, and you shall be abundantly compensated."

Thus it was arranged that one or two physicians were constantly at the house, and when these returned to Silver City for a few hours, others took their places.

A competent cook and housekeeper were also sent out from Silver City, as the excitement resulting from the terrible events of that day, together with her husband's connection therewith, which had in some way become generally known, proved too much for the feeble strength of Mrs. Maverick, and she was prostrated by the shock.

Minty, terror-stricken by the results which she believed had followed her report to Haight, and by his fearful fate, in a fit of hysteria, confessed the share she had taken in the plot, and was summarily dismissed.

After the coming of Mr. Cameron with the surgeons and nurse, Lyle and Leslie had withdrawn from the sick-room, and busied themselves in caring for Mrs. Maverick, and in superintendence of the necessary work; Van Dorn, whose astonishment at the revelations of the last two days was beyond expression, keeping them informed of the condition of the sufferer. Lyle was pale with excitement, but calmly and bravely took her place as head of the strangely assorted household, her heart throbbing wildly as she anticipated the meeting with Mr. Cameron.

Within the sick-room the soft, gray twilight had deepened into darkness. At one side of the bed sat the nurse, his fingers upon the pulse of the patient, while he listened attentively to his breathing, now becoming irregular, and broken by low moans and occasional mutterings. On the other side sat Mr. Cameron, his head bowed upon his hands, his mind going back to the years of Guy's childhood and youth. How vividly he recalled many little incidents, seemingly trivial when they occurred, but carefully treasured among the most precious memories in the long, sad years that followed! With the memory of his son, his heart's pride and joy, came also that of the beautiful daughter, with her golden hair and starry eyes, the light of their home in those happy days.

Mr. Cameron seemed lost in thought, but in reality, while thus reviewing the past, his mind was keenly conscious of the present. In one corner sat the faithful Mike, while at his feet lay the equally faithful Rex, who could be neither coaxed nor driven from the room, but remained quietly watching his master's face, an almost human love and sorrow looking out of his eyes, as he answered the occasional moans with a low, piteous whine.

In another corner Everard talked in low tones with the two physicians who were to remain that night, Mr. Cameron taking cognizance, in the midst of his own sorrowful thoughts, of every word.

At length some one called for a light, and a moment later, Mr. Cameron was conscious of a light step crossing the room, and of a lamp being placed on the table near the physicians, though none of its rays fell in the direction of the sufferer. Lifting his head, he saw the lamp with a screen so attached as to throw a shade over almost the entire room, leaving only a small portion lighted; but within that brightly illumined portion he had a glimpse, for an instant, of a face, which with its radiant eyes and its shining aureole of golden hair, was so nearly a counterpart of the one but just recalled so vividly to his mind, that it seemed a living reproduction of the same. Only a glimpse, for as he started, wondering if it could be a figment of his own imagination, the face suddenly vanished into the shadow, and the figure glided from the room. Still it haunted him; could there have been a real resemblance? or was it only a hallucination of his own?

About an hour later, Houston, who had observed his uncle's involuntary start of surprise on seeing Lyle, and who was anxious that he should learn the truth as early as possible, slipping his arm within that of his uncle's, led him out upon the porch, where they lighted their cigars, smoking for a few moments in silence, then talking together in low tones of the one so dear to each of them, while Houston related the details of his first meeting and early acquaintance with the miner, Jack.

"Even if Guy cannot recover," said Mr. Cameron, in tremulous tones, when Houston had finished, "Yet if he lives long enough to see and recognize his mother and myself, and realize our feeling for him—even then, I shall be more than repaid for your coming out here,—though all else were lost."

"Indeed you would," responded Houston, "but I cannot help feeling that Guy's life will be spared, that he will live to bless your future years. But my dear uncle," he continued, very slowly, "although you are yet unaware of it, you have nearly as much, if not an equal cause for joy in another direction."

"I do not understand you, Everard; you surely do not allude to the property?"

"No, very far from that; did you notice the young girl who came into Guy's room to-night?"

"To bring the light?"

"The same."

"Yes, and I intended to inquire of you concerning her. Her face impressed me strangely; I cannot tell whether it was a fact or my own imagination, but I had been thinking of the children,—Guy and his sister,—as they were years ago, and it seemed to me that her face, as I saw it for an instant, was almost an exact counterpart of my own Edna's, as she used to look, even to the hair and eyes which were very peculiar."

"It was no imagination on your part, the resemblance is very marked, not only in face, but in voice and manner as well."

"How do you account for it?" asked Mr. Cameron quickly, "Who is she?"

"She is the one who, of all the world, would have the best right to resemble your daughter," replied Houston; then, in answer to Mr. Cameron's look of perplexed inquiry, he continued:

"Pardon me, uncle, for any painful allusion, but at the time of my cousin's death, I believe you had no direct proof as to the fate of her child?"

"No absolute proof, of course," replied Mr. Cameron, "only the testimony of those who identified the mother, that there was no child with her, and no child among any of those saved answering to the description given, from which we naturally supposed the little one to have been killed outright. Why, Everard," he exclaimed, as a new thought occurred to him, "you certainly do not think this Edna's child, do you?"

"Why might it not be possible?" inquired Houston, wishing to lead his uncle gradually up to the truth.

"Is this her home?" asked Mr. Cameron in turn.

"Yes," said Houston, "this has been her home, I believe, for the last ten years."

"If the supposition mentioned a moment ago were correct, how would she be here, amid such surroundings?"

"Do you know the man who runs this house?" Houston asked.

"A man by the name of Maverick had charge of it when I was out here years ago; I do not know whether he is still here."

"He is; do you know him? Did you ever have any business with him personally?"

"Yes, I had him in my employ years ago, in the east, and was obliged to discharge him for dishonesty."

"Thereby incurring his life-long hatred and enmity, so that years afterward, he sought to wreak his revenge upon you by stealing from the wrecked train, where your daughter lost her life, the little child who would otherwise have been your solace in that time of bereavement."

"Everard!" exclaimed Mr. Cameron, "are you sure you are correct? What proof have you of this?"

"The proofs were not discovered until recently," Houston replied, "although we knew that they existed, but now this girl has found a letter from Maverick's wife confessing the whole crime, and stating that it was committed through a spirit of revenge; and she also has in her possession the articles of clothing she wore at the time she was stolen, together with a locket containing her mother's picture and her own name,—Marjorie Lyle Washburn."

"That is enough," said Mr. Cameron briefly, "let me see her, Everard."

Houston stepped within the house, reappearing a few moments later, with Lyle. Very beautiful she looked as she came forward in the soft radiance of the moonlight, a child-like confidence shining in the lovely eyes.

Mr. Cameron rose to meet her, and taking both her hands within his own, he stood for an instant, gazing into the beautiful face.

"My dear child, my own Edna!" he said in broken tones, folding her closely within his arms, "Thank God for another child restored to us from the dead!"

Houston returned to the sick-room, leaving Mr. Cameron and Lyle in their new-found joy. Lyle told him briefly the story of her life, his eyes growing stern with indignation as he listened to the wrongs she had endured, then luminous with tenderness, as she told of Jack's affectionate care for her.

"Call me 'papa' my child, as you used to in the days of your babyhood," he said, kissing her, as they rose to return to Guy's room, "you never even then, would call Mrs. Cameron or myself anything but 'mamma' and 'papa,' and now you shall be as our own child!"

Together they watched beside the sick-bed until the morning sun touched the mountain peaks with glory, but there came no relief to the sufferer, now moaning and tossing in delirium.

Eastward, across the mountain ranges, Morton Rutherford was speeding swiftly, scarcely heeding in his sorrow and anxiety, the grandeur and beauty through which he was passing; while from Chicago, the sweet-faced mother was hastening westward, all unconscious that she was being swiftly and surely borne to the answer of her prayers,—that in that distant western country to which she was journeying, her son lay calling her in his fever and delirium.

She had started in response to a dispatch from Morton Rutherford, at Silver City:

"Mr. Cameron and Everard Houston safe and well, but wish you to come out immediately. Wire where I will meet you in St. Paul. Will explain when I see you.

"Morton Rutherford."

The mining camp that morning, presented a strange scene of idleness and desolation. Many of the mines were in ruins, while the remainder were shut down.

They would remain shut down for an indefinite period, Houston told the men who had gathered about the house for information. The officers of the company, he further stated, had been arrested and their property would soon be seized, hence it would be impossible to state when the mines would be reopened. It was probable that with the next spring, an entirely new corporation would be organized, and the mining and milling plant rebuilt, and operated on a much more extensive scale than before; and should this be the case, he would then and there vouch that those of his men who had proven themselves trustworthy and honorable, would be certain of work, should they desire it, in the newly opened mines.

The men knew of Jack's condition, and while not a sound was made that would disturb the sufferer, the better class swung their hats high in the air, in token of applause, and then walked silently away.

It was found in the succeeding days that several miners had lost their lives in the explosions of the Yankee Boy mine; a few were so far underground that their doom was inevitable, while others, whom Houston had warned, instead of following his instructions, had endeavored to escape through the shafts, and had discovered too late that they had only rushed on to certain death.

Maverick, the tool by which all this destruction had been wrought, after his deadly work was done, overcome by his wretched cowardice, remained concealed until a late hour; then creeping from his hiding place to gloat over the havoc and ruin he had wrought, he suddenly found his triumph was short. Under the shelter of a few boards, temporarily erected, he found the ghastly remains of his companion and director in crime. Shivering and trembling with fear, he crept up the road till within sight of the house, arriving just in time to see Houston,—whom he supposed crushed and buried within the mine,—presenting Lyle to Mr. Cameron. He lingered long enough to see her clasped in his arms, then skulked back into the shadow, retreating down the road, gnashing his teeth with rage and disappointment. The following day search was made for him, under instructions from Mr. Cameron and Houston, who offered a large reward for him, living or dead. His body was found in an old, abandoned shaft on the mountain side, riddled with bullets. The vengeance of the miners, desperate from the loss of homes and employment, had overtaken him first. He was buried hastily and with little ceremony, his two sons having already taken themselves to parts unknown, fearful lest the penalty of their father's crimes might be inflicted upon them, and his fate become theirs also. A day or two later, Mrs. Maverick, who had been prostrated by the shock of the explosions and the succeeding events, died from a sudden paralysis, her feeble mind having first been cheered and soothed by the assurance from Mr. Cameron of his forgiveness for the small share which she had taken in the withholding Lyle from her true friends and home. She was given a decent burial in the miners' little cemetery at the Y, and the house which for so many years had been called by their name, knew the Mavericks no more.

Kind hands laid little Bull-dog under the murmuring pines on the mountain side, near Morgan's last resting place, but in the hearts, of Houston and his friends, his memory could never grow dim.

The small community of miners suddenly vanished, the deserted quarters, with their blackened ruins, seeming little like the busy camp of but a few days before, resounding with their songs and jests.

Only in the house nestling at the foot of the mountain there were no signs of desertion. It was crowded to overflowing, and within its walls, during those next succeeding days, what combats were waged, between hope and fear, joy and despair, life and death!



CHAPTER XLVIII.

Five days had passed, days of raging fever and delirium so violent that already the powerful frame seemed nearly exhausted; the sufferer calling almost incessantly for the loved ones of his old home, but oftenest for his mother. Some faint glimmer of recognition must occasionally have reached those darkened chambers of the brain, since when attended by Mr. Cameron, Houston or Lyle, he rested more quietly, though never calling Lyle by her own name, but always by that of his sister, Edna.

The fever had subsided, and he was now rapidly passing into a death-like stupor, hovering between life and death, unconscious of skilled physicians and trained nurses that came and went, unconscious of loving friends bending above him, their prayers and efforts combined with the skill of the former, in the terrible combat against the mighty foe.

The physicians watching by the bedside, shook their heads, as they felt the pulse, fluttering more and more faintly.

"He is sinking, failing rapidly," they said, "to-night will be the crisis, the turning point; unless there is a change then for the better, he will never see the dawning of another day."

To Mrs. Cameron, journeying westward with Morton Rutherford, the moments had seemed like hours, the hours like days, since learning for whose sake had come the summons to that distant country. Only the speed of the lightning could have satisfied the heart of the mother hastening to her long-lost son.

They had been kept informed along the route of Guy's condition, and now, upon their arrival at Silver City, on the noon train, they found a special car awaiting them, to convey them at once to the Y, which had been ordered by telegraphic dispatch from Mr. Cameron.

The watchers by the bedside heard the sound of swiftly approaching wheels; Mr. Cameron and Houston stepped quickly out to greet the sweet-faced woman hastening toward the house on the arm of Morton Rutherford.

"Am I in time? Is our boy still living?" were her first words, as her husband met her with outstretched arms, his face working with deep emotion.

"Just in time, thank God!" was the broken reply.

"Oh, Walter, is there no hope?" she queried, understanding his words only too well.

"I must not deceive you, Marjorie, there is the barest possibility that he may live, no more."

"He must live, and he will," replied the mother, in tones that reminded both Houston and Morton Rutherford wonderfully of Lyle.

Turning toward Houston, Mrs. Cameron greeted him affectionately, and gently touching the wounded arm, exclaimed:

"My poor, dear boy, what a terrible risk you have run!"

To which he replied, "I would go through it all again, Aunt Marjorie, for the joy I believe it will bring you and yours."

A few moments later, Mr. Cameron led his wife into the sick-room. Lyle had already left the room, and there remained only Leslie Gladden, sitting quietly near the foot of the bed, and the nurse, who respectfully withdrew from his place beside the patient, as Mrs. Cameron approached.

Calmly, though through fast-falling tears, the mother gazed for a moment upon her son; then dropping upon her knees beside the bed, she slipped one arm underneath the pillows, and gently drew the wounded head upon her own breast, tenderly kissing the brow and cheeks; then taking his hand within her own, she stroked and caressed it, meanwhile crooning over him in low, murmuring tones, as though he had been an infant.

There were no dry eyes in that little room, not excepting even the nurse, while from the door-way of the adjoining room, Morton Rutherford, Lyle and Everard Houston watched the scene with hearts too full for utterance. Something in that gentle touch must have carried the troubled mind of the sufferer back to the days of his childhood; gradually the faint moaning ceased, the drawn, tense features relaxed, and a sweet, child-like smile stole over his face now assuming a death-like pallor.

For hours the mother knelt there, her husband by her side, Everard and Leslie standing near, while in the background, in the dim light, was Lyle with Morton Rutherford.

At last, Mr. Cameron, bending over his wife, entreated her to take a few moments' rest and a little food. She hesitated, but Everard spoke:

"You must take some refreshment, Aunt Marjorie, you have had no food for hours; Leslie and I will watch here, and if there should be the slightest change, I will call you."

At the name of Leslie, Mrs. Cameron looked up, with a sweet, motherly smile, into the beautiful but tear-stained face beside her, and gently withdrawing from the bedside, she turned and clasped Miss Gladden in her arms, saying:

"My dear Leslie, I did not think we would meet for the first time under such circumstances as these, but I am more than glad to find you here. Everard has always been, and still is as our own son, and I welcome you, my dear, as a daughter."

On entering the dining-room, Mr. and Mrs. Cameron found a most tempting luncheon prepared for them, but no one in the room, Lyle having judged they would prefer to be by themselves for awhile.

As Mrs. Cameron, having partaken of some slight refreshment, was preparing to return to the sick-room, her husband said:

"Wait a moment, my dear; there is another joy in store for you, Marjorie, in that, through Everard's coming out into this country, we have received back from the dead, as it were, not only our son, but also a daughter. I want you to meet her now, my dear, so prepare yourself for a great surprise, and perhaps, something of a shock."

"I do not understand you, dear," replied Mrs. Cameron, looking bewildered, "you certainly do not refer to Leslie, I have met her."

"No, my love, Leslie is a beautiful girl, and will be to us a lovely daughter, but I refer to a daughter of our own flesh and blood."

Stepping to an adjoining room, Mr. Cameron called in a low tone, "Lyle, my dear," returning immediately to his wife's side to support her in case the shock should prove too much in her present agitated condition.

Lyle glided into the room, slowly approaching Mrs. Cameron, who sat speechless, pale as death, but controlling herself by a visible effort.

"Edna, my child! my own Edna!" she cried, rising with outstretched arms, and clasping Lyle to her breast; then turning toward her husband, she asked:

"What does this mean, Walter? Can this be Edna's child?"

"Yes, my love," he replied, "this is the little Marjorie we have mourned as dead for so many years."

For a while they sat clasped in each other's arms, their tears commingling, while Mr. Cameron briefly explained to his wife the main facts in Lyle's strange history.

"She shall be our own daughter, shall she not, Walter? She shall be to us just what Edna was?"

"Certainly," was the response, "she is our own daughter, Marjorie Lyle Cameron."

They returned to Guy's room, Mrs. Cameron resuming her old place, with Guy's head upon her breast, his hand in hers, only that now Lyle knelt beside her. At their side, and very near his son, was Mr. Cameron, while just back of them were Everard, Leslie and Morton Rutherford. Ned Rutherford and Van Dorn lingered in the door-way watching, while at the foot of the bed stood Mike, the tears coursing down his rugged face. On the other side of the bed stood the physicians and nurse, their keen eyes watching the subtle changes passing over the face, now white as marble, and almost as motionless.

Fainter and shorter grew the gasping breaths, more and more feeble the pulse, until at last it was evident to every one within that little room, that life had very nearly ebbed away.

But there was one who did not, for one instant, lose faith or hope. The sublime faith which had upheld her through all those years of a sorrow greater than death, did not desert her now. Lyle seemed to share her faith, and they alone remained calm and tearless, the saint-like face of the mother shining with love and trust.

Suddenly, upon that death-like stillness, her voice rang out, with startling clearness:

"Guy! oh, Guy, my darling!"

And to that soul, slipping through the fast-darkening shadows, almost within the grasp of the great enemy, there seemed to have come some echo of those tones, with their piercing sweetness, recalling him to life; for, with a long, quivering breath, Guy slowly opened his eyes, gazing, for an instant, with a dreamy smile, upon the faces surrounding him. His eyes closed with a gentle sigh, but while those about him anxiously awaited the next breath, they again opened, full of the light of recognition, while a rapturous smile grew and deepened upon his face, irradiating his features with joy, his lips moving in a whisper so faint that only the mother's ear could catch the words:

"I thought—it was—all—a dream,—but—it—is true," then, exhausted, he sank into a deep sleep like a child's, his breathing growing more and more regular and natural, moment by moment.

The physicians withdrew from the bedside, their vigil was over; "He will live," they said briefly, while in response, there rose from all parts of the room, deep sobs of joy.



CHAPTER XLIX.

For the first week or two, Guy Cameron's recovery was slow, but at the expiration of that time his vigorous constitution reasserted itself, and he gained rapidly.

Meanwhile, at Silver City, affairs were progressing under the efficient management of Mr. Whitney, the clear-headed attorney from New York.

When orders for arrest were first issued, it was soon discovered that the office of the North Western Mining, Land & Investment Company was practically deserted. None of their books or papers were to be found, their clerks had been dismissed, and no trace existed of the officers of the company. No information regarding their whereabouts could be obtained from any of the officers of the several high-titled companies occupying the same room, as they were supremely and serenely unconscious that anything out of the usual order had occurred, and full of regrets that they were unable to furnish the desired information.

Blaisdell was discovered the following day, in company with his eldest son, in an old abandoned mine about two miles from town, which he claimed they were working, his limited means not allowing him to wander far from the scene of his crimes. He was brought back to town and held pending the discovery of Wilson and Rivers, for whom detectives were searching in every direction. The former was never found, but at the end of about two weeks, the latter was run to earth in an eastern city, where he was masquerading in snow-white wig and beard and colored eye-glasses, as a retired and invalid clergyman, living in great seclusion.

Blaisdell and Rivers were tried on the charge of murder, the most important witnesses for the prosecution being Everard Houston and Morton Rutherford; the latter testifying as to the nature of the final and fatal dispatch sent on that eventful day, in which he was corroborated by the telegraph operator of the Silver City office, who had been found and secured as a witness, and who verified Rutherford's statements regarding the message, but at the same time cleared Mr. Blaisdell from all connection therewith; the message having been sent by Rivers in Blaisdell's absence, whether with his knowledge and consent, they were unable to ascertain. The charge against Blaisdell was therefore dismissed through lack of evidence, while in Rivers' case, a verdict was returned for manslaughter, and he was given the extreme limit of the law, imprisonment for ten years.

Blaisdell was then speedily arraigned for a new trial on the charge of embezzlement, the date on which his case was set for hearing being the same as that upon which his partner in crime was to be transferred to the state penitentiary.

On that morning, however, the guard on going to the cell occupied by Rivers, found him just expiring, having succeeded in smuggling into his cell a quantity of morphine, how or when, no one could ascertain. He left a letter in which he stated that no state penitentiary had ever held him, or ever would, but that "as the game was up" he would give them a few particulars regarding his past life. He gave his true name, the name of a man who, twenty-five years before, had been wanted in the state of New York for a heavy bank robbery and murder. For years, under an alias, he had belonged to a gang of counterfeiters in Missouri, but upon the discovery and arrest of the leaders of the band, he had assumed his present alias and had come west.

As Blaisdell took his place that morning in the prisoner's box, he was a pitiable object. Haunted almost to madness by the awful fate of his associate, confronted by an overwhelming array of evidence, furnished by Houston, Van Dorn and Lindlay, including also a deposition of Guy Cameron's, taken in his sick-room, his own abject and hopeless appearance bore the most damaging testimony against him. His case was quickly decided, his sentence being for seven years.

After the trial, Morton Rutherford and Van Dorn returned at once to the camp, and a day or two later, when business affairs had at last been satisfactorily adjusted, Mr. Cameron and Houston returned, bringing with them Mr. Whitney and Lindlay, for a visit of a week among the mountains, before the entire party should return east.

It was now early in the fall. Already the nights were frosty, but the days were royal as only early autumnal days among the mountains can be. Every breath was exhilarating, each inhalation seeming laden with some subtle elixir of life.

Guy Cameron was now convalescent, able to sit with his friends in the low, rustic porch, or even to join them in short strolls among the rocks by the lake.

One afternoon they all sat in and about the porch, in the soft, hazy sunlight, the vines and shrubbery about them brilliant in their autumnal tints of crimson and orange and gold. The group was complete, with the exception of Mr. Cameron and Mr. Whitney, who still lingered within doors, engaged in drawing up some papers of which no one seemed to understand the import, excepting Houston, who had just left the gentlemen to join the group outside.

It was a strikingly beautiful picture; Mrs. Cameron seated in the center, with her sweet face and snow-white hair, and on either side a lovely daughter. Near Lyle were seated Guy Cameron and Morton Rutherford,—between whom there already existed a deep affinity,—-with their faces of remarkable strength and beauty. On the grass, just outside the porch, in various easy attitudes, were Ned Rutherford, Van Dorn and Lindlay, and it was noticeable that under the influence of late events, even Ned's boyish face was gradually assuming a far more mature and thoughtful expression.

As Houston seated himself beside Leslie, both she and Lyle observed that his face was lighted with a smile of deep satisfaction, but he remained silent, and the conversation continued as before, the members of the little group engaged in anticipations of their return to their respective homes, and in comments upon this particular portion of the west with which they had become familiar.

"Which will you love best, Jack, my dear," Lyle asked of Guy in low tones, using the old form of address still very dear to her, "the eastern home, or the mountains?"

"My old home was never so dear to me as now," he replied, "but I am deeply attached to the mountains; for years they were my only friends, and I shall wish to look upon them occasionally in the future."

"Well," Ned Rutherford was saying, "I wouldn't have thought it, but I've got so attached to this place out here, I'd like an excuse of some sort,—some kind of business, you know,—that would bring me here part of the time; what do you think, Mort?"

"I think our associations here have had a great deal to do with the attractions of the place, but as a quiet retreat in which to spend a few weeks of each summer, I can not imagine a more delightful place."

"Everard, of what are you thinking so deeply?" demanded Lyle, watching his thoughtful face, "you have not spoken a word since you came out."

"I am thinking of the evening when first we had Mr. Lindlay and Mr. Van Dorn as guests in this house; thinking of the contrast between then and now; that was ushering in the close of the old regime, and this is the eve of the new."

"When will the mines be reopened?" inquired Van Dorn.

"Just as soon as possible after the rebuilding of the plant, next spring."

"All these mines will be owned and controlled by the New York company, will they not?"

"Yes, and they will probably purchase other good properties."

"'Pon my soul, but that will make a fine plant, out 'ere!" exclaimed Lindlay.

"I should say so," responded Van Dorn.

Just at that instant, Mr. Cameron and Mr. Whitney appeared, the latter carrying a large roll of legal cap, covered with his well-known hieroglyphics.

"My dear," said Mr. Cameron, seating himself beside his wife and a little in the rear of the remainder of the group, "Mr. Whitney and myself have been engaged in drawing up the articles of incorporation of the new mining company to be organized out here very shortly, and I thought perhaps you and the young people would be interested in them. I want to say that they are drawn up subject to the approval of all parties interested, and after you have heard them read, we want you to express your opinions, jointly and severally. Mr. Whitney, as I believe you are the only one who would be able to read those cabalistic signs, we will now listen to you."

Amid a general laugh at Mr. Whitney's expense, he began the reading of the articles of incorporation. The first article, setting forth the object of the corporation, was read, and by the time Mr. Whitney had reached the second, the members of the party were all attention.

"Article II. This corporation shall be known as The Rocky Mountain Mining Company."

A murmur of approval ran through the little group, and the sonorous tones continued:

"Article III. The officers of the company hereby incorporated shall be as follows: Walter E. Cameron, president; Walter E. Houston, vice-president; Guy M. Cameron, treasurer and general manager; Edward B. Rutherford, Jr., secretary."