They reached the slight rise and began to descend toward the bay. Outlined against the vista of the blue water washing the base of the Sausalito hills, rose the massive pillar of the chimney.
Ben paused an instant in amazement. Mundon had been true to his word; for reaching from the top to the bottom was a cable that looked the thickness of a thread against the solid round bulk of the chimney.
Ben could hardly believe his eyes. How had it been accomplished?
He was obliged to control his impatience until the mule’s deliberate gait brought them at length to the Works.
“Mundon, where are you!” Ben called as he dashed into the building.
“Ahoy there!” A voice replied from the flue.
Peering up the mouth, Ben saw Mundon on a cross-piece which was fastened by two lines to the main rope, after the manner of a trapeze.
“I’ll do the chippin’,” Mundon remarked from his perch, about twenty feet from the ground. “Take your head away a minute and we’ll drive the first blow.”