The tunnel was a round, irregular hole a little higher than a man's head, and in width it varied with the width of the dyke. The floor had been covered with rough-hewn planks to make the pushing of the loaded wheelbarrows easier. These old planks were black and wet, but still quite sound. As they stood, waiting for Ham to return, Tad told Willis something more of the early history of the mine:
"You see, the dyke seems to follow an ancient crevice in the granite, which runs straight in for a hundred and fifty feet, then turns abruptly to the west. Here it widens out, and just at that point the strata shifts and is folded. We found a small quantity of quartz just there. The day of the accident I was replacing some of the floor planks near the entrance and your father was preparing to make a series of blasts on the new strata. I was to help him shoot them when he was ready. He was very pleased at the new outcropping of quartz, and was very anxious to open up the vein before we quit work for the day. The farther in you go, the more shaly the black rock seems to get, and in some places we were forced to roof the drift with mine props in order to keep the ceiling up. I was bending over, chopping the end of a plank, when I was violently knocked down. In falling I struck my head against the rough wall, cutting myself badly over the left eye. I struggled to my feet dazedly, the blood streaming down over my face. I had mined long enough to know just what had happened. In some way your father had prematurely set off his blast. I started toward him, but the heavy powder smoke drove me back. I dropped to my knees to get the air—it's always best near the floor—and in a moment a second explosion came. I snatched the jug of water and began crawling toward Bill on all fours. I called again and again, but no answer came. When I finally reached him I felt faint and sick. I found him nearly completely buried in a heap of stone. He was unconscious, and never spoke to me again. After two hours of tremendous effort, I was able to lift his poor, broken body in my arms and carry it out. I was thankful then that he was unconscious and could not feel the pain. By night I got him to the cabin, and at once set off for Ben's. We came back by lantern light that night, and led the old horse. We spent the rest of the night building a crude litter of poles and blankets, and as soon as it was light we fastened one end of the stretcher to the horse, a pole on either side of him, and each one of us carried a pole at the other end. It took an hour for us to get down to the canyon road. In twelve hours your father died. He regained consciousness just long enough to talk with Williams briefly. What he said at that time I have never been able to find out.
"Then followed the awful years of lonesomeness for me, made worse by the always-present knowledge that I should have been the one to shoot those blasts and not your father. I wrote your mother fully concerning the accident, but never received a reply, so have had no word of you since that time. I've told you how your uncle tried to get possession of the mine. When I would not sell, he hounded my every step until at last I left the city and went to work for the D. & P.W. as fireman. I went through the city often, but very rarely stopped off. But it seems I came just often enough to keep your uncle too frightened to carry out his plan concerning the tunnel."
Ham was returning up the trail now, and soon the candles were lighted. Tad took the lead, followed by Willis, Ham and Old Ben bringing up the rear. A little inside the entrance, and to one side, a small room had been cut in the solid granite for a store-room. Here were the tools of the mine—two wheelbarrows, several shovels and picks, a large lantern, and several boxes of powder. What had once been a heavy coil of hemp rope was now a very comfortable rat's nest. Several old stone drills had been driven into the crevices for hooks, and on them hung old burlap sacks, a coil of heavy wire, two old slouch hats, and a man's coat.
Tad had bared his head as he entered. He slowly led the way down the narrow lane without a word. A little farther in they came to a very rusty ax, leaning against the wall, and Willis guessed that it had never been moved from where Tad had last used it. The large, blackened chips were scattered over the floor, and the great plank lay where he had last worked on it. Tad was very cautious now, trying the props overhead every few feet, to see if they were safe. Willis was walking as if in a dream; he was stepping very softly and his head was bowed. This was the very path his father had trod. He fancied he heard his cheery voice now, as he came and went with load after load of rock. He fancied how he must have felt as he worked day by day, ever surer of the fortune that was to be his. He found himself wondering how his life's course might have been changed if that golden dream had come true. The tunnel turned abruptly to the west, and Tad moved more cautiously still. Presently Tad halted and pointed to a heap of rock on the floor, "It was there, lad," he said very quietly, and that was all. Willis stooped and placed his hand on the place for a second. Tad noticed that his face was white and drawn and his eyes were very big. He let him stay for an instant, then took him gently by the arm and led him out.
Old Ben made a hasty examination of the rocks on the floor, then of the exposed vein. He handed the candle to Ham, and, drawing from his pocket a heavy cold chisel, he carefully knocked off some choice pieces of the ore and placed them in his pocket, muttering to himself all the while. When he had satisfied himself, he turned, took the candle, and started out, motioning Ham to precede him.
"Best gold quartz I've seed in many a year," he said softly, "only Tad will never believe it." Ham understood. Ahead of them, down the narrow black passage, they saw Tad's light disappear.
"They have stepped into the tool-room, boy," said Ben, "an' every tarnal
one o' them implements is nearly sacred to Tad. Let's not disturb 'em."
He blew out his light and leaned against the wall of the tunnel, pulling
Ham back with him.
In a few minutes they were surprised to hear loud exclamations and the moving of the old iron wheelbarrows. Ahead they could see the light of the opening, so Old Ben started again toward the entrance.
"Guess that memorial service must be all over, from the racket they're makin' with them tarnal carts," he said.