She flung up her head a little. “I knew what I was doing before I started,” she said. “Put it away. How far is it, and can we do it in time?”
“If you can hold out, we can do it; but it means going all night and all morning; and it ain’t dawn yet, by a long shot.”
Dawn came at last, and the mist of early morning, and the imperious and dispelling sun; and with mouthfuls of food as they drifted on, the two fixed their eyes on the horizon beyond which lay Bindon. And now it seemed to the girl as though this race to save a life or many lives was the one thing in existence. To-morrow was to-day, and the white petticoat was lying in the little house in the mountains, and her wedding was an interminable distance off, so had this adventure drawn her into its risks and toils and haggard exhaustion.
Eight, nine, ten, eleven o’clock came, and then they saw signs of settlement. Houses appeared here and there upon the banks, and now and then a horseman watched them from the shore, but they could not pause. Bindon—Bindon—Bindon—the Snowdrop Mine at Bindon, and a death-dealing machine timed to do its deadly work, were before the eyes of the two voyageurs.
Half-past eleven, and the town of Bindon was just beyond them. A quarter to twelve, and they had run their canoe into the bank beyond which were the smokestacks and chimneys of the mine. Bindon was peacefully pursuing its way, though here and there were little groups of strikers who had not resumed work.
Dingley and the girl scrambled up the bank. Trembling with fatigue, they hastened on. The man drew ahead of her, for she had paddled for fifteen hours, practically without ceasing, and the ground seemed to rise up at her. But she would not let him stop.
He hurried on, reached the mine, and entered, shouting the name of his friend. It was seven minutes to twelve.
A moment later, a half-dozen men came rushing from that portion of the mine where Dingley had been told the machine was placed, and at their head was Lawson, the man he had come to save.
The girl hastened on to meet them, but she grew faint and leaned against a tree, scarce conscious. She was roused by voices.
“No, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me that done it; it was a girl. Here she is—Jenny Long! You got to thank her, Jake.”