“I couldn’t help it,” he gasped. “Where did I hit you?”
“Get on,” Vane said hoarsely. “I can hold the drill.”
Carroll struck for a few more minutes, after which he flung down the hammer and inserted the giant-powder into the holes sunk in the stone. Next he lighted the fuse; and, warning the others, they hastily recrossed the dangerous bridge. They had reached the edge of the forest when a flash sprang up amidst the foam and a sharp crash was followed by a deafening, drawn-out uproar. Rending, grinding, smashing, the jamb broke up, hammered upon the partly shattered boulder, and carrying it away or driving over it washed in tremendous ruin down the rapid. When the wild clamour had subsided, Salter gave the men some instructions, and then as they approached the lamp noticed Vane’s reddened hand.
“That looks a nasty smash; you want to get it seen to,” he remarked.
“I’ll get it dressed at the settlement; we’ll make an early start to-morrow,” said Vane. “We were lucky in breaking the jamb; but you’ll have the same trouble over again any time a heavy flood brings down an unusual quantity of driftwood.”
“It’s what I’d expect,” agreed Salter.
“Then something will have to be done to prevent it. I’ll go into the matter when I reach the city.”
Carroll and Vane walked back to the shack, where the former bound up his comrade’s injured hand, and, after a rest, left the mine early next morning. Vane got his hand dressed when they reached the little mining town at the head of the railroad, and on the following day they arrived in Vancouver.
[CHAPTER XXI—VANE YIELDS A POINT.]
The short afternoon was drawing towards its close when Vane came out of a building in Hastings Street, Vancouver.