Nash was not to press the button himself! he conferred the honor upon the subforeman who had taken charge of the bore. Nash intended being nearer than the other men, and had already picked out his point of observation. He wanted to be close enough to determine just how the explosion acted.
The day of the explosion arrived. Nash gave final orders.
“We’ll make it eight o’clock to-night,” he said to the men in charge. “The moon ought to be up by that time. I wouldn’t tell too many of the men, because they might get curious, and venture too near. I don’t want any accidents.”
“The batteries are all tested out,” the subforeman responded. “Everything’s in shipshape order. At eight sharp I press the button. Will you be with us, Mr. Nash?”
“Oh, I’ll be around somewhere near,” Nash answered. “But don’t wait for me. I might creep in a few yards nearer the fun.”
“Very well, sir. Eight, prompt, it’ll be.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
At six o’clock Nash finished his supper, strapped a pair of powerful field glasses over his shoulder, and set out in the direction of the “coyote.” The sun was just dipping behind the highest mountain, bathing the sky with gold and coral. The lower valleys were hung with purple mists.
Nash tramped on, breathing in the clean, damp air, which, now and then, smelled of the distant Pacific. Saucy, bushy-tailed gophers darted here and there, scolding loudly when disturbed; once an unseen California mocking bird burst into a glorious, heart-quickening melody, its pure, liquid notes pouring out so clearly that Nash halted, listening almost greedily. He loved music, and it was one of the things he missed out here in the mountains. And when the invisible singer had finished he applauded softly.
“Bravo!” he whispered. “Bravo!”