Louise had become well-nigh exhausted, and rested for a moment, when the Colonel shouted: “Drill on! Drill on! There’s no time to lose!”
“But, father,” cried Louise, “the powder is all gone. Shall we not send the engineer for more? There’s hardly enough for more than another blast.”
“No!” yelled the Colonel, almost like a maniac in vehemence, “I have no money fo’ mo’ powdeh. Let us use what we have. Scrape the cans and put it all in one great blast. I will drill.”
Louise was frightened. She feared her father was losing his mind. It might be, after all, that instead of benefitting him by her constant encouragement and belief in Gray Rocks, she had but added to his vain hallucination, and the shock of another failure might dethrone his reason. While she was thinking, she industriously applied herself to gathering from the different cans that had contained the giant powder all that was left into one. Yes, there was enough for one more blast, but not enough for two.
“Where is the powdeh?” cried the Colonel. She looked at her father, whose face was almost as white as the disheveled hair of his uncovered head. He had thrown aside his hat and coat, and was wrought up to the highest pitch of excitement.
“A moment, father,” said Louise, laying her hand on his arm.
“Let me alone, I have no time to wait,” he said.