ch soon were to come to trial, and without a bit of evidence
to combat them. Riches could do much--but they could not aid in that
particular, and somewhat sobered by the knowledge, Fairchild turned
from the main road and on up through the high-piled snow to the mouth
of the Blue Poppy mine.

A faint acrid odor struck his nostrils as he started to descend the
shaft, the "perfume" of exploded dynamite, and it sent anew into
Fairchild's heart the excitement and intensity of the strike.
Evidently Harry had shot the deep hole, and now, there in the chamber,
was examining the result, which must, by this time, give some idea of
the extent of the ore and the width of the vein. Fairchild pulled on
the rope with enthusiastic strength, while the bucket bumped and
swirled about the shaft in descent. A moment more and he had reached
the bottom, to leap from the carrier, light his carbide lamp which hung
where he had left it on the timbers, and start forward.

The odor grew heavier. Fairchild held his light before him and looked
far ahead, wondering why he could not see the gleam from Harry's lamp.
He shouted. There was no answer, and he went on.

Fifty feet! Seventy-five! Then he stopped short with a gasp. Twisted
and torn before him were the timbers of the tunnel, while muck and
refuse lay everywhere. A cave-in--another cave-in--at almost the exact
spot where the one had occurred years before, shutting off the chamber
from communication with the shaft, tearing and rending the new timbers
which had been placed there and imprisoning Harry behind them!

Fairchild shouted again and again, only gaining for his answer the
ghostlike echoes of his own voice as they traveled to the shaft and
were thrown back again. He tore off his coat and cap, and attacked the
timbers like the fear-maddened man he was, dragging them by superhuman
force out of the way and clearing a path to the refuse. Then, running
along the little track, he searched first on one side, then the other,
until, nearly at the shaft, he came upon a miner's pick and a shovel.
With these, he returned to the task before him.

Hours passed, while the sweat poured from his forehead and while his
muscles seemed to tear themselves loose from their fastenings with the
exertion that was placed upon them. Foot after foot, the muck was torn
away, as Fairchild, with pick and shovel, forced a tunnel through the
great mass of rocky debris which choked the drift. Onward--onwa