of "Sissie" Larsen
had lain within almost a few feet of the spot where he had drilled the
prospect hole into the foot wall, there to discover the ore that
promised bonanza.

But this time there was nothing and no clue to the mystery of Harry's
disappearance. Fairchild suddenly strengthened with an idea. Perhaps,
after all, he had been on the other side of the cave-in and had hurried
on out of the mine. But in that event, would he not have waited for
his return, to tell him of the accident? Or would he not have
proceeded down to the Sampler to bring the news if he had not cared to
remain at the tunnel opening? However, it was a chance, and Fairchild
took it. Once more he crawled through the hole that he had made in the
cave-in and sought the outward world. Then he hurried down Kentucky
Gulch and to the Sampler. But Harry had not been there. He went
through town, asking questions, striving his best to shield his
anxiety, cloaking his queries under the cover of cursory remarks.
Harry had not been seen. At last, with the coming of night, he turned
toward the boarding house, and on his arrival. Mother Howard, sighting
his white face, hurried to him.

"Have you seen Harry?" he asked.

"No--he has n't been here."

It was the last chance. Clutching fear at his heart, he told Mother
Howard of the happenings at the mine, quickly, as plainly as possible.
Then once more he went forth, to retrace his steps to the Blue Poppy,
to buck the wind and the fine snow and the high, piled drifts, and to
go below. But the surroundings were the same: still the cave-in, with
its small hole where he had torn through it, still the ragged hanging
wall where Harry had fired the last shots of dynamite in his
investigations, still the trampled bit of fuse with its cap attached.
Nothing more. Gingerly Fairchild picked up the cap and placed it where
a chance kick could not explode it. Then he returned to the shaft.

Back into the black night, with the winds whistling through the pines.
Back to wandering about through the hills, hurrying forward at the
sight of every faint, dark object against the snow, in the hope that
Harry, crippled by the cave-in, might have some way gotten out of the
shaft. But they were only boulders or logs or stumps of trees. At
midnight, Fairchild turned once more toward town and to the boarding
house. But Harry had not appeared. There was only one thing left to
do.

This time, when Fairchild left Mot