“You see, the dyke seems to follow an ancient crevice in the granite, which runs straight in for a hundred and fifty feet, then turns abruptly to the west.  Here it widens out, and just at that point the strata shifts and is folded.  We found a small quantity of quartz just there.  The day of the accident I was replacing some of the floor planks near the entrance and your father was preparing to make a series of blasts on the new strata.  I was to help him shoot them when he was ready.  He was very pleased at the new outcropping of quartz, and was very anxious to open up the vein before we quit work for the day.  The farther in you go, the more shaly the black rock seems to get, and in some places we were forced to roof the drift with mine props in order to keep the ceiling up.  I was bending over, chopping the end of a plank, when I was violently knocked down.  In falling I struck my head against the rough wall, cutting myself badly over the left eye.  I struggled to my feet dazedly, the blood streaming down over my face.  I had mined long enough to know just what had happened.  In some way your father had prematurely set off his blast.  I started toward him, but the heavy powder smoke drove me back.  I dropped to my knees to get the air—­it’s always best near the floor—­and in a moment a second explosion came.  I snatched the jug of water and began crawling toward Bill on all fours.  I called again and again, but no answer came.  When I finally reached him I felt faint and sick.  I found him nearly completely buried in a heap of stone.  He was unconscious, and never spoke to me again.  After two hours of tremendous effort, I was able to lift his poor, broken body in my arms and carry it out.  I was thankful then that he was unconscious and could not feel the pain.  By night I got him to the cabin, and at once set off for Ben’s.  We came back by lantern light that night, and led the old horse.  We spent the rest of the night building a crude litter of poles and blankets, and as soon as it was light we fastened one end of the stretcher to the horse, a pole on either side of him, and each one of us carried a pole at the other end.  It took an hour for us to get down to the canyon road.  In twelve hours your father died.  He regained consciousness just long enough to talk with Williams briefly.  What he said at that time I have never been able to find out.

“Then followed the awful years of lonesomeness for me, made worse by the always-present knowledge that I should have been the one to shoot those blasts and not your father.  I wrote your mother fully concerning the accident, but never received a reply, so have had no word of you since that time.  I’ve told you how your uncle tried to get possession of the mine.  When I would not sell, he hounded my every step until at last I left the city and went to work for the D. & P.W. as fireman.  I went through the city often, but very rarely stopped off.  But it seems I came just often enough to keep your uncle too frightened to carry out his plan concerning the tunnel.”