The tunnel had been driven very rapidly without proper trussing, and it seemed to Tad that the entire dyke must have been shaken by the blasts that had caused Mr. Thornton’s death years before.  Without a second’s notice the shaly rock had given a little, then caved in.  It seemed a strange turn of fate to Tad that the same blast that had taken away his partner many years ago had now probably taken away his only enemy.  With these thoughts came an intense hatred for the mine and a tender pity for the man that had so wronged him.  Tad had put his body to a tremendous test, and every nerve and every muscle was fairly tingling, so he drew up a chair to the bedside and rested.  In a little while Mr. Williams became conscious, but on recognizing Tad at his bedside he slipped back again into unconsciousness, muttering strange, broken apologies and begging for mercy.  Tad thanked God as he sat there that night that he had never harmed a brother man willfully and that his life had always been, at least to the best of his ability, on the square.

Then he began to think rapidly.  Perhaps Williams was near the end.  He feared the bad cut on his head might prove fatal.  What if he should die and have no chance to talk, no chance to square himself with those that he had wronged?  Accordingly he made him as comfortable as he could, and after telling Ben his plan, he hurriedly ate a little food, went out into the night and down the trail.

Willis was awakened early in the morning by a furious pounding on the door.  He rose and hurried down.  Tad fairly tumbled into the room.  He informed Willis just what had happened, and told him to get ready to go with him at once.  A doctor was called, a cab ordered, and in a little while the three were hastening back toward Bruin Inn.  With all their speed, however, the morning was well-spent before they reached the little shanty again.  The doctor made a careful examination and declared Williams in a very critical condition.  The broken leg was reset, the cuts dressed and sewed up.  Then began the preparations to remove him out of the mountains to a hospital.  It seemed very strange to Tad to be again building a crude stretcher from aspen poles and blankets, but by night they had placed him in the hospital and he was sleeping.

It was a long night of strange thoughts and fancies for Willis as he sat by his uncle’s bedside.  He was too bewildered by all the strange events of the last fortnight to be able to think logically.  His admiration for Tad had grown until it knew no bounds, and his pity for his uncle had increased until all the hardness had disappeared from his heart and he was sorry for him.  He hoped with all his might that he would yet live.

In the early morning Willis was awakened by his uncle’s hand being placed on his.  The injured man was looking up into his face.  He closed his eyes again and was silent a long while.  When he opened them again he spoke falteringly: