but he had never helped in it.  His conjecture was right—­blasting-time had come.  In the morning the pair carried fuse, drills, and the powder-can to the shaft; it was now eight feet deep, and to get into it and out of it a short ladder was used.  They descended, and by command Fetlock held the drill—­without any instructions as to the right way to hold it—­and Flint proceeded to strike.  The sledge came down; the drill sprang out of Fetlock’s hand, almost as a matter of course.

“You mangy son of a nigger, is that any way to hold a drill?  Pick it up!  Stand it up!  There—­hold fast.  D—­you!  I’ll teach you!”

At the end of an hour the drilling was finished.

“Now, then, charge it.”

The boy started to pour in the powder.

“Idiot!”

A heavy bat on the jaw laid the lad out.

“Get up!  You can’t lie sniveling there.  Now, then, stick in the fuse first.  Now put in the powder.  Hold on, hold on!  Are you going to fill the hole all up?  Of all the sap-headed milksops I—­Put in some dirt!  Put in some gravel!  Tamp it down!  Hold on, hold on!  Oh, great Scott! get out of the way!” He snatched the iron and tamped the charge himself, meantime cursing and blaspheming like a fiend.  Then he fired the fuse, climbed out of the shaft, and ran fifty yards away, Fetlock following.  They stood waiting a few minutes, then a great volume of smoke and rocks burst high into the air with a thunderous explosion; after a little there was a shower of descending stones; then all was serene again.

“I wish to God you’d been in it!” remarked the master.

They went down the shaft, cleaned it out, drilled another hole, and put in another charge.

“Look here!  How much fuse are you proposing to waste?  Don’t you know how to time a fuse?”

“No, sir.”

“You don’t!  Well, if you don’t beat anything I ever saw!”

He climbed out of the shaft and spoke down: 

“Well, idiot, are you going to be all day?  Cut the fuse and light it!”

The trembling creature began: 

“If you please, sir, I—­”

“You talk back to me?  Cut it and light it!”

The boy cut and lit.

“Ger-reat Scott! a one-minute fuse!  I wish you were in—­”

In his rage he snatched the ladder out of the shaft and ran.  The boy was aghast.

“Oh, my God!  Help.  Help!  Oh, save me!” he implored.  “Oh, what can I do!  What can I do!”

He backed against the wall as tightly as he could; the sputtering fuse frightened the voice out of him; his breath stood still; he stood gazing and impotent; in two seconds, three seconds, four he would be flying toward the sky torn to fragments.  Then he had an inspiration.  He sprang at the fuse; severed the inch of it that was left above ground, and was saved.

He sank down limp and half lifeless with fright, his strength gone; but he muttered with a deep joy: