Meanwhile, the work of destruction went swiftly forward, explosions
following in quick succession and with terrific force, throughout the
Yankee group of mines, and the adjoining claims; while the flames from
the burning shafts were rivaled by those which spread from the mills
to the shops, storehouses and stables, and finally, to the miners'
quarters, till all were speedily reduced to ashes.
Around the entrance to tunnel No. 3, a large crowd had gathered, not
only from the various mines, but also from neighboring mining camps,
all anxiously awaiting the return of the rescue party.
At last they appeared. The first to emerge into daylight, was Ned
Rutherford, bearing in his arms the crushed and mutilated form of
little Bull-dog. Behind him came Houston, partially supported by one
of the young miners and by Lyle, his left arm hanging at his side, his
face deathly white beneath the blood and grime, but firm and dauntless
as ever. As he stepped forth into the light, a wild cheer rose on the
air, but Houston, raising his right hand with a deprecatory motion,
silently pointed backward toward the tunnel, where, slowly emerging
into view of the crowd, were Morton Rutherford and Mike, carrying,
with the assistance of the other miner, the bleeding and unconscious
form of Jack.
The cheers were hushed, and the crowd silently surged about Houston
and the two motionless, unconscious forms laid side by side upon the
ground, their heads pillowed upon the rough jackets of the men, folded
and tenderly placed beneath them by the hands of Lyle and Leslie, the
latter half fainting with excitement.
The men crowding about Houston congratulated him with a hearty
hand-clasp, unaccompanied by words, except for an occasional inquiry
as to his own condition.
"I am all right," he said in reply to the latter, "my arm is nothing,
the merest trifle; my only thought is for the two lives which I fear
have been sacrificed for mine."
Anxiously he bent above the prostrate forms. Jack's head was
frightfully gashed, and his heavy, labored breathing indicated that
his brain was already affected. Houston spoke a word to Morton
Rutherford, who quickly withdrew, and taking the swiftest horse in
camp, was soon speeding down the road to the Y, in a second race
against death.
Houston next knelt beside Bull-dog; a faint fluttering about the heart
was the only sign of life. The little waif was well known among the
mining camps of that vicinity, and there were few dry eyes in the
crowd as Houston told the story of his heroism.
Houston saw the end was very near, and gently slipped his right arm
under Bull-dog's head. Slowly the little fellow opened his eyes,
looking, with a happy smile, into the face bending so tenderly over
him. At that instant, the sun, bursting through the clouds, threw a
ray of golden light in shining benediction across the little white
face. His eyes brightened still more; "We're safe!" he whispered
joyously. There was a slight quiver, and the little form was still.
The sun, shining as brightly and serenely as though storms were
unknown, looked down into that beautiful canyon upon a strange scene
of ruin, desolation and death. Amid the wreck and debris of the
explosions, lay the little hero who had saved so many lives that day,
upon his face a child-like smile which it had never worn in life;
while farther on down the canyon, beside the smoking embers of the
milling plant, lay the one whose signal had wrought all this
destruction. The men, rushing into the burning mills, had found the
electrical apparatus in ruins, as though torn to pieces by giant
hands, and beside it upon the floor lay Haight, a ghastly sight, his
face blackened and distorted, his right arm and side seared and
shriveled, by the mighty servant who had suddenly burst its fetters.
Slowly and tenderly Jack was borne to the house, and laid in the room
which had been Houston's, which Lyle had made ready for him with
loving care, her tears falling fast as she recalled his farewell of
the preceding night. To the house came also his two faithful friends,
Mike and Rex, for the little cabin was no more, Jack had indeed spent
his last night beneath its roof, though the succeeding night, to which
he had looked forward, was far different from his anticipations.
Days afterward, his gripsack, packed with such care on that last night
in the cabin, was found by Houston concealed among the rocks, where
Jack had hidden it on the morning of that eventful day, intending,
when his work was done, to set forth upon his wandering life once
more.
Morton Rutherford, on arriving at the Y, had sent the following cipher
dispatch to Van Dorn:
"Come out on special at once. The mines have been fired by
telegraphic orders from Silver City office. Everard badly cut and
arm broken, but not seriously injured. Jack but just alive. Bring
surgeons and nurse as quickly as possible."
Having sent this message, and finding there was a very good physician
at the Y, he sent him at once to the camp, to remain there until the
surgeons should arrive, doing meantime all in his power to relieve the
sufferers. Then giving orders for one of the company's men to take his
horse, and replace it with a fresh one, Morton returned to the station
to await Van Dorn's reply.
At the house, Jack was being cared for by Mike and one of the older
miners, who had had considerable experience in nursing, Houston doing
everything which his crippled condition and the intense pain he was
suffering, would permit.
On the arrival of the physician from the Y, he first visited Jack, and
leaving directions to be carried out for his temporary relief, next
attended to the setting of Houston's arm and the dressing of his
wounds. The operation required some time, but at last it was
completed, and Houston returned to Jack's room.
The room had been darkened, and in accordance with the physician's
directions, Jack's beard had been shaven and his hair closely cut, to
relieve his head as much as possible. His breathing was more natural,
but he lay quiet and motionless as before.
As Houston approached the bed in the dim light, he scarcely recognized
his friend, so great was the change in his appearance, but as he drew
nearer, he started visibly. Something in the smooth face and closely
clipped head seemed wonderfully familiar, and carried him back to the
days when he had first entered his uncle's home. Bending over him for
an instant, he scanned the features more closely. It was enough! The
face with its patrician features carved in such perfect beauty, though
lined by sorrow, was the face of his cousin,--his boyish hero and
ideal.
With a quick, dry sob, Houston turned from the bedside, more deeply
moved than any of his associates had ever seen him.
"Great God!" he exclaimed, in low tones, "it is Guy Cameron! my cousin
Guy!" and bending over the unconscious form once more, while the great
tears coursed slowly down his face, he murmured:
"Guy, dear old fellow, and you have known me all this time! God grant
this has not come too late!"
With a low cry, Lyle had sprung to Houston's side, while Leslie and
Ned Rutherford followed, and the others looked on in mute wonder and
astonishment. Her quick ear had caught the name.
"What name did you say?" she cried eagerly, "Did you say Guy Cameron?
Is Jack--my Jack--is he my mother's brother?"
Houston bowed in assent, he could not speak.
"Oh," moaned Lyle, "no wonder that he loved us so! and we have not
loved him half enough!" and dropping on her knees beside the bed,
sobbing bitterly, she seized the hand, nearly as white as the sheet
upon which it lay, and covered it with passionate kisses.
A few moments later, Morton Rutherford entered the room; Lyle was
still kneeling by the bedside; beside her was Leslie, quietly weeping.
Ned's eyes were suspiciously red, while in one corner, honest-hearted
Mike was vainly trying to check his fast-flowing tears upon the
sleeves of his blouse. Morton looked quickly toward the strangely
altered face upon the pillows, and was struck by its wondrous beauty.
Glancing inquiringly at Houston, as he advanced to meet him, he asked
anxiously:
"Is he worse?"
"No, there is no change yet, one way or another," Houston replied in
low tones, and continued, "Morton, we were speaking last night, at the
cabin, of my uncle's son,--my cousin, Guy Cameron."
"Yes, I remember."
"He is found," Houston's voice trembled, and he could say no more, but
Morton understood. He gazed with new and tearful interest upon the
beautiful face in its death-like calm; then beckoning to Houston, he
said, as they passed from the room:
"Ah, you have at last found the key to the wondrous bond between you,
and to his self-sacrificing love toward you and yours."
For a few moments they recalled certain incidents in their acquaintance
with the silent, yet gentle and courteous occupant of the little
cabin, and much that had seemed mysterious was now clear and plain in
the light of this recent revelation.
At last Morton said; "I must hasten back to the Y," at the same time
handing his friend the telegram received from Van Dorn:
"Leave in half an hour on special, with surgeons and nurse.
Whitney and Lindlay remain here to attend to business. Warrants
for arrests have been issued."
"That is good," said Houston, with a sigh of relief, "They are already
on their way. And now, my dear Morton, I have one other commission for
you, if you are willing to perform it."
"You know I am at your service," Morton replied.
"My aunt, whose faith and love have watched and waited for her son's
return during all these years, must be brought here as quickly as
possible. I am not in very good condition for travel, and do not feel
that I can leave Guy. I know I can trust her in your care, you will be
to her as a son, and such she will regard you when she knows all, and
I commission you in my name to meet her and bring her out here."
"That I will very gladly do, my dear Everard, and at once; there must
be no delay. By going out this evening, I will be able to take the
early train east from Silver City: the special arrives at 6:10, the
six o'clock train being held at the Y, until after its arrival. I will
return to the Y, meet Mr. Cameron and have a word with him, and go
directly on to Silver City on the regular train."
Thirty minutes later, having hastily packed a small grip, and taken a
tender farewell of Lyle, who knew his errand, and with tearful eyes
bade him "God-speed," Morton Rutherford left the house, accompanied by
Ned, who was to return with Mr. Cameron and Van Dorn.
The sun was slowly sinking behind the crests of the mountains,
flooding the surrounding peaks with glory, when a wagon drawn by four
panting, foaming horses, drew up before the house.
From the front seat beside the driver, Ned Rutherford and Van
Dorn sprang hastily to the ground, turning quickly to assist a
fine-looking, elderly gentleman, with iron-gray hair and beard,
whose dark, piercing eyes bore a strong resemblance to those of
both Houston and Jack. He needed little assistance, however, and
having alighted, turned with firm step and erect bearing, but
with an expression of deep anxiety, toward the house, followed by
the two young men, and by three strangers.
At that instant Houston appeared within the little porch, his left arm
in a sling, his face pale and haggard, though with a grave smile of
affectionate welcome.
Even in that brief instant, Mr. Cameron could not but observe the
change which those few short months had wrought in the face of Everard
Houston, the high-born son of wealth and culture, the pet of society;
it had matured wonderfully; alert and keen, yet grave and thoughtful,
he looked as though he had found a deeper and broader meaning to life
than he had ever dreamed of in his luxurious eastern home.
"My boy!" exclaimed Mr. Cameron, hastening toward him, "are you sure
you have escaped without serious injury?"
"Quite sure," Houston replied, limping slightly, as he advanced to
meet his uncle, "my arm was hurt, and I am somewhat scratched and
bruised and a little weak, but otherwise, sound as ever."
"Thank God for that! I don't mind the loss of the property if you are
safe; all the way out here, my boy, I have been reproaching myself for
ever allowing you to come out to this country."
"My dear uncle," Houston replied, with peculiar emphasis, "I think you
will soon find you have reason to be very glad and grateful that I
came."
Mr. Cameron introduced the two surgeons and the nurse; "I feared," he
said, "from your sending for these gentlemen that you might be hurt
far more seriously than I knew."
"No," said Houston, "but the one who has nearly sacrificed his own
life in helping to save mine, needs their best skill, and I sent for
them on his account."
"That was right," replied Mr. Cameron, "all that money can do shall be
done for him," while one of the surgeons said, "We will see our
patient at once, Mr. Houston, if you please."
"You will see him very soon," Houston replied with grave courtesy,
"but there are reasons why my uncle must first see him, and alone."
Mr. Cameron looked surprised, but silently followed Houston into the
room which had been occupied by the two brothers, but which was now
prepared for him. Then observing something peculiar in Houston's
manner as he closed the door, he asked:
"What is it, my boy?"
"Pardon me, if I seem abrupt, uncle," Houston answered, "but every
moment is precious in saving a life unspeakably dear to each of us."
Mr. Cameron looked startled; Houston continued:
"You have been like a father to me all these years, and I have felt
toward you as a son, but to-day I have the joy of bringing you to the
one, who holds in your heart, and always will hold, precedence even
over myself."
"Everard, my boy!" exclaimed Mr. Cameron, in tones vibrating with
suppressed emotion, "what is it? Speak quickly, do not keep me in
suspense,"
"My dear uncle," said Houston very tenderly, "the lost is found."
Mr. Cameron sank, nearly overcome, into the nearest chair, while his
face grew deathly white.
"Guy?" he gasped, looking upward at Houston.
"Yes," said the latter brokenly.
The strong man covered his face with his hands, while his powerful
frame shook with emotion.
Houston, when he was able to speak, told him, very briefly, of his
meeting with Jack, of their association, and the strange bond of
sympathy and affection between them, of Jack's devotion, and how at
last, he had been enabled to recognize him.
Controlling himself with a mighty effort, Mr. Cameron rose, saying:
"Take me to him."
Opening the door connecting the two rooms, Houston signaled to those
within to leave the room, then led the father into the presence of the
son whom he had so long mourned as dead.
Mr. Cameron walked to the bedside, and looked long and earnestly upon
the white face, drawn with pain, but still beautiful, and bearing to a
great extent, the imprint of his own features; then as he tenderly
clasped the hand lying upon the sheet, he murmured brokenly, between
great, tearless sobs:
"It is he, my boy, my son! Thank God, it is not too late!"