It was too silent; he couldn't bear it. With feverish haste he uncovered
the caches of powder and meat. Under the sand was a fat clayey soil. He
dug up hands-full of it, wet it with the only liquid available and
worked it into paste. He felt his way to the logs decided on for
blasting, dug out a hole at their bases in the clay. After five careful
trips from the powder cache to the hole, the mine was filled. He covered
it with clay and laid on a roof of flat stones from the hearth. The
spark of fire still glowed, and he nursed it with twigs.