up the inert mass of dirt and stone just 

 above our heads, piles of uninteresting 

 rock dumped to one side, the "pay 

 dirt." I had seen such things before, 

 and they had said nothing to me. But 

 this was our mine, our stream, our dump. 



McCaffrey, the foreman, put rubber 

 boots on me in the little smithy which 

 formed a part of the entrance of the 

 tunnel, and thus equipped I entered 

 the tunnel. The day shift, represented 

 by two dancing lights far off in the 

 blackness, was preparing to blast. 



I advanced uncertainly, my own can- 

 dle blinding me. Water trickled from 

 the roof and walls of this rock-bound 

 passage seven feet high and four feet 

 wide. A stream of it flowed by the 

 tiny tram track. The hollow sound of 

 the mallet on the crowbar forcing its 

 way into the stubborn wall grew louder 



