Until now the besieged had apparently been in utter ignorance of what was being done. But the flashing of the train of powder leading to the dynamite, brought them to a full realization of their peril. Men sprang from cover and rushed hither and thither in full view. Cap Hatfield was seen to start for the path, heedless of the bullets that spitefully hissed about his ears. Then they made a sudden rush down the mountain. In this "sortie" three men went down. This convinced the rest of the uselessness of an attempt to escape by the path thus guarded. The trapped desperadoes returned to the "fort" and began to throw stones and bowlders upon the train of powder in the hope of breaking it. Then came the explosion. It sounded as though the mountains were slipping from their sockets. Pieces of rock and portions of trees flew in every direction. The atmosphere was surcharged with dust and smoke. When the air cleared at last, it was seen that more than half of the "Devil's Backbone" was torn up and blown down the mountain-side into a small arm of the Tug Fork, changing the course of the stream. Hatfield was still unharmed. In the excitement of the moment, Dan Lewis, Steve Stanley and Jack Monroe of the posse had left the shelter of the trees and were wounded. Another charge of dynamite was placed, and the besiegers retreated still further down the valley. The second explosion shook the earth--the Hatfields seemed doomed. But the moment the smoke cleared away rifle shots poured into the flank of Baldwin's men. Cap Hatfield had again successfully foiled the plans of his pursuers. His retreat had been made possible under cover of the smoke from the explosion. Thus the dynamite charge had effected nothing except the destruction of one of nature's unique works. The chase was renewed, and though hampered by the wounded members of his clan, he made his escape. The spectacular attempt to capture the famous outlaw bore no fruit save wounds for many of the posse. Cap Hatfield, the man who is said to have a record of having killed eighteen men in his life, was gone. He was never apprehended. Some years ago he lived in Virginia, apparently peaceably, but engaged in the sale of whiskey, a vocation which is almost certain to get him into trouble again, as it did two of his brothers, Elias and Troy, during October, 1911. They were shot and killed in a pistol duel at Cannelton, W. Va., by Octavo Gerone, an Italian, with whom they had a dispute over saloon property. The Italian opened fire upon the two Hatfields, fatally wounded both, and was himself instantly killed, riddled with bullets from the dying men. When the brothers were found by neighbors, the expiring Troy Hatfield made the characteristic remark: "You need not look for the man who did this, he is dead."