Desperation made him entirely reckless. It was any way to get out before the mail-man was beyond call. Glairy with sweat, he pulled, tugged, squirmed and wriggled along, until a dirty, small bundle rolled down almost under the mail-rider's feet. "Whoa!" shouted Bud with an astonished oath. "What's the--why boy, what's the matter? Damn it! how you scart me!" One look at him froze the man; he said no more, but waited, watching the working face of the child, who was mastering himself once more, in order to tell a quick, straight story, that no time might be lost. "Der tunnel's fell in, Bud; Jim's in dere where der frame's held. He's livin' yet, but he's got a tur'ble cut in his head." The mail-rider drew out paper and tobacco, and rolled a cigarette. It was his method of biting his hand. He loved the man inside that dark blotch on the hill-side with an affection only known where men are few and strong. And because he loved him, Bud was going to keep his head cool and clear, to find the right thing to do and do it the right way. For all his calm outer man the mind within was whirling. He turned to the tense little face before him for help, and with an admiration that knew no bounds. "How far back?" he asked. "T'ree frames was held--dere was seven, ten foot apart--how much is dat?" "Forty feet--ten foot apart! No wonder! Oh, Jim! How could you have been so careless?" The boy's shoulders shook once. "He worked like er horse--now it's all gone an' he's in dere--" The face was contorted out of all humanity, but he held the tears back. Bud leaped from his horse. "Never you mind, Chessy lad!" he cried, hugging up the little figure, "we'll get him out of that, by God!--Could we haul him out the way you went?" "No, dere ain't room--an' if you touch dat roof hard--" he shuddered. Bud sucked in his breath. "If you weren't the sandy little man to try it!" he said. He stood a moment in silence going over it all. "Ches," he said, "there ain't any time to lose. If Jim's cut like that he may bleed to death in there when we could save him all right if we had him outside. "There's a party of miners down the road eight mile. They was having their grub as I went by. Chances are they'll be there yet. They've got four men and a team. I _could_ ride back, but I ought to be here working. Do you think you could stick on old Buck and ride there?" "I kin." "By God! I hate to do it--but there ain't any other way!" The big man ground his teeth together. "I hate to do it--damned if I'll do it!" Ches caught his hand. "I kin make it, Bud," he pleaded; "I cuddent do nothin' if I stayed here, an' you could do a heap. Put me up and let me try." "All right," said Bud. "The good Lord kept you from getting hurt in the tunnel, perhaps He'll see you through again. Shut your eyes and hold on tight when you strike the high places, and don't touch a rein--leave it all to old Buck." He stepped forward and caught the horse by the bit.