“Yes. An’ he oughter be jailed for what he done,” added the miner, bitterly. “How was that?” queried Digby, his eyes big with interest. “Mr. Havens,” pursued the miner, “went down to see that all was clear in the tunnel before the shot. He sings out to Tony and asks if the timbering was all right; and the lazy rascal said ’twas.” “And wasn’t it?” snapped Chet, his eyes blazing. “No. He’d come up to fill and light his pipe and hadn’t blocked and wedged his cross-beams. There was five of the boys ’sides your father in the tunnel, and when the shot went off the shoring at the bottom of the shaft shook right out and she caved in! It was awful! I wonder you didn’t hear the rumble of it. And what I’m goin’ ter say ter your mother, Chet—” “You’re going to say nothing to her, Dan,” repeated the boy. “I’ll tell her. You go and get a doctor, or two, Dan—and all the other help you can. You saddle Hero and Poke, Dig. We must get up to the mine in a hurry. I won’t be in the house long.” He turned quickly away and started for the back door of his home. The others did not see his face. CHAPTER II—AT THE SILENT SUE Those few yards between the corral and the back door of the Havens’ pretty home in the Silver Run suburb were the hardest steps Chet had ever taken. For his age he was naturally a thoughtful boy, and he had been impressed by the manner in which his father ever shielded the delicate, gentle mother from all the rough things of life. If there was an accident in the mine, Mr. Havens seldom mentioned it before his wife, and never did he repeat the particulars. Chet had seen and understood. He knew that his mother was not to be troubled by ordinary things if it could be helped. Of course, she must know of his father’s danger; but the news must be broken to her carefully. He could not allow rough but kind-hearted Dan Gubbins to go in with his story of the accident at the Silent Sue claim. As he entered the sewing-room where his mother was engaged at her work, she looked up with a little smile on her face. “What’s wanted, Chetwood?” she asked. She was a small woman, with a very delicate pink flush in her cheeks and bands of prematurely grey hair above her forehead and over the tops of her ears. Chet often said, laughingly, that if he ever wanted to marry a girl, he’d wait to find one who wore her hair just like his mother wore hers. “What’s wanted, Chetwood?” she repeated, as the boy remained silent after quietly closing the door. Then she saw his troubled face and the work on which she was busied fell from her hands and, from her lap, slipped to the floor as she slowly rose. “Chetwood! My son! your father—?” Her cry was low, but it thrilled Chet to the heart. He sprang forward to seize her shaking hands. He knew that she was ever fearful when Mr. Havens was in the mine. “It’s not so bad as all that, Mother! Wait! don’t believe the worst!” begged the boy, his voice choked with emotion. “He—he isn’t killed?”