with a shock of horror, lending him a frenzied strength. A desperate twist, and he had made the half-turn that brought his back to the cutting. His other arm was free now. A heave, and he had swung Number Eighteen above his shoulders within reach of the super's outstretched hands. A second more, and, with Hale pulling above and Haggerty lifting below, the man, with a cry of agony as his wounded leg banged limply against the ground, was forced up over the bank.
"Quick, Haggerty! For God's sake, be quick yourself," cried Hale. "Hurry, man, hurry!"
"There's a minute"—Haggerty sprang for the top of the bank, clutched it—"lots of—" The last word was blotted out as he dragged himself over the edge, and heard Hale's sharp command: "Lie flat!" From behind and below him came the roar of the detonation, he felt the ground shake and quiver beneath him, the echoes were rolling and reverberating like a park of artillery—then Hale's low, fervent: "Thank God!"
It was Hale who got it first as the mob of men rushed forward, cheering, laughing, gabbling hysterically. And it was at Hale's uplifted hand that the clamor died suddenly away, and in its stead came the super's voice in quiet tones: "Where's Haggerty?"
"Aw, gwan!" sputtered Haggerty sheepishly, trying to fight his way out of the crowd that pressed upon him to haul and maul him, to thump his back, to shake his hand. "Aw, gwan! I wanter get me pipe that I left over by the shanty."
