There was a drop of almost four hundred feet straight into the
valley below. Along the sides of this valley were the entrances
to the mines. Above, on the ledge, was the machinery for lifting
the ore to the high ground on which stood the town and railroad
yards.

Down one of these streets walked the young lady, curiously
interested in all about her. She seemed glad to escape from the
train and its people, and she hurried along, the fresh spring
wind blowing her hair from beneath her cap, the ends of her long
coat fluttering.

Lorry stood on the platform watching her; then he lighted a
cigarette and followed. He had a vague feeling that she ought
not to be alone with all the workmen. She started to come back
before he reached her, however, and he turned again toward the
station. Then he heard a sudden whistle, and a minute later from
the end of the street he saw the train pulling out. Lorry had
rather distinguished himself in college as a runner, and
instinctively he dashed up the street, reaching the tracks just
in time to catch the railing of the last coach. But there he
stopped and stood with thumping heart while the coaches slid
smoothly up the track, leaving him behind. He remembered he was
not the only one left, and he panted and smiled. It occurred to
him--when it was too late--that he might have got on the train
and pulled the rope or called the conductor, but that was out of
the question now. After all, it might not be such a merry game
to stay in that filthy little town; it did not follow that she
would prove friendly.