At daylight next morning a tremendous blast almost threw Belding
out of his bed. It cracked the adobe walls of his house and broke
windows and sent pans and crockery to the floor with a crash.
Belding's idea was that the store of dynamite kept by the Chases
for blasting had blown up. Hurriedly getting into his clothes, he
went to Nell's room to reassure her; and, telling her to have a
thought for their guests, he went out to see what had happened.
The villagers were pretty badly frightened. Many of the poorly
constructed adobe huts had crumbled almost into dust. A great
yellow cloud, like smoke, hung over the river. This appeared
to be at the upper end of Belding's plot, and close to the river.
When he reached his fence the smoke and dust were so thick he
could scarcely breathe, and for a little while he was unable to
see what had happened. Presently he made out a huge hole in the
sand just about where the irrigation ditch had stopped near his
line. For some reason or other, not clear to Belding, the Mexicans
had set off an extraordinarily heavy blast at that point.
Belding pondered. He did not now for a moment consider an accidental
discharge of dynamite. But why had this blast been set off? The
loose sandy soil had yielded readily to shovel; there were no rocks;
as far as construction of a ditch was concerned such a blast
would have done more harm than good.
Slowly, with reluctant feet, Belding walked toward a green hollow,
where in a cluster of willows lay the never-failing spring that
his horses loved so well, and, indeed, which he loved no less.
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