This, of course, upset all theories as to there having been a readjustment of surface rock, dangerous sometimes, to magnetic connections.
Then again, no man understood tunnel construction better than Henry MacFarlane, C.E., Member of the American Society of Engineers, Fellow of the Institute of Sciences, etc., etc.

Nor was there ever an engineer more careful of his men.

Indeed, it was his boast that he had never lost a life by a premature discharge in the twenty years of his experience.
Nor did the men, those who worked under him--those who escaped alive--come to any definite conclusion as to the cause of the catastrophe: the night and day gang, I mean,--those who breathed the foul air, who had felt the chill of the clammy interior and who were therefore familiar with the handling of explosives and the proper tamping of the charges--a slip of the steel meaning instantaneous annihilation.
The Beast knew and could tell if he chose.
I say "The Beast," for that is what MacFarlane's tunnel was to me.

To the passer-by and to the expert, it was, of course, merely a short cut through the steep hills flanking one end of the huge "earth fill" which MacFarlane was constructing across the Corklesville brook, and which, when completed would form a road-bed for future trains; but to me it was always The Beast.
This illusion was helped by its low-browed, rocky head, crouching close to the end of the "fill," its length concealed in the clefts of the rocks--as if lying in wait for whatever crossed its path--as well as its ragged, half-round, catfish gash of a mouth from out of which poured at regular intervals a sickening breath--yellow, blue, greenish often--and from which, too, often came dulled explosions, followed by belchings of debris which centipedes of cars dragged clear of its slimy lips.
So I reiterate, The Beast knew.
Every day the gang had bored and pounded and wrenched, piercing his body with nervous, nagging drills; propping up his backbone, cutting out tender bits of flesh, carving--bracing--only to carve again.

He had tried to wriggle and twist, but the mountain had held him fast.