An instant later he cried aloud, in a voice of fear: "Get out, Hetty! Run--for your life!" "Run yourself, Thursday, if there's danger," she coolly returned.
But he shouted "Run--run--run!" in such thrilling, compelling tones that the girl shrank away and dashed across the vacant lot to the hotel before she turned again in time to see Smith leap from the window and make a dash toward the rear.

He was carrying something--something extended at arms' length before him--and he crossed the lane and ran far into the field before stooping to set down his burden.
Now he was racing back again, running as madly as if a troop of demons was after him.

A flash cleft the darkness; a deep detonation thundered and echoed against the hills; the building against which Hetty leaned shook as if an earthquake had seized it, and Thursday Smith was thrown flat on his face and rolled almost to the terrified girl's feet, where he lay motionless.

Only the building saved her from pitching headlong too, but as the reverberations died away, to be followed by frantic screams from the rudely wakened population of Millville, Hetty sank upon her knees and turned the man over, so that he lay face up.
He opened his eyes and put up one hand.

Then he struggled to his feet, trembling weakly, and his white face smiled into the girl's anxious one.
"That was a close call, dear," he whispered; "but your timely discovery saved us from a terrible calamity.