It was Bolton.
His clothes were torn and scorched; his face blackened; his left hand dripping blood.

Two of the shanty gang were next hauled out and laid on the back of an overturned dirt car.

They had been near the mouth when the explosion came, and throwing themselves flat had crawled toward the opening.
Bolton was still unconscious, but the two shanty men gasped out the terrible facts: "The boss and the clerk, was jes' starting out when everything let go"; they choked; "ther' ain't nothing left of the other men.

We passed the boss and the clerk; they was blowed agin a car; the boss was stove up, the clerk was crawlin' toward him.

They'll never git out alive: none on 'em.