Dick took out his handkerchief and wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead.
“Mike Lynch must have been crazy,” he said huskily. “Only a crazy man would think of using such a weapon as this, anyhow. Any one in his right senses would have chosen an up-to-date revolver. Kid, I wish you’d ask the kitchen girl for a hatchet. I’m going to get those bullets or slugs out of this block.”
But Maggie herself was on hand, having been brought out by the report of the pistol.
“Heavings save us!” she gasped, holding up her hands. “What air you doing, Mr. Merriwell? You nearly scat me to death a-shootin’ out here in the yard.”
“Bring me the hatchet, Maggie!” called Dick. “I want to use it right away.”
The girl reëntered the house and reappeared with a heavy, broad-bladed hatchet in her hand. Seizing this implement, Dick split off a piece of the bullet-pierced block.
“Say, but there was a heavy charge of powder in that old thing,” observed Lee. “Look how deep the bullets went in.”
Merriwell hacked at the block until finally one of the bullets was uncovered. Cutting away around it, he pried it out with a corner of the hatchet.
“Fresh-molded,” he muttered, holding it up. “See how bright it is.”
Lee seized the hatchet and hacked away at the block to bring the other bullet to light. While Bertie was doing this, Dick produced his jackknife and tried the blade on the bullet he had secured.