"How would dynamite get here?" asked Mr. Dodge, who had arrived on the scene.
At this question Jerry Corwin shrugged his massive shoulders.
"Once in a while some dynamite is missing from our store at the quarry," he answered. "The laborers steal it, for they can sell it to farmers for blasting out stumps, and to others. During the past six months we have lost at least a dozen sticks."
"As the boathouse was not worth much, why was it blown up?" asked Doctor Reed, who had been summoned by somebody who thought a man had been hurt.
"That's the question," said Mr. Dodge. "Evidently it contained nothing of value outside of the outfit belonging to our sons."
"Hum!" murmured the physician, and said no more.
It was a bitter cold night, so after the fire was put out and the ruins examined, the majority of the crowd went home. The members of the Gun Club put their outfits in a neighboring barn, where a friend promised they should be safe, and then, after a short talk, went to their respective abodes. It was a good hour before any of the lads got to sleep.
Whopper was just dreaming of another terrific explosion when he awoke with a start, to hear a loud pounding on the side of the house, directly under his bedroom window. Opening the sash cautiously he caught sight of Giant below, hitting the clapboards with a snow shovel which happened to be handy.
"Oh, what a racket!" murmured Whopper. "I must pay him for that!" And scooping up some snow from the window sill he gave a low whistle. Then as Giant looked up, he let the snow drop.
"Wuow!" spluttered the little lad, as the loose snow filled his mouth and nose. "Say, do you want to smother me?"