Brooke sat down on a felled log, Jimmy leaned against a tree, and while the men clustered round them they looked at one another, and gasped heavily.
"I figured you'd be blown into very little pieces less than a minute ago," said one of those who stood by. "What did you do it for, anyway?"
Brooke blinked at the questioner. "Third fuse snuffed out," he said. "It would have spoiled the shot. I cut it to match the others, and lighted it."
This was comprehensible, for to rend a piece of rock effectively, it is occasionally necessary to apply the riving force at several places at the same time.
"Still, you could have pulled the other fuses out and put new ones back. It would have been considerably less risky," said another man.
Brooke laughed breathlessly. "It certainly would, but I never thought of that," he said.
Then Jimmy broke in. "What made me sit down like I did?" he said.
"It was probably the same thing that tore my jacket half-way up the back."
"Well," said Jimmy, "there's a big lump there didn't use to be on the side of my head, too, and it was the concernedest hardest kind of rock I sat down upon. Next time you try to blow yourself up, I'm not going after you."
Brooke glanced at him quietly, with a curious look in his eyes.