“I don’t like that stuff, nohow!” Rube declared, backing away, as Clay prepared to throw a stick. “Why don’t you give ’em a chance to leave the boat?” he added.
“I thought I’d give them a taste of the stuff first,” was the reply. “Not enough to hurt—just a little boat-rocker!”
“The five minutes are about up!” came a voice from the Esmeralda. “What is your decision?”
“Here it is!” shouted Clay.
He threw the dynamite as he spoke against a log that lay in the stream just under the bow of the Esmeralda.
The boat rocked viciously for some time. Clay waited for the motion to cease and threw again, coming a little nearer the hull of the Esmeralda this time.
“How do you like it?” Case queried.
The only reply was a shower of bullets, which bounded from the armor of the Rambler like so many grains of rice.
An effort was now made to back the boat out of the reach of Clay’s arm, but, the craft, having been run into the creek prow first, this could not be done without the person who attempted it coming within the range of the boy’s steady aim.
“If you try that,” warned Case, “the boat will be blown up! We have dynamite enough on hand to do the business.”