The Hindoo nodded and, carrying his armful of explosives, hurried to his boss’s side.
“Gee! This is only Number One,” muttered Tubby in an alarmed undertone.
“Don’t be a scare-cat, Tubby,” laughed Merritt, although his own heart was beating a bit fast.
“Scare-cat nothing. I—I guess I’ll go home to dinner. Once is quite enough to be blown up in one morning,” quoth the fat youth, “besides, I promised my mother I wouldn’t get into danger.”
“I guess over-eating is the only danger you’ll be in,” chortled Fred.
Tubby looked pained but said nothing. With round eyes he began to watch the proceedings of the Hindoo “dynamite man.”
The latter cautiously lowered into the hole selected several of his tin cylinders. The rest of the operation, as Mr. Raynor had explained, would be similar to that of shooting an oil well. That is to say, a heavy cylindrical iron weight would be dropped on the explosive mass at the bottom of the hole, causing it to detonate.
With as much care now as if he were handling eggs, Ram lowered the final cylinder of dynamite into the hole. Then he attached a long string to the weight and gave a shout.
“Get back to a safe distance, boys,” cried Mr. Raynor, running toward them.
They needed no second warning, but beat a rapid retreat toward the great concrete rampart of the dam.