“Must be the batteries are dead,” Jack volunteered.
“Shouldn’t wonder,” Bob agreed, as he began to examine the cells. “They look like old ones.”
“I go see eef Bill got more,” Jean said, and started back on a run.
“Heem no more have, but I got one bon piece fuse he had. I feex heem ver’ queek,” Jean said, as he returned a few minutes later.
It was the work of but a moment to substitute the fuse for the wire, and the boys from their position on the bank soon saw the Frenchman strike a match and apply the light to the end of the fuse which was about a foot long. Instantly it began to sputter, and turning quickly Jean started for the bank. He had made but three or four steps, however, when, to their horror, they saw him stumble and fall. A log had rolled beneath his feet.
“Make it snappy,” Bob shouted at the top of his voice.
“His foot’s caught,” Jack yelled, and Bob saw that what his brother had said was true.
They could see that the Frenchman was making Herculean efforts to free himself.
“He may not be able to do it in time,” Bob gasped, as he started on the run across the logs.
The boy knew that the fuse would burn but a short minute, and that if he failed to reach it in time, he as well as Jean would probably be killed. But the man was in the greatest danger and the boy never hesitated. As he jumped from log to log he breathed a prayer that he might get there in time. He could see the fuse sputtering fiercely and growing rapidly shorter. How heavy his feet felt. It seemed like some hideous nightmare. He could hear Jack shouting for him to come back, but he paid no heed to the commands. But one thought filled his mind. He must get to that fuse before the fire reached the dynamite.