They heard the Chinaman yawn noisily, as if to say, “Melican man muchee talkee”; but Mr. Keith continued, undaunted,—
“And when everything is ready, Sing Wung, set fire to the end of the fuse and jump into the bucket. We’ll pull you up in a hurry.”
“Allee yight!”
Sing Wung understood perfectly. He was already cutting in two a stick of giant powder. In a short time he had buried this, as directed, lighted the fuse, and been drawn up out of the well.
The four ran to a safe distance, and two minutes later came a loud explosion. Sing Wung, after the dust and smoke had cleared away, was again let down to his work. He carried in his arms a can of black gunpowder.
“If Mateo were here to lower me, I’d go down myself to see the size of the chamber made in the rock,” said Mr. Keith. “I don’t know about trusting Sing Wung’s judgment in regard to the amount of powder to use.”
“Kirke and I can let you down, Mr. Keith,” volunteered Paul promptly.
“Yes, indeed,” rejoined Kirke. “I can lift as much as Paul can.”
“I know you’re strong for your age, Kirke, but I weigh over two hundred pounds. I’m afraid you boys might let me down in too great a hurry.”
“No, no, Mr. Keith, we’ll promise not to drop you.”