Mr. McKay stopped and slowly raised his hand.
"Stand by! Let go!"
One swift sweep of the sharp blade and the cord was severed. Slowly the truck began to gather way, then moving with increased speed it plunged on its headlong course.
Ten seconds later—before the fuse had time to complete its work—the descending truck crashed into the stationary ones. There was a deafening roar, a cloud of dust, in which was mingled a number of heavy, shapeless objects, and then an ominous silence, broken only by the crash of some fragments of wood and metal hurled high in the air by the explosive.
Rushing to the edge of the cliff the four defenders gazed upon the result of their stratagem.
Where the trucks had stood gaped a pit six feet in depth, for one of the peculiarities of dynamite is that it shows its power mainly where it meets resistance. Of the storehouse scarce a vestige remained, while the double line of rails had been uprooted for a distance of nearly twenty yards.
The havoc wrought amongst the savages was appalling. So many were killed that had the white men so wished it they could have fallen upon the survivors and exterminated them; but such was not their intention.
"We must act with prudence or we shall be left with fifty wounded savages on our hands," said Mr. McKay. "Those who are unhurt will take to their canoes, and leave the others to their fate, and that won't do!"
"How can we stop them taking to their canoes?" asked Andy.
"By taking advantage of their cowed condition and disarming them. Come, let's to work."