Like lightning he raised the can above his head and threw it far out over a chasm that yawned a rod away.
A roar and blinding flash in mid-air told how near the scout had been to being too late.
The concussion threw him and others who had jumped up at his shouts, from their feet. But no one was injured.
Torches and lanterns were lighted and a search of the camp begun.
“It’s the work of Bloody Ike, the powder fiend,” declared Hickok, and the others agreed with him.
“He has got away with your other can of powder and the coil of fuse,” said the scout to the miners.
“And every can of that powder is worth a small fortune, ’way out here,” mourned one of the men.
“I didn’t suppose there was a devil bad enough, in existence, to attempt to kill ten men in cold blood,” said Hickok.
“If it’s Ike Pelletier, who once handled the explosives in the Bridger range mines, he’d murder a regiment for a hundred dollars. And I’d give twice that to get next to him for a few minutes,” said Avery.
“Well,” said the scout, “I am convinced that he is in this basin now—he can’t be far off, for I saw the man who lighted the fuse running away—and we must hunt the villain down and see that he pays the penalty for his crimes.”