"Dead?" Barney sat up dizzily.
"Sure is. Did you shoot him?"
"Shoot—I shoot—" The boy tried to steady his whirling brain. "No, I didn't shoot him."
Gradually the world ceased whirling about him and he was able to think clearly. Then, together, they pieced out the story. Barney told what had happened, and you may be very sure it was a sober pair that listened.
"Well, my boy," said the Major solemnly, "we owe our lives to you; there's no doubt about that. As for him," he added, pointing to the dead man, "he must have rolled upon the automatic when you made your last effort, and accidentally discharged it. He has a bullet-hole in the back of his head where a pin-prick would have killed him. A case of pure Providence, I'd call it."
"Let's get out of here," said Barney, showing signs of weakness. "I've had quite enough of it."
With an arm on either of his comrades' shoulders, he made his way back to the station, where a bowl of hot reindeer broth completely revived him.
"The next thing," said Bruce, "is to hunt out that infernal contraption which threatens our lives."
It was a delicate and dangerous undertaking, but little by little, they traced out the wires and disconnected them. At last they found it in a small box which had been skillfully fitted into a beam.
"Innocent looking little thing," said Bruce, holding it up for inspection. "To-morrow I am going to take it out to the lake, hook it up with a couple of batteries and see if it's got any kick."