“Y’betcha,” replied Vane.
Abe shook his head nervously.
“I’m scared of that stuff. Yuh never can tell what she’s goin’ to do. It ain’t noways reliable, I tell yuh.”
“Aw, ——, it won’t hurt yuh,” said Honey Wier, carefully poking the point of his knife through the copper detonator to secure it to the fuse. “All yuh got to do is to touch off the fuse, wait a second or two, to see that she’s fizzin’ properly, and then heave it as far as yuh can toward the sheep.”
“And what’ll them sheepherders be doin’ all this time?”
“Shootin’ at yuh, of course,” laughed Chet. “But they can’t shoot straight in the dark.”
“Prob’ly kill a few of us,” observed Honey sadly. “But, as has been wisely said: There is no diligence without great labor. I read that in my copy book when I went to school. I dunno what in —— diligence is, do you, Chet?”
“Killin’ sheepherders. Diligence is a Latin sayin’. D-i-l is the same as ‘kill’; sabe? I-g-e-n-c-e is what the Lats used to call a shepherd. I used to talk it kinda good, but I’ve forgot a lot of it.”
“You used to live with ’em didn’t yuh, Chet?” asked Vane.
“Yeah,” nodded Chet seriously. “I’m a blood brother of that tribe. Say, this dynamite is gettin’ sticky.”