hile I walked straight to the office door and went in, where Uncle Jack
was just opening a window that looked out upon the dam.

"Yes," he said, "here we are."

He pointed to a sort of raft formed of a couple of planks placed about
five feet apart and across which a dozen short pieces of wood had been
nailed, forming a buoyant platform, on which no doubt our enemies had
floated themselves down from the head of the dam, where there was a
timber yard.

"All plain enough now," said Uncle Jack, grinding his teeth. "Oh, if I
could have had hold of those two fellows by the collar when they fell
in!"

"Well," said Uncle Bob, "what would you have done--drowned them?"

"Not quite," said Uncle Jack; "but they would have swallowed a great
deal more water than would have been good for them."

"Never mind about impossible threats," said Uncle Dick. "Let's examine
the powder canister now."

This was taken from its resting-place during the time the men were at
breakfast and carried into the office, where the dangerous weapon of our
enemies was laid upon the desk and examined.

It was a strong tin canister about ten inches high and six across, and
bound round and round, first with strong string and afterwards loosely
with some soft black-looking cord, which Uncle Dick said was fuse; and
he pointed out where one end was passed through a little hole punched
through the bottom of the canister, while the loosely-twisted fuse was
held on by thin wire, which allowed the soft connection with the powder
to hang out in loops.

"Yes," said Uncle Dick; "if that is good fuse, the very fact of any part
touching a spark or smouldering patch of ash would be enough to set it
alight, and there is enough, I should say, to burn for a quarter of an
hour before it reaches the powder. Yes, a good ten pounds of it," he
added, balancing the canister in his hands.

"But it may be a scare," said Uncle Bob: "done to frighten us. We don't
know yet that it is powder."

"Oh, we'll soon prove that," cried Uncle Jack, taking out his knife.

"Uncle! Take care!" I cried in agony, for I seemed to see sparks
flying from his knife, and the powder exploding and blowing us to atoms.

"If you are afraid, Cob, you had better go back home," he said rather
gruffly, as he cut the fuse through and tore it off, to lie in a little
heap as soon as he had freed it from the wire.

Then the string followed, and the canister stood upright before us on
the desk.