On it was painted that ominous word--DYNAMITE! Two men were coming behind her.
"Six horses, a wagon an' old Fritz--blown to hell an' not a splinter left to tell the story," one of them was saying.

"I was there three minutes after the explosion and there wasn't even a ravelling or a horsehair left.
This dynamite's a dam' funny thing.

I wouldn't be a rock-hog for a million!" "I'd rather be a rock-hog than Joe--drivin' down this hill a dozen times a day," replied the other.
The girl had paused again, and the two men stared at her as they were about to pass.

The explosion of Joe's dynamite could not have startled them more than the beauty of the face that was turned to them in a quietly appealing inquiry.
"I am looking for a place called--Bill's Shack," she said, speaking the Little Sister's words hesitatingly.

"Can you direct me to it, please ?" The younger of the two men looked at his companion without speaking.