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"It's dynamite, isn't it?" "Something of the same nature. Joveite, it's called." Still the surgeon stared at him. Barnett laughed. "Oh, you've got the high explosives superstition," he said lightly. "Dynamite don't go off as easy as people think. You could drop that stuff from the cliffhead without danger. Have I got to come down for it?" With a wry face Trendon tossed up the package.
The order was given. "As soon as I light the fuse I will come down and we'll pull out fifty yards. Leave the rest of the Joveite where it is. All ready? Here goes." He touched a match to the fuse. It caught. For a moment he watched it. "Going all right," he reported, as he struck the water. "Plenty of time." Some seventy yards out they rested on their oars. They waited. And waited. And waited.
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