"Why not?" demanded Roy indignantly.
"See that sign?" said the man.
He pointed to a rudely painted sign on a tree at his back.
"Dangir. No Trespasin."
That was what it said in bold letters that sprawled across its surface
in an untidy fashion. The execution of the thing was as bad as its
spelling.
"I guess a pretty sick man painted that sign," grinned Jimsy.
"What do you mean?" was the surly reply.
"Why, I should judge he was having an awful bad spell at the time," was
the boy's rejoinder.
The man scowled at him fiercely.
"No joking round here," he growled; "now, then, if you know what's good
for you you two kids will vamoose."
"What's the danger if we keep on?" asked Roy.
"Why, they're trying a new kind of explosive back there. It might go off
the wrong way, your way, for instance, and hurt you," was the reply.
"Seems a funny sort of place to try out explosives," said Roy.
"Seems a queer sort of place for you two kids to come. Who are you,
anyhow?"
"Oh, we are camping down below and we just came out for a stroll.
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