Page 85 of Stockman's Showdown

Bree rummaged around a stack of old tools inside the nearby shed and dragged out an old pitchfork. ‘Here, use this.’

With the first drum he stirred the pitchfork around in the soupy thick oil as if it was a cauldron of gunk and found nothing.

The next drum held nothing but more gunk.

Under the outdoor spotlights, Bree opened the lids on more drums, where he’d give each one a poke and stir with the pitchfork, finding nothing but smelly old sump oil long past its use-by date.

But when Ryder jammed the pitchfork into the goo of another drum, it clunked onto something halfway down. ‘I’ve hit something.’ He was able to wedge the tines of the pitchfork under the object, to drag it to the surface. It was a metal container.

‘I got it.’ Using a garbage bag she’d pinched from behind their outdoor bar, Bree picked up the box. ‘It’s heavy.’

‘Put it down there.’ Despite the passage of time and exposure to the oil, the protective seal on the metal container remainedintact. However, it showed signs of corrosion, with some rust along the bottom edge.

Swapping the pitchfork for the tyre lever, he prised open the box. Inside, they found a sealed, canvas pouch that was completely dry. The durable canvas bag reminded him of something he’d used in the Army.

Inside, he found a few rolls of wax paper and carefully unrolled the package to discover a stash of thick cardboard rolls, like sticks.

‘Is that—’

‘Dynamite.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Bree, we need to move this stuff away. Considering their age, they’ll be unstable.’ Ryder went to return the dynamite to the box, only to discover the blasting caps used to ignite the explosives were at the bottom of the same box.What the hell!‘Move away, Bree.’

‘No. You need me to help you.’

He hated her stubbornness at times like this—even if she was right. ‘We’ll put the dynamite sticks back inside the tin. But I need another container for these blasting caps. I won’t keep them together like that. It’s too dangerous.’

‘I’m on it. Don’t do anything silly.’

He shook his head at the woman known to do silly things. ‘Why? Will you miss me?’ It wasn’t his first time handling explosives, but he knew the risks that could trigger an accidental detonation.

There was an almighty crash.

‘What are you doing?’

Bree rushed back. ‘I pinched the old coffee tin Dex uses for his bolts. It’s big enough for the blasting caps and it comes with a lid.’

‘It’s perfect.’

‘Is this the part where I hold my breath?’

‘You can leave and walk away.’

‘Stop that.’ She glared at him. ‘Don’t ask me that again. You just concentrate on what you’re doing, Captain Cupcake.’

Even though he hated that nickname, he was grateful for her vote of confidence in him.

Taking a deep breath, he focused on the blasting caps and secured them inside the tin. He then carefully re-wrapped the dynamite sticks in the wax paper, sliding them back into the canvas bag, and then put them into the metal box and closed the lid.

Only then did he breathe.

‘What do we do with it?’ Bree asked.

‘I’ll put the box of dynamite in one of the ringers’ rooms.’ He nodded to the dark cluster of buildings on the far side of the stables. ‘No one goes there, and it’s well away from anyone. But I need you to store those blasting caps somewhere far away from here.’

‘I’ll store them in the old well.’ Bree lightly jogged for the empty field.

‘What old well?’

As per usual Bree didn’t reply, her silhouette soon swallowed by the blanket of darkness.

---