A neighbor of ours hid six cans of rifle powder in the bake-oven of an old discarded cooking stove which stood on the open ground near a frame out-house or shed, and from and after that day never thought of it again.

We hired a half-tamed Indian to do some washing for us, and he took up quarters under the shed with his tub.

The ancient stove reposed within six feet of him, and before his face.

Finally it occurred to him that hot water would be better than cold, and he went out and fired up under that forgotten powder magazine and set on a kettle of water.

Then he returned to his tub.
I entered the shed presently and threw down some more clothes, and was about to speak to him when the stove blew up with a prodigious crash, and disappeared, leaving not a splinter behind.