He had never seen her smoke, and it struck him as peculiar that she should be smoking now.

Then he guessed the reason.

With a quick glance, he noted the hand at her side, and in it the familiar, paper-wrapped dynamite.

He noted, also, the end of fuse, split properly, into which had been inserted the head of a wax match.
"Telepasse, you old reprobate, tell 'm boys clear out along beach.

My word, I no gammon along you." "Me no gammon," said the chief.