This he laid on the kitchen table and cut it in two as he had done last night with the other stick.

With his remaining cap he loaded a half and carried it back to his bunk.

He was debating in his mind whether it was worth while purloining another cap from a box under the boulder when another fancy took him and set him grinning.
Four separate charges of dynamite, he reasoned, would not be necessary.
It was an even chance that the sight of a piece with the fuse in his hand would be sufficient to tame Paw or Hank or Joe--or the three together, for that matter--without going further than to give them a sight of it.
With that idea uppermost, Casey split the paper carefully down the side of the remaining half-stick, took out the contents in a tin plate and carried it outside where he buried it in the sand beneath a bush.
Returning to the dugout he made a thick dough of leftover pancake batter and molded it into the dynamite wrapping with a fragment of harmless fuse protruding from the opened end.

When the thing was dry, Casey thought it would look very deadly and might be useful.

After several days of helplessness for want of a weapon, Casey was in a mood to supply himself generously.
He finished the dish-washing, working awkwardly with one hand.