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But ever since he had been forced to knock Koppy's pointing rifle from his hands to save Juno the half breed had been oppressed by a thousand fears. He did not understand the bohunks he did not want to. In his vivid life he had met most kinds of men, but the wild Continental scum that took to railway construction as its own special line of effort was beyond his experience.
"If the new boss ever tells you to do a thing his way, you do it an' don't argue none as to whether he knows more about it than you do or not." "A whole lot o' dagos an' bohunks that's come into the woods since the blue-noses an' canucks an' wild Irish went out had better keep your eyes open," Dan Kenyon warned sagely.
They were broke again and Denver set out for Globe, leaving Bunker to hold down his claim. The main street of Globe was swarming with men, from the court-house square down past the viaduct to where the Bohunks dwelt. And the men were all miners, deep-chested and square-shouldered, but white from working underground.
The squinting eyes took on a sudden gleam, even a keen anticipation that could not escape the contractor's attention. "An' wud I be bossin' 'em about, them bohunks? Wud yuh let me do as I liked?" "Well," smiled Torrance, "not quite what you liked; you'd be under the foreman and me, you know." The halfbreed sighed. "That's allus the way. Suthin's allus foolin' me.
Or has the newest tenderfoot discovered the one lone flea in all this lousy village?" "The bohunks are attacking the trestle! They've stolen our horses." Murphy asked no more foolish questions; he was busy with his overalls. "Dunno about getting you there right away," he grunted, tugging at a suspender, "but sure the next instant.
Only Conrad, Koppy, and Lefty Werner were straining at the log that held down their crushed comrades. Torrance sprang forward and bent his great back to the weight. Two fewer bohunks were on construction in Canada. Some one dropped from the trestle close to Torrance, and a hand thrust itself before the contractor's eyes. In the hand was the end of a rope.
Leaving Williams in charge, with definite instructions as to Torrance and Murphy, he crept from the back door to the edge of the trestle. The Indian was not there. Mahon wondered how much of it was dream. Then the redskin was swept from his mind by the sound of life far below about the base of the trestle. The bohunks were attacking there.
From the foot of the tree the bohunks read crucial drama in Koppy's manner. . . . With a bellow of rage Torrance was on his feet. A single blow he struck at Werner's mad eyes. The head before him snapped back, the bent legs crumpled. As if he had been shot, Werner's limp body slid backwards down the sand. For a moment it hung balanced over the edge, then bent slowly over and plunged out of sight.
"And after all this blood and murder, let's get to the more peaceful pursuits of brigands and treasure-hunters. Sandy was a man after daddy's heart, Adrian and at the last a few hundred bohunks were after Sandy's heart." "Sandy never was a hero," said Conrad. "The hero never dies."
Koppowski was standing on a car, legs far apart, heaving over great rocks with his bare hands. Two bohunks, unsuccessfully tussling with a huge piece, he unceremoniously pushed aside, to grip it with his callous hands. Slowly it tilted, balanced a moment, and bounded away to the valley with great thuds. "Ye mayn't be aware of it, gir-rl, but ye're expected to clap. Koppy's showing off.
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