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Updated: June 23, 2025
Normally slinking cowards before authority, the bohunks were now inflamed beyond anything but brute force. Curses too deep and furious to express more than their tone the cries of the wounded the panting of laboured breathing Torrance roared into it, striking right and left. At the last moment Conrad turned aside.
Grabbing another handful of cartridges, the Indian got the stable key and dashed away through the back door. A moment after he disappeared in the stable the two defenders of the kitchen saw a pair of bohunks run out into the dim morning light and make at mad speed for the few trees that grew in the bend of the river.
The panic spread through the rest out among the trees. And a trail of weapons marked their course. From a growth of shrub a woman in an Indian blanket peered toward the grade. She saw the Indian standing there furiously snapping his empty rifle after the fleeing bohunks. And with a smile she faded away. Westward, along the grade, from the shadows Helen Mahon stepped, rifle in hand.
When he found it empty, the light burning and the door open, he dropped back into the shrubbery and began to climb swiftly downward toward the camp. He knew now that more lights than usual burnt there, that the few discordant instruments strumming and blowing were overexerting themselves. Certainly the bohunks were not in bed.
Followed a few minutes of more careful fighting, as the roused bohunks began to retaliate; and then a sense of personal danger not to be countered by any amount of exertion. As he threw himself into the fight he glowed with the satisfaction of knowing that every face before him belonged to an enemy.
"Did I bring enough?" enquired Conrad. "They'll do." "So'll ye, me lad," said Murphy behind his hand to Tressa. "Faith, but ye've a way wid ye. Here I was hoping for a bang-up spree, wid me houlding the watch till me blood got riled; and all that rat of a kid does is to dr-rop a few hundred husky bohunks into his pocket and lug 'em up the bank to overtime on a foine night like this.
"I'll get you yet," the Colonel declared from the shelter of an old stump behind which he had taken refuge. "Barking dogs never bite, Colonel. And that reminds me: I've heard enough from you. One more cheep out of you, my friend, and I'll go up to my own logging-camp, return here with a crew of bluenoses and wild Irish and run your wops, bohunks, and cholos out of the county.
So he hugged the rails, though his face was red with shame. When two hours of aimless fighting had spent themselves and daylight was promising, Mahon began to take stock. Would the light of day impose an end? He was not hopeful. The bohunks knew there was no relief for the besieged, day or night, unless a supply train came through.
The fact that they were composed of the ordinary bohunks of the camp, on some nights almost emptying it, relieved him. He was turning his attention more directly to these meetings in the woods, when something happened to alter his plan.
"Captain Trent lying at the bottom of the trench he'd gone over with the first wave and a Hun pulling a bayonet out of him. Moreover, Captain Trent was wounded in the head." His voice gathered in fury. "Think of it, me bohunks; then think of a conscientious objector; and then come and kill this ruddy ball. A dirty filthy scut of a German waiter murdering a wounded Englishman.
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