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As the light broke, Ignace Koppowski, too, took stock. He knew he had only to maintain the siege long enough to win; but he also realised that his followers had little stomach for a long struggle. The rising sun, too, was against every precedent as a time to attack authority.
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.
Hitherto he had been able to anticipate the villainies of his enemies and in some of them he himself had revelled but no one had yet charted the designs of creatures like Koppowski and his comrades. Even as the foliage parted Blue Pete knew why he had looked. The raft was gone. He was not surprised, but his anger was none the less for that.
He straightened, looking Conrad in the eye. "Up here I take boss's orders. Boss want us to go we go. But boss maybe need us some day. Perhaps we find who steal horses." "I wish to hell you would," grunted Torrance. "It's worth fifty bucks in your hand if you do. Horses don't grow on spruce trees in this country." "Horses don't. Boss lose no more and Ignace Koppowski take no more pay."
And Ignace Koppowski smiled a cleaner, more human smile than had crossed his face for many a year. "Good girl!" he shouted. "I'll help. Listen." With the smile still on his lips he jerked the barrel of the rifle toward him. With the explosion came another from across the grade. And before the first echo two others from the forest behind.
"I don't know what hold you have over that damned crew," Torrance stormed, "but if you'd make them watch the horses you'd be earning your money better than running up here." "That damned crew steal no horses," Koppy objected with dignity. "I hold my men yes," he went on proudly. "You pay me for that. I make them obey boss. Ignace Koppowski make them " "Yes, yes," Conrad broke in testily.
He could see only one picture: Werner, running and tumbling through the forest, squealing with more fright than pain, preparing as he ran a tall story for his leader. Ignace Koppowski, lazily rolling a cigarette, stood before his shack on the hill, apparently absorbed in the camp scene at his feet. In reality he was watching Torrance and Conrad watching him from the shack beside the trestle.
Torrance's mind was working with unusual celerity. "They got what was coming to them from my fists this time. Next time they'll need a doctor or an undertaker. Besides, it's not your business to fire. That's all. Good-night." "Ignace Koppowski hope young missus not frightened," came the voice from the darkness. "Why should she be? There ain't enough men in the camp to hurt her.
If you doubt it, refer to Werner and Morani." Koppowski coughed. "Indian strong man. Indian save your life. Godd! But he hurt my men. Indian look out. They never forget. You tell him?" "Tell him yourself," jerked the contractor. "And I'd like to be around when you're at it. I fancy he can look after himself." "Indian need to," said Koppy from the darkness.
"Tell him he's got a clear course, unless something big threatens. I don't seem to be on the right track. We're only crossing and mussing trails by working separately. . . . If he won't work with me tell him I'm trusting him." Koppowski and his three friends climbed through the window of the shack on the top of the bank and were swallowed in the forest.
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