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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Boss think-a me there," he sneered. "Boss easy guy. Morani's orchestra, he say. Morani here." He struck himself dramatically on the chest. "Not so easy maybe, boss ain't," Koppy shook a doubting head. "Big and strong and and thick here," touching his head. "Maybe I don't know."
Koppy had explained it to Tressa in fiery words; the Independent Workers of the World had found tilled soil in the breasts of these unthinking men. By feeding their smouldering bitterness against conditions due largely to themselves it had won their unreasoning fidelity; like dogs they crept to heel. Here at last was a medium in which to express their wrath.
We got to work pretty slick, I say." Koppy straightened with a show of resentment. "He never had the Workers before. We take him like that" he closed one big dirty fist with a relentless movement "and we crush him, like we crush all our bosses." "All right, Koppy." The other puffed a ring of smoke. "I wish you're right, if it makes you sleep better. I'm in on the crushing game.
I'm already holding the watch. . . . And, Koppy, hereafter you'll save yourself embarrassment by remembering I'm foreman; these men take orders from me through you. I don't make a habit of showing a gun, but I prefer it to argument with you. . . . All ready, march. You and I'll go last, Koppy."
Whirling on the group beside him, he struck viciously, and Koppy hurtled over the log and lay as still as his dead companions. Instantly Conrad was on the Pole, running his hands swiftly over the unconscious body. With a satisfied smile he drew a knife from a leather sheath fastened inside the trouser-band, and thrust it into his own belt.
But in the scramble the contractor's right leg fell between the sleepers, and as his body turned for the final plunge, his foot caught and held. The leg snapped, but it held. Torrance's head, swinging down outside the trestle, crashed into one of the supports. And there he hung, unconscious. In the fleeting moments of the triple tragedy Koppy could not pull the trigger.
As they neared the camp, running now at top speed, Conrad saw Koppy emerge fussily from his shack above the camp and come leaping down too late, of course, to be of much service. The fight had grown to alarming proportions.
But Koppy would certainly have cut the wires, and any attempt to go for help would only have weakened the defence. The Pole had proven his brains by the precautions they already knew of; he would probably omit few. The Indian called to him from the grade, and Mahon unlatched the door and let him in.
"You saw this fight from the first " "I come as soon as I see," protested the Pole indignantly. "You lie! You wanted to see it get beyond us. You thought they'd do for us, didn't you?" "Why do I fight, then?" enquired Koppy, with lifted eyebrows. "Heaven only knows," muttered Conrad. "But you saw we had 'em licked." "Don't be an ass," chided Torrance, his eyes still on the trees.
Fire Koppy, and there wouldn't be a bohunk in camp the same night. . . . And their successors would be viler still, primed to vengeance by the bunch you'd kicked out. Ten years of it has taught me not to gamble with the unknown because I hate the known. Never really had so little trouble with a gang at least, not till these last few weeks. . . . What d'ye think's got into them, Adrian?
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