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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Time wasn't hanging about loose when he let drive," grinned Lefty Werner. "Mr. Conrad took your knife, Koppy," soothed Heppel. "You couldn't." Morani, unobserved, had drawn from some hidden part of him a long stiletto and was whetting it slowly on the palm of his hand. Fascinated, they watched. "We were a hundred to two," reflected Koppy in a low voice; and his eyes were puzzled.
But as the boss lay motionless in the open, an evil smile came to the Pole's face. Closing his left eye, he took firm hold of the stock of his rifle and set his finger to the trigger. Something passed swiftly across the sights. He opened both eyes and raised his head. Tressa Torrance was climbing fearlessly out on the trestle supports to her father's assistance, calling for help. Koppy gasped.
But the dang thing don't seem to work like a loco'ed cayuse. Anyway it was a job. Them bohunks is getting' to roamin' about real annoyin', an' Koppy wust of all." "Who was shooting just before you gave me the signal?" "The bohunks, out after sparrow pie fer supper, I guess," he lied placidly, "ur larnin' which end a gun fires at. It's real dangerous in the bush these days.
"After supper is my time to-night," he corrected quietly. "In ten minutes they're wanted on the grade. There's a train to unload." A rumble of protest cut him short. Koppy, the firm lines of the foreman's face close to his shoulder, hesitated. "Why for train not here in time?" he demanded. "We work ten hours. Train don't come. Why?" Conrad lifted his shoulders and let them drop.
The Indian dashed recklessly from post to post. Sooner or later he would pay for it. The continued impunity of the boss was more maddening. Above the rails Koppy could see the slight bulge on which so many shots had been wasted. Probably it was only Torrance's clothing. From the floor of the forest he seemed to be reasonably protected. Koppy raised his eyes.
He turned back and picked up the stiletto from the table. "Here" tossing it on the ground before the Pole "tell him he dropped his needle in his hurry; and I guess he didn't want to come back for it. It's no use to me. Your five hundred Chicos, with all their knives and knuckle-dusters, can't come up here and give orders." "I fire them to-night," promised Koppy. "No, you won't."
We rush, five hundred of us; we smash and wreck. Then we are masters, not slaves. The trestle must go now!" "Me, too," murmured Werner from the shadows. "Damn glad I got a start. Wonder how far it is to my next meal." "Come closer, men, closer!" Koppy was holding out his arms to them. "Let me feel your strong hands before we strike. It is almost time. It is dark.
You let him escape." Werner saw difficulties accumulating beyond his oft-tried powers of evasion. He stammered a disconnected tale of bad luck, wiping his face repeatedly. Koppy waved it aside. "Morani," he ordered solemnly, "watch him. If he tries to escape " A swift downward stroke completed the command. "We'll settle with him later." Werner paled.
Nothing within a day's hard ride could stop Koppy now one hundred rifles against four or five. Blue Pete was running steadily now. Rifle hanging loose, he swung in and out among the trees as if every obstacle were limned in daylight. Early in the race he had discarded his blanket. His feet shrank from the rough way in their unaccustomed moccasins.
Koppy's hand went up for silence. The men plodded on. At the place of meeting not a man was in sight; a great silence seemed to have stifled life itself. But as Koppy raised himself on a slight eminence in the centre of the clearing and made a gesture with his expressive hands, throngs of his followers crowded about him with no sound but shuffling feet.
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