Back in the shop Campbell went to work with a will to doctor up Toppy's
battered face.
"I dunno, lad, I dunno," he muttered as he patched up the ragged cuts.
"It was the poetry of justice that the men should have had him, but I
dunno that I could ha' left him lie there myself."
"Of course you couldn't," said Toppy. "A man can't do that sort of
thing. But, say, Campbell, what do you suppose he meant about being
sorry before morning because I saved him?"
Although he had won in the contest which he had so longed for, although
he had proved and knew that he was a better man than Reivers, Toppy for
some reason experienced none of the elation which he had expected. The
thing wasn't settled. Reivers was still fighting. He was still boss of
Hell Camp. He was fighting with craft now. What had that final threat
meant?
"It has to do with the lass; I'll wager on that," said Campbell. "He
will aye be taking his revenge on her. I know the man; he has that way."
"The dog!"
"Aye.--Hold still wi' that ear now.--Aye; it's the way of the man, as I
know him. But I'm thinking some one else will play dog, too. Watchdog, I
mean. And I'm thinking the same will be mysel'."
"You don't think he'll try----"
"The Snow-Burner will try anything if his mind's set. Even force.--Hold
still wi' your chin.--You licked him fair, lad. 'Twas a great fight.
You're best man. But I'm glad I have my shooting-utensil handy, for if
I'm any judge Hell Camp will aye deserve its name to-night."
"What do you think will happen?"
"'Tis hard to say. But 'tis sure Reivers means to do something
desperate, and as I know the man 'tis something that concerns the lass.
Then there are the men. They have tasted blood. They have seen the
Snow-Burner beaten. His grip has been torn off them. They're no longer
afraid. When the working gangs come in this noon and hear the story
there'll be nothing can hold them from doing what they please. You know
what that will be. They're wild to break loose. Gi'n they lay hands on
Reivers they'll tear him and the camp to pieces. Aye, there'll be things
stirring here before evening, or I'm a dolt."
True to Campbell's prediction, the stockade shook with cheers, roars and
curses that noon when the working men came in and heard the tale of the
Snow-Burner's downfall. The discipline of the camp vanished with those
shouts. The men were no longer cowed. They were free and unafraid. After
they had eaten, the straw-bosses and guards prepared to lead them back
to their work.
The men laughed. The bosses joined them. The guards threatened. The men
jeered. Reivers, the only force that had kept them cowed, was lying
beaten and helpless in his bunk, and not even the shotguns of the guards
could cow the fierce spirit that had broken loose in the men when they
heard this news.
"Shoot, ---- you, shoot!" they jeered at the guards.
The guards faltered. The whole camp was in revolt and they knew that as
sure as one shot was fired the men would rush at no matter how great the
cost to themselves. There were a hundred and fifty maddened, desperate
men in the camp now, instead of a hundred and fifty cattle; and the
guards, minus Reivers' leadership, retreated to their quarters and
locked the door.
The men did not go back to work. Not an axe, peavey or cant-hook was
touched; not a team was hitched up. The men swaggered and shouted for
Reivers to come out and boss them. They begged him to come out. They
wanted to talk with him. They had a lot to tell him. They wouldn't hurt
him--no, they would only give him a little of his own medicine!
However, they gave the guards' house a wide berth, on account of the
deadly shotguns. The short afternoon passed quickly and the darkness
came on.
Toppy and Campbell were sitting down to supper when they noticed that it
was unusually light in the direction of the stockade. Presently there
was a roaring crackling; then a chorus of cries, demonlike in their
ferocity. Toppy sprang to the window and staggered back at the sight
that met his eyes.
"Great Scot, Campbell! Look, look!" he cried. "They've fired the camp!"
Together they rushed to the door. From the farther end of the stockade a
billow of red, pitchy flame was sweeping up into the night, and the roar
and crackle of the dried pine logs burning was drowned in the cries of
the men as they cheered the results of their handiwork.
Toppy and Campbell ran toward the stockade gate. The gate had been
chopped to pieces, but the guards, from the shelter of their building,
were shooting at the opening and preventing the men from rushing out.
The flames at the far end of the stockade rose higher and fiercer as
they began to get their hold on the pitchy wood. The smoke, billowing
low, came driving back into the faces of Campbell and Toppy.
"They've done it up brown now!" swore Campbell. "The wind's this way.
The whole camp will go unless yon fire's checked."
Over the front of the stockade something flew through the darkness, its
parabola marked by a string of sparks that spluttered behind it. It fell
near one side of the guards' quarters. A second later it exploded with a
noise and shock that shook the whole camp.
"Dynamite," said Scotty. "The men have been stealing it and saving it
for this occasion. Gi'n one of those sticks lands on that building
there'll be dead men inside."
But the men inside evidently had no mind to wait for such a catastrophe.
They came rushing out in the darkness, slipping quickly out of sight,
yet firing at the gate as they went. One of them rushed past Toppy in
the direction of the office. Toppy scarcely noticed him. On second
thought something about the man's great size, his broad shoulders, the
hang of his arms, attracted him. He turned to look; the man had vanished
in the dark. A vague uneasiness took possession of Toppy. For a moment
he stood puzzled.
"My ----!" he cried suddenly. "That was Reivers, and he was going to her!"
He started in pursuit. Reivers was pounding on the door of the office
when Toppy reached him. The door was locked.
"Open up; open up at once!" he ordered. Beyond the door Toppy heard the
voice of the girl.
"Oh, please, please, Mr. Reivers! I'm afraid!"
Reivers' tone changed.
"Nothing to be afraid of, Miss Pearson," he said blandly. "There's a
fire in camp. I want to get in to save the books and papers."
"Is that why you sent Tilly away this morning?" said Toppy quietly,
coming up behind him.
Reivers turned with a start.
"Hello, Treplin!" he said, recovering himself instantly. "No hard
feelings, I hope." His manner was so at ease that Toppy was thrown off
his guard.
"I won't make the mistake of fighting with you any more, Treplin,"
continued Reivers. "Look at the way you've spoiled my nose. You ought to
fix that up for me. Look at it."
He came closer and pointed with two fingers to his broken nose. Toppy,
unsuspecting, leaned forward. Before he could move head or arms Reivers'
two hands had shot out and fastened like two iron claws upon his
unprotected throat.
"Now, ---- you!" hissed Reivers. "Tear me loose or kiss your life
good-by."
And Toppy tried to tear him loose--tried with a desperation born of the
sudden knowledge that his life depended upon it; and failed. The
Snow-Burner had got his death-hold. His arms were like bars of steel;
his fingers yielded no more to Toppy's tugging than claws of moulded
iron. "Struggle, ---- you! Fight, ---- you!" hissed Reivers. "That's right;
die hard; for, by ----, you're done now!"
The eyes seemed starting from Toppy's head. His brains seemed to be
bursting. He felt a strange emptiness in his chest. Things went red,
then they began to go black. He made one final futile attempt. He felt
his legs sinking, felt his whole body sagging, felt that the end had
come; then heard as if far away the office-door fly open, heard the girl
crying----
"Stop, Mr. Reivers, or I'll shoot!"
Then the roar of a shot. He felt the hands loosen on his throat, swayed
and fell sidewise as the whole world turned black.
He opened his eyes soon and saw by the light of the rising flames that
Campbell was running toward him. In the doorway of the office stood the
girl, her left hand over her eyes, Campbell's big black revolver in her
right. Down the road, with strange, drunken steps, Reivers was running
toward the river. Behind him ran half a dozen men armed with axes
screaming his name in rage, but Reivers, despite his queer gait, was
distancing his pursuers. It was some time before Toppy grasped the
significance of these sights. Then he remembered.
"You--you saved me," he said clumsily, rising to his feet. The girl
dropped the revolver and burst into a fit of sobbing.
"'Twas aye handy I thought of giving her the gun and telling her to keep
the door locked," said Campbell. "Do you go in, lassie. All's well. Go
in."
"Eh? What's this?" he cried, for in spite of her sobbing she drew
sharply away from his sheltering arm as he tried to usher her indoors.
The smoke from the fire swept down into their faces in a choking cloud.
Toppy looked toward the stockade. By this time the whole end of the
great building was in flames. The men in pursuit of Reivers were howling
as they gained on their quarry, and Toppy lurched after them.
"Bob! Mr. Treplin!"
Toppy stopped.
"I mean--Mr. Treplin--you--don't go down there--you're hurt--please!"
Toppy moved toward her. Was it true? Was it really there the note in her
voice that he yearned to hear?
"What did you say--please?" he stammered.
And now it was her turn to be confused. The sobs came back to her. Toppy
took a long breath and nerved himself to desperation.
"Helen!" he said hoarsely.
"Bob! Oh, Bob!" she whispered. "Don't leave me--don't leave me alone."
Once more Toppy filled his lungs with air and ground his teeth in
desperate resolution. He tried to speak, but only a gurgling sound came
from his throat; so he held out his big arms in mute appeal, and
suddenly he found himself whispering incoherently at a little blonde
head which lay snuggled in great content against his bosom.
A maddened yell came from the men who were after Reivers. But Toppy and
the girl might have been a thousand miles away for all the attention
they paid. One end of the stockade fell in with a great roar and a
shower of flame and sparks; but the twain did not hear.
"Aye, aye!" Old Campbell moved swiftly away. "He's a grown man now, and
so he's a right to have his woman.--Aye. A real man he had to be to take
her away from the Snow-Burner."
Down by the river the pursuing men gave tongue to a cry with the note of
the wolf in it.
Campbell turned from the young couple and stared with gleaming eyes in
the direction whence came the cry.
"Ah, Reivers!" he murmured. "Ye great man gone wrong! How goes it with
ye now, Reivers? Can ye win through? Can ye? I wonder--I wonder!"
And as Toppy and Helen, holding closely to one another, entered the
office building, the old man hastened to join the throng by the river
where the fate of the Snow-Burner was being spun.
PART TWO: THE SUPERMAN