Chapter XXI: The End of the Boss

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.