had
predicted, but there was no attempt at secrecy, except that he
continued to hug the ground. Torrance grunted. Tressa sighed. Conrad
lowered the rifle. The Indian crawled over the back step and lifted
himself to his feet. Torrance forgot every suspicion before that smile.

"You got a nerve taking a chance like that, Big Chief. If I'd 'a' had
the gun you'd 'a' got your blanket full."

The Indian looked significantly at Conrad and shrugged his shoulders.
"Him no shoot Indian."

"You're too blamed sure," replied the contractor pettishly. "What's
all the fuss about, anyway?"

"Bad paleface mebbe see." The Indian pointed toward the camp.

"Not likely! We could hardly see you ourselves. You better drop a
postcard next time. I was just in the middle of a dream that the
trestle was done and I was cashing the check in Winnipeg in
thousand-dollar bills, after polishing off a few bohunks for a real
bang-up finale. Then in booms Conrad here and grabs the rifle, and I
wake up with the feeling them bohunks are doing the polishing on me. I
was mighty near scared. By the way, we wanted you. The Police want
you to identify the bohunks in that gang the other night that tried to
blow up the trestle. If you'll come down to the camp with me and pick
'em out--"

"No good." The Indian shook his head. "You shoot. No save bridge
that way. Others blow up. Job never done."

Torrance's admiration showed in his grin. "That's thinking, Big Chief.
Of course the Police don't give a cuss about the trestle, if they can
get some one to hang." His face sobered. "Just the same, when this
thing's off my hands and there's nothing to blow up but a pile of dirt,
I'm going through the camp with an arsenal on me, and I'll splash blood
over the ugly place till it looks like a Chicago beef-cannery. It
would save transportation expenses, too. When the last shovel's dumped
and the Police gone home to supper I'm going to boil over and roast a
dozen bohunks alive--"

"Daddy!" chided Tressa. "He'll believe you."

"Think so?" asked Torrance delightedly. "Then here goes: Say, I'll eat
my last breakfast of bohunk livers, seasoned with bohunk brains--if
there are any--and as an appetiser, bohunk tongues steeped in--"

"Heap big talk," broke in the Indian wearily.

"And that," snorted Torrance, "just about puts the blinkers on that.
Even strangers don't believe me. But you put before me bohunk hearts
stuffed with bohunk sweetbr