most poignantly of all he
realised the hopelessness of submission, at least for the leaders.
There was nothing now but to carry the fight through--no other hope for
himself. Also he discovered a fresh goad in his hatred of Werner.

When the latter had completed his plan, Koppy suddenly dropped his hand
from his face. Werner saw and collapsed. For several seconds Koppy
held the coward's faltering eyes, then turned with disgust to the
others.

"What will we do with him?"

Morani's knife slid down his wrist and swished across his boot leg.
And the others looked agreement.

Werner shuddered--began to bluster.

"You asked what I thought. I told you. I didn't mean to give the
whole thing up--not much I didn't." He drew his hand across his
dripping forehead. "We'll get the trestle yet--and it's that we want,
isn't it? Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll lie around and blow
it up myself, if I have to spend the whole winter here."

Koppy broke into an insulting laugh. "You! And the trestle ain't all
we want. Who pays for last night's deaths? You blow up the trestle!
What about Mr. Conrad? 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. He knew what the settlement would be, and the justice of
it. He knew, too, the folly of protesting under the strain of the
moment. So he tried to look aggrieved at their suspicions. When the
conference broke up, and Morani attached himself to his heels, he
smiled ingratiatingly and sauntered to the edge of the bank overlooking
the camp. There he seated himself to consider his position. Escape?
Even if he succeeded in evading immediate doom by giving his guard the
slip, the I.W.W. would never give up the chase till he had paid the
penalty of his treason.

As he sat he could see the end of the trestle through the brush. A
slight bulge above the rails marked the place where the contractor lay
guarding his pet. At the sight a wave of fury against Torrance swept
over Werner. The boss was to blame for everything. But for his
vigilance the trestle would long ago have been down.

"Chico," he snarled, "watch me pink him."

He lay along the ground and rest