out to order others into the surrounding
trees--but realised as he glowered into their upturned faces that this
was no time for orders, but for action.

He reported a hit--boasted, shouted, forced himself to laugh exultantly.

Where would it all end?

He gripped his fists until the nails bit into his palms, and took a
fresh hold of himself. With set teeth, steadier than he had ever been,
he thrust the rifle out again along the branch.

At that instant Werner clambered up the grade--and close behind him
Morani.

Koppy gasped. A flash of pride at the unexpected temerity of two of
his lieutenants. But it faded swiftly before two driving fears.
Torrance had risen to meet them; and Koppy knew the force of that great
fist. But if his own men won! Koppy had a vision of vanished
glory--of lost leadership. Morani and Werner had taken their lives in
their hands to accomplish that which he was failing to do from the
protection of a tree.

Snapping his teeth together, he put his eye coolly to the rear sight.
If his own men were in the way--well, that was their lookout. He was
aiming at Torrance.

A hush fell over the forest. From the foot of the tree the bohunks
read crucial drama in Koppy's manner. . . .

With a bellow of rage Torrance was on his feet. A single blow he
struck at Werner's mad eyes. The head before him snapped back, the
bent legs crumpled. As if he had been shot, Werner's limp body slid
backwards down the sand. For a moment it hung balanced over the edge,
then bent slowly over and plunged out of sight.

Morani, alone now but forced to carry it through, struck swiftly.
Torrance managed to take the point of the stiletto on his left arm.
With his right he grabbed the Italian's arm and jerked sideways and
down. A sickening snap, and Morani's dark face went a sickly cream.
Without changing his hold, Torrance flung out sideways, as a petulant
child discards a doll that has lost favour. Morani had never a chance.
Lifted clear of the trestle, he pitched headlong into the chasm.

But in the effort Torrance's foot slipped. He tried to drop to save
himself, but too late. Clawing at the ends of the sleepers, he fell
over the way Morani had gone. The breath in a hundred throats held.
Mahon closed his eyes.

But in the scramble the contractor's right leg fell between the
sleepers, and as his body turned for the final plunge, his foot caught
and held. The leg snapped, but it held. Torrance's head,