Lee leaned forward with his fists resting on the table and his eyes
probing Gretzinger's.

"If any harm comes to Ruth through you, that bullet will pay it out,"
he said, harshly. "You've felt its weight. It's forty-four calibre,
plenty heavy enough to do the business. I can smash a potato at thirty
paces. One shot is all I shall ask. I won't do any hemming and hawing
over the matter, or----"

Gretzinger sprang up.

"See here, Bryant!" he cried.

"Or advertising in the newspapers," the other went on, in a level
tone. "I'll attend to your case, quickly and quietly. Here, or in New
York, or wherever you are. That's all."

Gretzinger had gone a little pale. He was nervously drawing on his
cap.

"Listen to me for a moment----"

"I said that's all. Get out." And Bryant's mien brooked no
temporizing.

It was of Lee's nature not to brood on such matters. He had given the
warning and must await the issue. Meanwhile, the burden of work and
the needs of the project would afford sufficient occupation for his
mind.

Christmas came. Bryant had ordered that labour cease for twenty-four
hours, as the gruelling fight of weeks had worn down the spirit of the
men. A holiday would rest them, while a big turkey dinner and
unlimited cigars and pails of candy would put them in a good humour.
At dark on the afternoon before the day shift at both camps ceased
work, the horses were stabled, the torches left unlighted, the fires
along the ditch allowed to die down, and the project was idle. A light
skift of snow had fallen during the morning, whitening the earth, but
the clouds had passed away, so that the still air and clear sky gave
promise of a fine morrow.

Christmas Eve, however, did not lapse without a disturbing incident.
About supper time Dave came running to Bryant and Pat Carrigan in
Lee's shack. He had seen workmen going furtively into a tent in
numbers that aroused his curiosity, and had crept unseen under the lee
of the canvas shelter, where, lifting the flap, he beheld in the
interior a keg on the ground and a Mexican, by light of a candle,
serving labourers whisky in tin cups.

"Whisky in camp!" Lee roared. "Come with me, Pat." The two men, guided
by Dave, strode down the street. Before the tent indicated they halted
to listen. The shelter glowed dimly; formless shadows stirred on its
canvas walls; and from within came low, guarded voices and once a
muffled laugh.

Jerking the flaps apart Bryant entered, followed