Morrison had died a thousand deaths. If he lived he would die a thousand more. This Pierre knew. For this reason and others he did not shoot. Pierre also knew other things. Morrison had refused to take heed to his words. He had gone his own way. He had made light of Pierre before the men. Last of all, he had gained courage to taunt Pierre to his face with weakening, had bitterly accused him of using Élise as a means of ingratiating himself with the Rainbow crowd. Pierre was not above taking a human life as a last resort; but even then he must see clearly that the gain warranted the risk. Morrison had been weighed and passed upon. A dead Morrison meant a divided following. A living Morrison, cowed and beaten and shamed before them all, was dead to Pierre. This was Pierre's reasoning, and he was right. The first step had been taken. The next one he was not to take; but this fact did not nullify Pierre's logic. Given time, Pierre knew that Morrison would be beaten, discredited, do what he would. Luna helped the fallen Morrison to his feet. The first thing Morrison noticed was Pierre walking away toward the private office. Luna again approached Morrison with a brimming glass of brandy. "Take this down. Lord! That was a nerve-peeler! I don't blame you for going under." Morrison swallowed the liquor at a gulp. The pallor died away and a hot flush mounted his face. "I've got him to settle with, too. I'll make him squeal before I'm done." The crowd had surged to the door to meet a swarm of howling men who had just come down from the mine. Three or four remained with Luna around Morrison. His voice was hoarse and broken. "He's thrown us over. You see that? It's up to us to play it alone. He's put it up to your face that he's with you, but he's playing against you. He can't stop us now. It's gone too far. The first tug is coming, to-morrow. We'll win out, hands down. The Rainbow first, then Pierre." He ended with a string of profanity. Luna took up Morrison's broken thread. "There's fifty men with rifles in the cañon. Hartwell's gang will never get through. The boys are going to shoot at sight." "Where's Firmstone?" Morrison's face writhed. "Up to the mine. He's getting in his work." Luna looked over his shoulder at the crowd of miners. "That's so. The foreman's fired. So am I. He is going to die boss." The man grinned, as he held out a time check. "He'll die, anyway." Morrison's jaws set. "You're sure he's at the mine?" "Dead sure. He's got his work cut out to-night. Lots of scabs held out. He's put the night boss in foreman." The man grinned again. Morrison laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're game?" "You bet I am!" "Go back to the mine to-night----" "And miss all the fun down here?" the man interrupted. Morrison's hand rested more heavily on the shoulder.