“Stop,” said Reivers, and Mahmout stepped back. “Take Tony’s knife away from him, boys. Mahmout wins—for the time being.” “Inconsistent again,” muttered Toppy. “Your scheme is all fallacies, Reivers. You give Tony a knife with which he may kill Mahmout at one stroke, but you don’t let Mahmout finish him when he’s got him down. Why don’t you carry your system to its logical conclusion?” “Why don’t I?” chuckled Reivers, stepping down from the table. “Why, simply because Signor Antonio is the camp cook, and cooks are too scarce to be destroyed unnecessarily. Now come along, Treplin. Court’s adjourned; a light docket to-day. I’ve been thinking of your wanting to learn how to run a logging-camp. I’m going to give you a change of jobs. You’ll be no good in the blacksmith-shop till your ankle’s normal again. Come along; I’ll show you what I’ve picked out for you.” He turned away from the ring as from a finished episode in the day’s work. That was over. Whether Torta or Antonio lived or died, were whole or crippled for the rest of their lives, had no room in his thoughts. He strode toward the gate as if the yard were empty, and the crowd opened a way far before him. Outside the gate he led the way around the stockade toward where the river roared and tumbled through the chutes of Cameron Dam. A cliff-like ledge, perhaps thirty feet in height, situated close to one end of the dam, was Reivers’ objective, and he led Toppy around to the side facing the river. Here the dirt had been scraped away on the face of the ledge, and a great cave torn in the exposed rock. The hole was probably fifty feet wide, and ran from twelve to fifteen feet under the brow of the ledge. Toppy was surprised to see no timbers upholding the rocky roof, which seemed at any moment likely to drop great masses of jagged stone into the opening beneath. “My little rock-pile,” explained Reivers lightly. “When my brutes aren’t good I put ’em to work here. The rock goes into the dam out there. Just at present Rosky’s band of would-be malcontents are the ones who are suffering for daring to be dissatisfied with the—ah—simplicity, let us say, of Hell Camp.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I’m going to put you in charge of this quarry, Treplin. You’re to see that they get one hundred wheelbarrows of rock out of here per hour. You’ll be here at daylight to-morrow.” Toppy nodded quietly. “What’s the punishment here?” he asked, puzzled. “It looks like nothing more than hard work to me.” Reivers smiled the same smile that he had smiled upon Rosky. “Look at the roof of that pit, Treplin,” he said. “You’ve noticed that it isn’t timbered up. Occasionally a stone drops down. Sometimes several stones. But one hundred barrows an hour have to come out of there just the same. And those rocks up there, you’ll notice, are beautifully sharp and heavy.”