Toppy felt Reivers’ eyes upon him, watching to see what effect this explanation would have, and consequently he no more betrayed his feelings than he had at the brutal scenes of the “court.” “I see,” he said casually. “I suppose this is why you made me read up on fractures?” “Partly,” said Reivers. He looked up at the jagged rocks in the roof of the pit and grinned. “And sometimes an accident here calls for a job for a pick and shovel. But I’m just, Treplin; only the malcontents are put to work in here.” “That is, those who have dared to declare themselves something besides your helpless slaves.” “Or dared to think of declaring themselves thus,” agreed Reivers promptly. “I see.” Toppy was looking blandly at the roof, but his mind was working busily. “Just why do you give me charge of this hole, Reivers—if you don’t mind my asking? Isn’t it rather an unusual honour for a green hand to be put over a crew like this?” “Unusual! Oh, how beastly banal of you, Treplin!” laughed Reivers carelessly. “Surely you didn’t expect me to do the usual thing, did you? You say you want to learn how to handle a camp like this. You’re an interesting sort of creature, and I’d like to see you work out in the game of handling men, so I give you this chance. Oh, I’ll do great things for you, Treplin, before I’m done with you! You can imagine all that I’ve got in store for you.” The smile vanished and he turned away. He was through with this incident, too. Without another word or look at Toppy he went back to the stockade, his mind already busy with some other project. Toppy stood looking after him until Reivers’ broad back disappeared around the corner of the stockade. “No, you clever devil!” he muttered. “I can’t imagine. But whatever it is, I promise I’ll hand it back to you with a little interest, or furnish a job for a pick and shovel.” He walked slowly back to the blacksmith-shop. He was glad to be left alone. Though he had permitted no sign of it to escape him, Toppy had been enraged and sickened at what he had seen in the stockade. He admitted to himself that it was not the fact that men had been disabled and crippled, nor the brutal rules that had governed, nor that men had been exposed to death at the hands of others before his eyes, that had stirred him so. It was—Reivers. Reivers sitting up there on the table playing with men’s bodies and lives as with so many cards—Reivers, the dominant, lord over his fellows.