Bill Sheedy lay for a long time as he had fallen. The blow he had stopped would have done for a pugilist in good condition, and Sheedy’s midriff was soft and fat. Finally he raised his head and looked around. Such surprise and wobegoneness showed in his expression that the grinning Slavs laughed outright at him. Bill slowly came to a sitting posture and drew a hand across his puzzled brow while he looked dully at the laughing men and at Toppy. Then he remembered and he dropped his eyes. “Get on your way, Bill,” said Toppy casually. “If you’re not able to walk, I’ll have half a dozen of the men help you. You’re through here.” Bill lurched unsteadily to his feet and staggered away a few steps. That terrific punch and the iron-calm manner of the man who had dealt it had scared him. His first thought was to get out of reach; his second, one of anger at the Bohunks who dared to laugh at him, Bill Sheedy, the fighting man! But the fashion in which the men laughed took the nerve out of Bill. They were laughing contemptuously at him; they looked down upon him; they were no longer afraid. And there were a dozen of them, and they laughed together; and Bill Sheedy knew that his days as camp bully were over. The straw-boss was looking at him coldly, and Bill moved farther away. Fifteen minutes later the straw-boss, who had apparently been oblivious of his presence, swung around and said abruptly: “What’s the matter, Bill? Why don’t you go back to Reivers?” Bill’s growled reply contained several indistinct but definitely profane characterisations of Reivers. “I can’t go back to him,” Sheedy said sullenly. “Why not?” laughed Treplin. “He’s your friend, isn’t he? He let you keep the money you’d stolen, and all that.” “Keep——!” growled Sheedy. “He’s got that himself. Made me make him a present of it, or—or he’d turn me over for a little trouble I had down in Duluth.” Toppy stiffened and looked at him carefully. “Telling the truth, Bill?” “Ask him,” replied Sheedy. “He don’t make no bones about it; he gets something on you and then he grafts on you till you’re dry.” Toppy stood silent while he assimulated this information. His scrutiny of Sheedy told him that the man was telling the truth. He felt grateful to Sheedy; through him he had got a new light on Reivers’ character, light which he knew he could use later on. “Through making an ass of yourself here, Bill?” he asked briskly. Bill’s answer was to hang his head in a way that showed how thoroughly all the fight was taken out of him. “All right, then; grab a wheelbarrow and get into the pit. Keep your end up with the other men and there’ll be no hard feelings. Try to play any of your tricks, and it’s good night for you. Now get to it, or get out.” Sheedy’s rush for a wheelbarrow showed how relieved he was. He had been standing between the devil and the deep sea—between Reivers with his awful displeasure and Toppy with his awful punch; and he was eager to find a haven.