Although he had won in the contest which he had so longed for, although he had proved and knew that he was a better man than Reivers, Toppy for some reason experienced none of the elation which he had expected. The thing wasn’t settled. Reivers was still fighting. He was still boss of Hell Camp. He was fighting with craft now. What had that final threat meant? “It has to do with the lass; I’ll wager on that,” said Campbell. “He will aye be taking his revenge on her. I know the man; he has that way.” “The dog!” “Aye.—Hold still wi’ that ear now.—Aye; it’s the way of the man, as I know him. But I’m thinking some one else will play dog, too. Watchdog, I mean. And I’m thinking the same will be mysel’.” “You don’t think he’ll try——” “The Snow-Burner will try anything if his mind’s set. Even force.—Hold still wi’ your chin.—You licked him fair, lad. ’Twas a great fight. You’re best man. But I’m glad I have my shooting-utensil handy, for if I’m any judge Hell Camp will aye deserve its name to-night.” “What do you think will happen?” “’Tis hard to say. But ’tis sure Reivers means to do something desperate, and as I know the man ’tis something that concerns the lass. Then there are the men. They have tasted blood. They have seen the Snow-Burner beaten. His grip has been torn off them. They’re no longer afraid. When the working gangs come in this noon and hear the story there’ll be nothing can hold them from doing what they please. You know what that will be. They’re wild to break loose. Gi’n they lay hands on Reivers they’ll tear him and the camp to pieces. Aye, there’ll be things stirring here before evening, or I’m a dolt.” True to Campbell’s prediction, the stockade shook with cheers, roars and curses that noon when the working men came in and heard the tale of the Snow-Burner’s downfall. The discipline of the camp vanished with those shouts. The men were no longer cowed. They were free and unafraid. After they had eaten, the straw-bosses and guards prepared to lead them back to their work. The men laughed. The bosses joined them. The guards threatened. The men jeered. Reivers, the only force that had kept them cowed, was lying beaten and helpless in his bunk, and not even the shotguns of the guards could cow the fierce spirit that had broken loose in the men when they heard this news. “Shoot, —— you, shoot!” they jeered at the guards. The guards faltered. The whole camp was in revolt and they knew that as sure as one shot was fired the men would rush at no matter how great the cost to themselves. There were a hundred and fifty maddened, desperate men in the camp now, instead of a hundred and fifty cattle; and the guards, minus Reivers’ leadership, retreated to their quarters and locked the door.