He ran twenty yards and fell in the snow. For the first time in his life he had fainted. Joe caught Laviolette darting past and held him.
“Get a sleigh and haul him into camp,” he ordered. Laviolette, mad with excitement, tried to break away. Joe gripped the teamster by the throat and shook him violently, despite a grinding pain in his side which made the forest swim. “Do you hear me, damn you?” he thundered. “A sleigh, I say, or——” His fingers tightened.
“Sure, sure,” croaked the teamster. “Oui, m’sieu! Mo’ Gee, I choke!”
Joe released him and bent over MacNutt. Suddenly the world grew black and he pitched down head foremost beside his foreman. Thus neither of them saw the finish of McCane’s camp.
The gang roared through the woods and stormed the camp like demons. McCane’s cook, game enough, grabbed an axe. Instantly an iron pot, thrown with full force, sailed through the air and broke his right arm. The cookee emerged from the bunk-house with a gun in his hand and found himself face to face with Cooley. He levelled the weapon. The big riverman grinned at him.
“Put it down an’ ye won’t be hurted,” he said. “Shoot, an’ the boys will burn ye alive.”
There was no mistaking the temper of the gang, and the cookee wisely did as he was told. The men raided the van and broached a barrel of kerosene oil. They threw the contents by the pailful inside the buildings.
“Here she goes to hell!” shouted big Cooley as he struck a match.
The light blue flames ran up the oil-soaked wood and took hold. It began to crackle and then to roar. Outside, Kent’s crew danced with glee. Some one found a keg of whiskey. Regan smashed in one end and upset the contents on the snow.
“No booze,” said he. “This is no work to get drunk at.”