CHAPTER XXI—THE END OF THE BOSS
Back in the shop Campbell went to work with a will to doctor up Toppy’s battered face.
“I dunno, lad, I dunno,” he muttered as he patched up the ragged cuts. “It was the poetry of justice that the men should have had him, but I dunno that I could ha’ left him lie there myself.”
“Of course you couldn’t,” said Toppy. “A man can’t do that sort of thing. But, say, Campbell, what do you suppose he meant about being sorry before morning because I saved him?”
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’.”
“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.”