“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.
The men did not go back to work. Not an axe, peavey or cant-hook was touched; not a team was hitched up. The men swaggered and shouted for Reivers to come out and boss them. They begged him to come out. They wanted to talk with him. They had a lot to tell him. They wouldn’t hurt him—no, they would only give him a little of his own medicine!
However, they gave the guards’ house a wide berth, on account of the deadly shotguns. The short afternoon passed quickly and the darkness came on.
Toppy and Campbell were sitting down to supper when they noticed that it was unusually light in the direction of the stockade. Presently there was a roaring crackling; then a chorus of cries, demonlike in their ferocity. Toppy sprang to the window and staggered back at the sight that met his eyes.
“Great Scot, Campbell! Look, look!” he cried. “They’ve fired the camp!”