His aim was true this time. The stone struck Moir squarely on his big head and drove his face into the sand. He never moved after it.
Reivers looked up. On the brink of the cliff MacGregor on his knees was chanting his war-cry, his thanks that vengeance had not been denied him. Reivers smiled.
“That’s a good song, Mac, whatever it is!” he laughed, when the maddened Scotchman had grown quieter. “But the fact remains that you disobeyed my orders and interfered.”
“Aye! I interfered. I hurled a stone and sent the black soul of Shanty Moir back to his brother the devil!” chanted MacGregor. “But, lad, I did not interfere until you’d paid him in full—until you’d paid double—for the kick he gave you. Three of them there were, and they were armed and you with bare fists! God’s blood! Never since men stood up with fist to fist has there been such fighting. One disabled, and two men dead! Dead you are, you poor pups! And I can tell by the way you lived where you’re roasting now.
“Ah, ah! I ha’ seen a man fight; I ha’ seen what I shall never forget, and, poor stick that I am compared to him, I ha’ e’en had a hand in it myself. Man, man! Would you grudge me a little bite after your belly’s full of battle?”
Reivers spoke quietly and coldly.
“Go down and tear out as much of the stone wall as you can. I’ll take the heavy stones from this side.” He turned to Tillie. “Take the big belt from Iron Hair and give it to me. Then make all ready for the trail. We march to-night.”
And Tillie, as she harnessed the dogs, spat upon Iron Hair, the beaten.
CHAPTER XLVII—THE SNOW-BURNER PAYS
“And now the Snow-Burner has his gold. He has robbed the great Iron Hair in his own camp. Great is the Snow-Burner! Now he has the gold which he longed for. Now he is rich. The white men will bow down to him. Great is the Snow-Burner!”