A cliff-like ledge, perhaps thirty feet in height, situated close to one end of the dam, was Reivers’ objective, and he led Toppy around to the side facing the river. Here the dirt had been scraped away on the face of the ledge, and a great cave torn in the exposed rock. The hole was probably fifty feet wide, and ran from twelve to fifteen feet under the brow of the ledge. Toppy was surprised to see no timbers upholding the rocky roof, which seemed at any moment likely to drop great masses of jagged stone into the opening beneath.
“My little rock-pile,” explained Reivers lightly. “When my brutes aren’t good I put ’em to work here. The rock goes into the dam out there. Just at present Rosky’s band of would-be malcontents are the ones who are suffering for daring to be dissatisfied with the—ah—simplicity, let us say, of Hell Camp.”
He laughed mirthlessly.
“I’m going to put you in charge of this quarry, Treplin. You’re to see that they get one hundred wheelbarrows of rock out of here per hour. You’ll be here at daylight to-morrow.”
Toppy nodded quietly.
“What’s the punishment here?” he asked, puzzled. “It looks like nothing more than hard work to me.”
Reivers smiled the same smile that he had smiled upon Rosky.
“Look at the roof of that pit, Treplin,” he said. “You’ve noticed that it isn’t timbered up. Occasionally a stone drops down. Sometimes several stones. But one hundred barrows an hour have to come out of there just the same. And those rocks up there, you’ll notice, are beautifully sharp and heavy.”
Toppy felt Reivers’ eyes upon him, watching to see what effect this explanation would have, and consequently he no more betrayed his feelings than he had at the brutal scenes of the “court.”
“I see,” he said casually. “I suppose this is why you made me read up on fractures?”