Choking back as well as he could the anger that welled up within him, he made his way swiftly to the blacksmith-shop. Campbell, bending over the anvil, greeted Toppy cheerily as he heard the heavy tread behind him.
“The Snow-Burner promised he’d send you here, and——Losh, mon!” he gasped as he turned around and saw Toppy’s face. “What’s come o’er ye? You look like you’re ripe for murder.”
“There’ll probably be murder done in this camp before the day’s over, but I won’t do it,” replied Toppy.
As he threw off his mackinaw preparatory to starting work he snapped out the story of the situation at the quarry. Campbell, leaning on his hammer, grew grim of lips and eyes as he listened.
“Aye; I thought at the time it were better for you had ye lost at poker last night,” he said slowly. “He’s taking revenge. But they will put out his light for him. Human flesh and blood won’t stand it. The Snow-Burner goes too far. He’ll——Hark! Good Heavens! Hear that!”
For a moment they stood near the open doorway of the shop staring at one another in horrified, mute questioning. The crisp stillness of the morning rang and echoed with the sharp roar of a shotgun. The sound came from the direction of the quarry. Across the street they heard the door of the office-building open sharply. The girl, without hat or coat, her light hair flying about her head, came running like a deer to the door of the shop.
“Mr. Campbell, Mr. Campbell!” she called tremblingly, peering inside. Then she saw Toppy.
“Oh!” she gasped. She started back a little. There were surprise and relief in her exclamation, in her eyes, in her movement.
“I was afraid—I thought maybe——” She drew away from the door in confusion. “I only wanted to know—to know—what that noise was.”
But Toppy had stepped outside the shop and followed closely after her.