"You run-a spry away from him," jeered Morani.
Werner made a furious movement, but noticed the Italian's knife-hand in time.
"I wish to blazes I'd run spryer before he hit me. Anybody's welcome to this knob on my nut. Trouble was I was too heavily armed to fight. Ask me my private opinion and I'd say Mavy's brought his tribe down to bother us. I'm game to butt up against anything that wears boots. But them Indians don't even wear pants—not what you'd notice."
"Indians got-a you—they wear pants, no?" leered Morani.
Koppy interrupted what promised to develop into a row.
"At one o'clock Saturday night," he announced in a loud voice. "Till then no touch rifles. Say nothing till the day. That's all."
He dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The half breed lifted himself from the ground behind the shack and slunk away.
Half the conspirators were already through the window when Koppy made a movement of his hand toward the camp. Creatures of his will, they obeyed without a word and wound away, later to drop down to the camp. Koppy followed. Straight through the unkempt cluster of buildings they went until they were out in the open river bottom far from the nearest group of gamblers, who turned dull eyes on them between plays.
Koppy seated himself and waved to his followers to do the same. Up at the end of the trestle the light from the boss's shack twinkled through the gloom. Close beside them the gurgle of the waters was soft and soothing, and the colour-touched clouds above the setting sun cast an unreal glow over the edges of the river bank. Koppy moved his eyes about uncomfortably on the day's good-night. The mumblings of Werner brought him to the task in hand.
"We attack to-morrow night at midnight!" he announced.