A gasp went up from the lips about him. Fanatic and bloodthirsty as they were, the imminence of the ordeal that was to requite their wrongs startled them. Their preference was to curse their bosses and spur others to dangerous revenge. In moments of carefully developed hysteria they were reckless enough—when the hour came they would probably go forward blindly, with the foolhardiness of the ignorant—but Koppy's methods to-night were singularly unenflaming.
Werner expressed himself first:
"Like hell we do!"
Koppy ignored their agitation; for some reason he did not choose to exercise then the petty arts of the leader.
"Perhaps some one hear up there," he explained, jerking an impatient thumb toward the shack they had left. "I fool him."
"You fool us, too," grumbled Werner.
"To-morrow night at midnight we strike. Boss asleep, everybody asleep.
Police asleep, too. Sure thing!"
"I be blowed!" Werner snarled to himself. "Here I been counting on a week or so to live—or make a getaway. Now I'm to be shot at midnight! A dog would get a fairer chance."
"At supper to-morrow tell the men," ordered Koppy. "Morani get dynamite. Werner take ten men and watch Mr. Conrad—perhaps a knife. Heppel tear up track and stop Police. Lomask take ten rifles back of boss's shack. Hoffman smash boss's speeder. One-Eye Sam take rock-hogs to trestle. Dimhoff cut wires."
Silence was over the group. Even in their trepidation the completeness of their leader's programme over-awed them. Werner alone, driven by his fears, forgot to await the formal dismissal that was the main feature of the ritual, and started away. Koppy waved him back angrily.