Werner paled. He knew what the settlement would be, and the justice of it. He knew, too, the folly of protesting under the strain of the moment. So he tried to look aggrieved at their suspicions. When the conference broke up, and Morani attached himself to his heels, he smiled ingratiatingly and sauntered to the edge of the bank overlooking the camp. There he seated himself to consider his position. Escape? Even if he succeeded in evading immediate doom by giving his guard the slip, the I.W.W. would never give up the chase till he had paid the penalty of his treason.
As he sat he could see the end of the trestle through the brush. A slight bulge above the rails marked the place where the contractor lay guarding his pet. At the sight a wave of fury against Torrance swept over Werner. The boss was to blame for everything. But for his vigilance the trestle would long ago have been down.
"Chico," he snarled, "watch me pink him."
He lay along the ground and rested his rifle on a rock. But Morani, having suffered helplessly for a whole season at the hands of this nimble-tongued comrade, saw his chance. Before Werner realised his plan, the Italian laid one long supple hand on the stock and wrenched it away. In his left hand gleamed the hovering stiletto.
"No rifle," he rasped. "I watch-a you better." He held the gun behind his back.
For a mad moment Werner thought of hurling himself on his leering enemy, but the knife waved before his eyes. No chance there. An overwhelming sense of hopelessness, of friendlessness, sent him cringing to Morani's feet. The Italian, gloating, leaned forward and prodded with the stiletto. Werner, beside himself now with terror, leaped up and ran a few yards. But the smirking face of the Italian followed. In that direction lay speedy death.
Trembling, Werner sank to his knees like a whipped dog. On his knees he crept on and on. And above him hung those gloating eyes and the threatening stiletto. Urged by that smirk of death the cowering man crept forward. There was blood now on his torn knees and hands, but he did not feel it. Only he must crawl on and on before the horrible Nemesis at his back.
Neither noticed where their path led. They reached the end of the trees. The open ahead promised Werner greater freedom of flight. Morani was blind to everything but the terror of his old enemy. With twisted head Werner moved out from the trees. Something loomed before him, blocking the way. A wall of loose sand! With a gasp he raised his eyes.
Above him loomed the five-foot grade, protecting them from the shack.
Werner shifted his horror-stricken eyes only a little—and looked
straight into those of the contractor staring through the sleepers.
Torrance was moving his rifle to take aim.
Below Werner fell a dizzy depth. Above him the rifle of one who had no reason to spare. The double peril added the touch that makes craven spirits desperate.