is camp. Hasn't
it struck you the boss is going to put through a big contract in a way
that's not been tried before, and that there are some folks who would
put up a good many dollars to see him let down nicely?"

"Well?" Gillow questioned with a show of interest, and the foreman
nodded sagaciously as he answered:

"Whoever busts the boss up will have to get both feet on the neck of
Mattawa Tom first, and that's not going to be easy. I'll keep my eyes
right on to that fellow."

Tom went out, and Gillow, awakening at midnight, saw that his blankets
were still empty. The same thing happened several times, and it was
well for Thurston that he had the true leader's gift of inspiring his
followers with loyalty, for one night a week later the foreman, who had
kept his own counsel, shook Gillow out of his slumber. The sleepy man,
who groped for a boot to fling at the disturber of his peace, abandoned
the benevolent intention when he saw his comrade's face under the
hanging lamp.

"Don't ask no fool questions, but get your things on and come with me,"
Tom commanded.

Five minutes later Gillow, shivering and reluctant, turned out into the
frost. It was a bitter night, and his breath froze upon his mustache.
The snow and froth of the river glimmered spectrally, and when they had
left the camp some distance behind, there was light enough to see a
black figure crawl up a ladder leading to a wire rope stretched tight
in mid-air above the torrent. A trolley hung beneath it by means of
which men and material were hauled across the chasm.

"Get down here!" whispered Tom. "We'll watch him. If we should fall
over any more of these blame rocks he'd see us certain."

Gillow was glad to obey, for, though there was faint moonlight, he had
already cut one knee cruelly. It was bitterly cold beneath the boulder
where he crouched in the snow, and when the black object, which worked
its way along the bending cable, had disappeared in the gloom of
overhanging rocks on the opposite shore, there was nothing to see but
the tossing spray of the river. The stream was still a formidable
torrent, though now that the feeding snows were frozen fast, it was
shrunken far below its summer level. A good many minutes had passed
with painful slowness when Gillow, who regretted that he had left the
snug cook-shed, said:

"This is distinctly monotonous, and it's about time we struck back to
camp. Guess that fellow has tackled too much Red Pin