rn up down the
chimney or through the keyhole."

Mahon shook his head. "He doesn't want to talk to the Police. It
doesn't necessarily imply guilt in an Indian. He's watching us as
closely as he is the bohunks. I'll wager he knows I'm here now. The
Indians never liked the Police--like a boy under his dad's eye. I
guess they know they've given us our hardest jobs. You should hear
Inspector Barker's stories." He strolled to the door and looked over
the river. "He's been guarding the trestle better than any of us," he
mused.

Suddenly he swung about.

"Tell him he's got a clear course, unless something big threatens. I
don't seem to be on the right track. We're only crossing and mussing
trails by working separately. . . . If he won't work with me--tell him
I'm trusting him."

CHAPTER XXI

BLUE PETE WORKS ALONE

Koppowski and his three friends climbed through the window of the shack
on the top of the bank and were swallowed in the forest. And around
them other shadows moved silently in the same direction.

They were on their way to the big meeting of the season. Except for a
mere dozen of practised ubiquity the camp was empty; for that night,
which was to seal the fate of the trestle--perhaps--Koppy was less
concerned than usual that the three up on the grade should be deceived.

For days he had been polishing up the details of his plan. And of the
two methods open to him for passing those details on to his followers,
like a true leader he chose personal delivery. Eloquence was a
never-failing inspiration of his in the face of crowds, and hysteria,
his best ally, worked only at its highest pitch in the mob. Besides,
there was a gratifying pomp in the meeting; the thrill he so readily
imparted to his audience returned to him double-fold and opened the
gates to further honours in the inner councils of the I.W.W.

Without underestimating the gravity of failure before such a gathering
as he would face that night, self-confidence never deserted him; never
yet had it let him down. As a born gambler he had no compunctions at
staking everything on one throw.

Directly away from the grade he led deep into the woods, and all about
them was movement, silent, individual, wrapped in the promise of the
meeting. Presently Koppy made a peremptory motion of his hand.

"Wait!" He left them there, moving ponderously forward to the heart of
a small clearing, where he paced up and down, chin in hand. The