b swiftly downward toward the camp. He knew now that
more lights than usual burnt there, that the few discordant instruments
strumming and blowing were overexerting themselves. Certainly the
bohunks were not in bed.

Crawling rapidly about, avoiding patches of light, a thrill like fear
flooded him. With a stifled exclamation he leaped up and retraced his
steps to the higher level, climbing with the assurance and agility of a
mountain goat.

No longer did he think of silence. The lifelong instinct fell from him
like a cloak. Speed--speed--that was everything. When the trees
closed him in he realised that he was not alone. Other moving forms
everywhere enabled him to run openly.

A group came toward him, and Blue Pete threw himself flat. And as they
passed he caught their outline against the lighter western sky, where
still remnants of day lingered.

Every one carried a rifle!

He waited for nothing more. As he had never run before he sped through
the bush, bearing due south-east toward the deserted end-of-steel
village, avoiding trees and fallen logs with uncanny ease. Some heard
him and paused in their course, but they were keyed up to serious work,
and there were so many of their friends abroad. Probably a messenger
of their leader's on pressing duty.

Half a mile to the east Blue Pete pulled up. Two piercing whistles he
sent in rapid succession into the night, and in a moment repeated them.
Then he resumed his running, shifting direction toward the grade, where
the course would be clearer. At intervals he whistled the shrill
double blast.

Many a bohunk heard the whistle and shivered without knowing why.
Conrad, returning from the trestle down the long slope to his shack,
stopped and wondered, though it was dim and far away by then. Koppy
and his immediate friends lifted guilty heads and questioned each
other. Werner, nerves jangling, thoughtlessly pleaded the superior
advantages of next Tuesday; and then bethought himself and advised more
precipitous action. Nothing within a day's hard ride could stop Koppy
now--one hundred rifles against four or five.

Blue Pete was running steadily now. Rifle hanging loose, he swung in
and out among the trees as if every obstacle were limned in daylight.
Early in the race he had discarded his blanket. His feet shrank from
the rough way in their unaccustomed moccasins. Only once did he
falter: a vagrant thought pulled him up, to feel anxiously at his
ca