of the
besieged was an enormous factor to offset the hopelessness of rescue or
escape. So long as they remained within the shack they could come to
little harm, if food, water, and ammunition held out.

Exposed to the rifles of the besiegers were, however, two of their
principal foes. The Indian dashed recklessly from post to post.
Sooner or later he would pay for it. The continued impunity of the
boss was more maddening. Above the rails Koppy could see the slight
bulge on which so many shots had been wasted. Probably it was only
Torrance's clothing. From the floor of the forest he seemed to be
reasonably protected.

Koppy raised his eyes. With a smile he selected a thick-stemmed tree
and, with the aid of willing and suddenly excited hands, lifted himself
to the lower boughs. There, leaning against the trunk, a circle of
projecting boughs about him, he laughed. Torrance lay in full view.
Gloatingly Koppy slid his rifle along a convenient branch, took aim,
and fired. The ring of metal told how close he was.

On his followers below he bent malignantly joyful eyes. It was only a
question of time now.

The next bullet must have touched Torrance's shoulder, for he winced
and edged closer to the near rail. Koppy cheered and recklessly waved
his rifle.

A shot snapped from over the grade, and a piece of bark flicked
stingingly into the Pole's face. The surprise of it almost tumbled him
from his perch. And before he could cover himself completely with the
trunk of the tree a second bullet whipped through the leaves so close
to his eyes that he felt the wind of it.

Across the grade the Indian jerked in his rifle with an oath and ran to
the shack.

"Dang rotten toy!" he sputtered, slamming the borrowed gun on the
table. "Gi' me my own. I got two cartridges left. One'll do. Thar
ain't no better place for it."

The crowd beneath Koppy's perch was growing fast. The Pole could hear
their whispered exclamations, see the whites of their faces turned up
to him for the report of each shot. In a wave of anger and misgiving
he realised the rashness of adding another responsibility to those of
leadership. Only too eagerly they were piling on his solitary
shoulders the whole burden of the fight.

He must kill the boss! He must kill the boss!

It ran through his head like a threat--a dirge. His aim wavered.
Bullet after bullet sped harmlessly about Torrance. A cold sweat broke
out on the Pole. He leaned