swinging
down outside the trestle, crashed into one of the supports. And there
he hung, unconscious.

In the fleeting moments of the triple tragedy Koppy could not pull the
trigger. But as the boss lay motionless in the open, an evil smile
came to the Pole's face. Closing his left eye, he took firm hold of
the stock of his rifle and set his finger to the trigger.

Something passed swiftly across the sights. He opened both eyes and
raised his head. Tressa Torrance was climbing fearlessly out on the
trestle supports to her father's assistance, calling for help.

Koppy gasped. A veil seemed to fall over his eyes. A drop of sweat
fell to his rifle butt. When he could see once more he slowly drew
back the gun, eyes staring. Slowly he turned to the expectant faces
below him. They knew nothing of what had happened--was happening--out
there on the trestle. But they felt in some vague way that he was
failing them.

With deliberation Koppy shifted his rifle about, reversing it. Wonder
began to dawn on the faces at the foot of the tree, but not a sound
came from them. Coolly and firmly the butt slid out along the branch
where the barrel had been.

He felt steadier now--no nerves--no fears. With unhurried care he
caught the trigger over a twig and let it rest there. His head turned
slowly about in a half circle, not toward the crowd below but out over
the green forest and up into the brightening sky. Then he leaned out
and peered at the shack. Moving back in the arc, his eyes rested on
Tressa supporting her father's head, though a false step meant certain
death.

And Ignace Koppowski smiled--a cleaner, more human smile than had
crossed his face for many a year.

"Good girl!" he shouted. "I'll help. Listen."

With the smile still on his lips he jerked the barrel of the rifle
toward him.

With the explosion came another from across the grade. And before the
first echo two others from the forest behind.

Koppy's body crashed through the branches and fell among his gaping
followers.

There was blood now, more than they wished. It spurted over them from
their fallen leader. It welled from a shrieking companion who lay
twisting on the ground beside their dead leader.

One incredulous moment--then, clutching and clawing, but silent as ever
in their fears, they ran for the camp, the only haven they knew. The
panic spread through the rest out among the trees. And a trail of
weapons marked their cour