th. Back to back they continued the losing struggle.

A gleam of light darted on Conrad's right, and he knew he could not
avoid it. But suddenly the knife dropped, and the one who had wielded
it grabbed his wrist with the other hand. The foreman dare not look to
see what had happened, but he was aware of a sudden thinning in the
crowd of spectators.

A lumbering Pole, his club knocked away by an unexpected blow from
Torrance, leaped furiously on the contractor. The latter turned his
back to receive the shock, at the same time ducking forward. The
Pole's legs shot into the air before Conrad's eyes--a shriek--and a
sudden stain of blood on the pant leg. Yet no one had touched the
place where the blood gushed.

The scene was changing curiously. A score of men still fought to reach
their prey, blind and deaf to everything but their own passions; but
the great crowd that had made the threat of disaster so ominous had
disappeared. One of the mad group about them, teeth bared, was
creeping closer to Torrance, a long stiletto held aloft. But as it
jerked back to strike, the hand that held it opened nervelessly, and a
spurt of blood covered the fingers.

Many pairs of eyes had been on that stiletto, and when it dropped,
bloody and useless, a sudden silence fell. In the midst of it a rifle
snapped from the trees behind the camp. An Italian, into whose
bloodshot eyes a sudden sense of fear was crowding, grabbed his ear and
howled. A thin stream of blood trickled down his wrist.

Not another blow was struck. It was not the casualties, not alone the
sound of the rifle, but rather the uncanny mystery of the hidden
marksman and his aim. Almost before the two hard-pressed men dare look
about them, the river bottom was empty of life, save for themselves and
Koppy, and two or three delayed by the nature of their wounds.

"Right again, Adrian," puffed Torrance, picking at the torn sleeve of
his shirt and feeling himself over gingerly. "I thought they'd got you
when I saw that scratch. Here, let's look at it."

But even as he reached to Conrad's shoulder his interest faded before
the marvel of their succour, and he turned to run his eye in a puzzled
way along the thin trees of the slope behind the camp.

"By hickory! The horse-thief again! There ain't two can shoot like
that." He noticed Koppy staring angrily in the same direction. "It
sure ain't one of your gang, Koppy. That would be one too many."

"No bohu