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James Oliver Curwood charge of the greatest railroad building
job on earth—­he, Jack Howland, who less than twenty years ago
was a barefooted, half-starved urchin peddling papers in the
streets where he was now famous!  And now what was this black
thing that had come up to threaten his chances just as he had
about won his great fight?  He clenched his hands as he thought
again of what had already happened—­the cowardly attempt on his
life, the warnings, and his blood boiled to fever heat.  That
night—­after he had seen Meleese—­he would know what to do.  But
he would not be driven away, as Gregson and Thorne had been
driven.  He was determined on that.  The gloom of night falls
early in the great northern mid-winter, and it was already
growing dusk when there came the sound of a voice outside,
followed a moment later by a loud knock at the door.  At
Howland’s invitation the door opened and the head and shoulders
of a man appeared.  “Something has gon