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1
Copyright © 2016 Pearson Education, Inc.
Operations Management, 11e (Krajewski et al.)
Chapter 7: Project Management
7.1 Defining and Organzing Projects
1) A project is an interrelated set of activities that has a definite starting and ending point.
Answer: TRUE
Reference: Defining and Organizing Projects
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: project activities, start, end
Learning Outcome: Describe the goals and stages of project management.
AACSB: Application of Knowledge
2) Projects often cut across organizational lines.
Answer: TRUE
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: project, organizational lines
3) Projects, and the application of project management, facilitate the implementation of
operations strategy.
Answer: TRUE
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: project management, operations strategy
4) Project managers should be able to organize a set of disparate activities.
Answer: TRUE
Difficulty: Moderate
Keywords: project manager, disparate activities
5) A pure project organizational structure houses the project in a specific functional area.
Answer: FALSE
Keywords: pure project, functional structure

2
6) Scope creep is one of the primary causes of project failure.
Answer: TRUE
Keywords: scope creep, project failure
7) The project's objective statement should contain:
A) slack time and activities.
B) scope, time frame, and allocated resources.
C) strengths and weaknesses of subcontractors.
D) activities, completion times, and incentives.
Answer: B
Keywords: project objective statement, scope
8) A project organization structure where team members are assigned to the project and work
exclusively for the project manager is called:
A) a matrix structure.
B) a fixed structure.
C) a pure project structure.
D) a functional structure.
Answer: C
Keywords: project, organizational structure
9) A(n) ________ is an interrelated set of activities that has a definite starting and ending point
and that results in a unique outcome for a specific allocation of resources.
Answer: project
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: project activities

3
10) Heidi was part of a project team that retained their roles within the organization and was on
loan to the project due to her technical expertise. In effect, she reported to two bosses, one in her
functional area and also to the project manager. Heidi is operating within a(n) ________
organizational structure.
Answer: matrix
Keywords: matrix
11) What are the primary responsibilities of a Project Manager? Briefly describe these
responsibilities for a project manager whose team is purchasing a new machine and installing it
in a manufacturing process.
Answer: Best answers will include the following points, describing the manager's role in the
purchase and installation of the new machine: 1. Facilitator: resolves conflicts; leads with a
system view; blends project interaction, resources and deliverables with firm as a whole; 2.
Communicator: informs senior management and other stakeholders of project's progress and
need for additional resources; communicates with project team to achieve best performance; 3.
Decision Maker: organize team meetings; define how team decisions will be made; determine
how to communicate to senior management; make tough decisions if necessary.
Keywords: project manager, selecting
12) What characteristics should be considered when selecting project team members? Briefly
describe these characteristics for members of a project team assigned to improve a teller's job in
a bank.
Answer: Best answers should include the following in the context on the job improvement
project: 1. Technical Competence: capable of completing activities assigned to them; 2.
Sensitivity: to interpersonal conflicts within the team; help mitigate these issues and any
problems dealing with upper level management; 3. Dedication: capable of solving problems
outside immediate expertise by involving others as needed; display persistence and initiative for
completing the project in a timely fashion.
Keywords: project team member, selecting

4
7.2 Constructing Project Networks
1) The work breakdown structure is a statement of all work that has to be completed.
Answer: TRUE
Reference: Constructing Project Networks
Keywords: WBS, work breakdown structure
2) The network diagram is a planning method that is designed to depict the relationships between
activities.
Answer: TRUE
Keywords: network diagram, activities
3) A relationship that determines the sequence for undertaking activities is a precedence
relationship.
Answer: TRUE
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: precedence relationship
4) In a network diagram, an activity:
A) is the largest unit of work effort consuming both time and resources that a project manager
can schedule and control.
B) is the smallest unit of work effort consuming both time and resources that a project manager
can schedule and control.
C) should always be something the company has had experience with.
D) must always have a single, precise estimate for the time duration.
Answer: B
Keywords: activity, smallest unit of work

5
5) Activity times for a project are estimated by all but which of the following methods?
A) the use of dowsing rods.
B) managerial opinions based on similar prior experiences
C) statistical methods based on actual past experience
D) estimates using learning curve models to improve replications and estimate accuracy
Answer: A
Keywords: activity times, estimating activity times
6) The ________ is a statement of all work that has to be completed.
Answer: work breakdown structure (WBS)
Keywords: WBS, work breakdown structure
7) ________ determines the sequence for undertaking activities.
Answer: Precedence relationship
Keywords: precedence relationship, sequence of activities
8) Following the project defining and organizing phase, project planning involves five steps. List
and briefly describe these five planning steps as applied to writing a term paper for an Operations
Management class.
Answer: The following points should be included in the best answers: 1. Define the work
breakdown structure: develop a list of all work to be completed on the project; 2. Diagram the
network: develop a PERT/CPM diagram showing all activities and precedence requirements for
the project; 3. Develop the schedule: define the project's critical path, duration, and earliest and
latest start and finish times for each activity; 4. Analyze cost–time trade-offs: determine normal
time and costs for the project, as well as crash time and costs; using project crashing techniques,
find a minimum cost schedule for completing the project; 5. Assess project risks: develop a risk
management plan, including such areas as strategic fit, service/product attributes, team
capabilities and operations risks.
Keywords: project planning, steps

6
7.3 Developing the Project Schedule
1) A critical path is any sequence of activities between a project's start and finish.
Answer: FALSE
Reference: Developing the Project Schedule
Keywords: critical path activities
2) The earliest start time is never the same as the latest start time.
Answer: FALSE
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: earliest start time, latest start time
AACSB: Analytical Thinking
3) To obtain the latest start and latest finish time in a network diagram, we must work forward
through the network.
Answer: FALSE
Keywords: latest start time, latest finish time
4) A Gantt chart is a project schedule that superimposes project activities on a time line.
Answer: TRUE
Keywords: Gantt chart, project schedule
5) A project has three paths. A-B-C has a length of 25 days. A-D-C has a length of 15 days.
Finally, A-E-C has a length of 20 days. Which one of the following statements is TRUE?
A) A-D-C is the critical path.
B) A-B-C has the most slack.
C) The expected duration of this project is 25 days.
D) The expected duration of this project is 25 + 15 + 20 = 60 days.
Answer: C
Keywords: project, duration

7
6) The earliest start time for an activity is equal to the:
A) smallest earliest finish time of all of its immediate predecessors.
B) largest earliest finish time of all of its immediate predecessors.
C) smallest late start time of any of its immediate predecessors.
D) largest late finish time of all of its immediate predecessors.
Answer: B
Keywords: activity, earliest start time
7) Assume that activity G has the following times:
Early start time = 7 days
Early finish time = 13 days
Late start time = 15 days
Late finish time = 21 days
Which of the following statements is TRUE about activity G?
A) Activity G takes 14 days to complete.
B) Activity G has a slack time of 8 days.
C) Activity G is on the critical path.
D) Activity G takes 2 days to complete.
Answer: B
Keywords: activity slack
8) Activity slack is defined as:
A) latest start time minus earliest start time.
B) earliest start time minus latest start time.
C) earliest finish time minus latest finish time.
D) latest finish time minus earliest start time.
Answer: A
Keywords: activity slack, latest start time, earliest start time

8
9) Which one of the following best describes the critical path of a PERT/CPM network?
A) the sequence of activities between a project's start and finish that takes the longest time to
complete
B) the sequence of activities between a project's start and finish that has the maximum amount of
activity slack
C) the set of activities that has no precedence relationships
D) the sequence of activities that has the lowest normal activity cost
Answer: A
Keywords: critical path
Fig. 7.1
10) For the network shown in Fig. 7.1, which of the following is the critical path?
A) ABCDEF
B) ABEF
C) ACDF
D) ACEF
Answer: C
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: activity network, critical path

9
11) For the network shown in Fig. 7.1, what is the project duration?
A) 6
B) 15
C) 13
D) 14
Answer: B
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: activity network, critical path, duration

10
Figure to accompany Table 7.1
Table 7.1
Activity
Activity
Time
Earliest
Start
Earliest
Finish
Latest
Start
Latest
Finish Slack
A 2 0 0 2 0
B 1 2 3 3 4 1
C 3 2 5 2 5 0
D 7 3 10 4 11
E 3 5 8 11 3
F 5 11 5 11 0
G 4 11 15 11 15 0
12) Using the information shown in Table 7.1, what is the slack time for activity D?
A) 1
B) 4
C) 6
D) 7
Answer: A
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: activity, network, critical path, activity slack

11
13) Using the information shown in Table 7.1, what is the earliest finish time for activity A?
A) 0
B) 2
C) 3
D) 4
Answer: B
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: activity network, critical path, earliest finish
14) Using the information shown in Table 7.1, what is the latest start time for activity E?
A) 2
B) 3
C) 5
D) 8
Answer: D
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: activity network, critical path, latest start
15) Using the information shown in Table 7.1, what is the activity time for activity F?
A) 5
B) 11
C) 6
D) 1
Answer: C
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: activity network, critical path, activity time
16) Refer to the Figure to accompany Table 7.1. Which one of the following is the critical path?
A) ABDG
B) ABEG
C) ACEG
D) ACFG
Answer: D
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: activity network, critical path

12
17) Using the information shown in Table 7.1, what is the project duration?
A) 15
B) 14
C) 12
D) 10
Answer: A
Difficulty: Easy
Keywords: activity network, critical path, duration
18) Fig. 7.2
Which one of the following statements regarding Figure 7.2 is TRUE?
A) Activity S cannot finish until activity T finishes.
B) Activity T cannot begin until activity U is completed.
C) Activity U cannot begin until activities S and T have been completed.
D) Activity V cannot begin until activity S has been completed.
Answer: C
Keywords: activity precedence
19) Which one of the following conditions violates the assumptions of PERT/CPM networks?
A) Some activities can have zero variance.
B) Costs increase linearly as activity time is reduced below its normal time.
C) Two activities tied together by an arc are overlapping and can be worked on simultaneously.
D) There can be more than one critical path in a network.
Answer: C
Keywords: assumption, PERT and CPM networks

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The deserter meditated in silence for a moment, and when he
spoke again it was with an air of amiable tolerance.
“Yes, sir, father was so certain sure he'd never have any more use
for it, that he gave away as good a farm as ever lay out doors. He
wanted to feel that nothing was holding him to earth.”
“Meaning no offence to you, he was a pretty considerable fool to
do that,” said Rogers, who had been listening to the conversation,
and who now joined in it.
“No, you can't quite say that, for he deeded it to mother; he
know'd he'd be pretty bad off if the world didn't bust according to
prophecy, and he wanted to keep the property in the family; though
I've heard him say he was that sincere he'd made up his mind that
just him and a few of his friends was to be saved; he looked for all
the rest to get scorched up bad; but he was uncertain about having
the date of the bust up just right, and if it went over another season
he thought he'd like to skin the farm for one more corn crop. He's
always been powerful forehanded in them ways. What was this
millennium anyhow, that old Bill Miller had him so stirred up over?”
“I don't know quite the sort of a millennium that your father was
expecting,” said Stephen, “but I believe the millennium is supposed
to mean a period which is to last a thousand years, when the world
will be free of sin and death.”
“No deserting—no horse-stealing,” said Bushrod.
“You got me there!” said Raymond pleasantly. “So that's the
millennium; it's a right pretty idea, ain't it? But tedious I should
reckon.”
“Is your father satisfied with Mormonism?” asked Stephen.
“Yes, sir, and it's a pretty fair sort of a religion.”
“How about Brigham Young?” said Stephen.
“Oh, they're thick as thieves. Brigham's right smart of a schemer,
too,” with gentle approval. “There's no foolishness about him—none
whatever.”
“I suppose you are acquainted with Young, too?” said Stephen.

“Me? Oh, yes. I tell you, Mr. Landray, the valley's no healthy place
unless you keep on the right side of him. I've heard father say that
even after he'd been made elder, he kicked over the traces, and they
had to baptise him all over a few times, to give him a fresh start. I
reckon they didn't keep him in long enough 'airy time, if I'd been
doing the job I'd left him in over night.”
While he talked his glance had been continually straying in the
direction of the fur trader. The latter's apparently earnest
conversation with his companions had come to an end, and the two
halfbreeds had stretched themselves on the ground, but Basil still
sat beside the camp-fire, his pipe between his teeth, moody and
solitary.
The deserter hitched a little nearer Stephen, and dropped his
voice to a low whisper.
“I'd like mighty well to tie up with you gentlemen, and give Basil
yonder the slip. It was downright underhand of him to run me and
the breeds in on you the way he done; I was real distressed, honest
I was. It'd about serve him right if you helped me cut loose; we
could wait until we got to the valley, and then if you'd just furnish
me with a gun—” He looked wistfully at the row of rifles that leaned
against the wagon-bed, each within easy reach of its owner's hand
“and if there was any shooting to be done—him, I mean—I'd do it.
Of course, his being kin to you, you wouldn't just want to do that
yourselves. I'd want to feel though, that you'd take care of the half-
breeds until I done for Basil. You never can trust a half-breed
anyhow.”
“You're not in earnest, Raymond; you're surely not serious?” cried
Stephen, drawing away from him in disgust and horror. The deserter
gave him a swift, searching glance, then he laughed easily.
“Well, no, I ain't. I was joking—just joking.”
“It was a poor joke,” said Stephen sternly.
Raymond came slowly to his feet. “Well,” said he, “I'll turn in. You
couldn't oblige me with the loan of a rifle, if I made up my mind to
strike off for Fort Bridger?”

“No, we have no guns to spare,” said Stephen shortly.
A look of keen disappointment appeared on the deserter's face,
but it swiftly passed and left him smiling and ingenuous.
“Good-night,” he said.
The camp-fire died down until nothing remained of it but a mass
of glowing embers. The teamsters and Walsh had put away their
cards and wrapped themselves in their blankets; Bushrod and
Rogers had followed their example; their heavy breathing told that
they already slept. The night wind that threshed the wagon canvases
blew raw and cold. Stephen took up his rifle and made the circuit of
the wagons, looking closely to the mules and horses, for the first
watch was his.
His mind reverted more than once to the questionable wit of
Raymond's joke, and it occurred to him as a thing to be steadily
borne in mind that the Benson and California Mining and Trading
Company had chosen illy who should be its friends. It would be a
matter for deep thankfulness when they should reach Salt Lake, and
could forever dispense with Basil, the half-breeds, and the too-
smiling Raymond, whose perverted sense of humour permitted him
to jestingly propose a murder.
The camp was astir at the first break of day. The night wind had
blown itself out, and the sombre plains were heavy with silence. One
by one the gold-seekers shook themselves out of their blankets, and
without waste of words began their preparation for the day's
journey.
Rogers drove the mules to water at a muddy hole a quarter of a
mile from camp and beyond a slight ridge. He had just disappeared
beyond this ridge, when the half-breed, Louis, took two of the
horses, and started after him on the same errand. A moment later
Basil and Baptiste mounted their's and rode out from camp.
Raymond lounged across to his friends.
“Basil says you can start on if you like; he's gone to see if he can't
knock over a buffalo cow, we're about out of meat,” he explained,
and then, as if in verification of his words, they heard the sharp

report of a rifle. “I reckon they've found what they're looking for,”
said Raymond.
“I thought the shot sounded down by the water-hole,” said
Bushrod.
“Yes, they were going around that way on account of their horses.
Here, Mr. Landray, let me give you a hand with them blankets.” For
Bushrod was making a roll of the bedding, preparatory to stowing it
away in one of the wagons; the others were busy wedging up a
shrunken wheel.
An instant later Rogers appeared on the ridge, but without the
mules; he came running toward them, with his long rifle held in the
crook of his arm.
“I've done it!” he cried hoarsely. “I've done it!” he repeated, when
he reached them.
There was silence for a moment. No man spoke, for each feared
to ask him what it was that he had done.
“I tell you I've done it, are you dumb?” he cried in wild and
agonized appeal, and he looked from one to the other of his friends.
“What have you done?” Stephen asked.
“I've killed him.”
“You've killed whom?”
“Yonder half-breed. Damn his soul, he'll never get in a white man's
way again—he'll keep his place!”
“You've murdered him, you mean?” Stephen spoke in a shocked
whisper.
“It wa'n'. murder, Landray, I swear to God it wa'n'.! Who says
murder to me, I've always been a fair man—who says murder to
me?” and his wild, bloodshot eyes searched the circle of white faces.
“He'd a done for me if I hadn't shot him. He came down to the
hole with his two horses; I was ahead of him, but he yelled to me to
get out of his way; and when I told him he'd have to wait until I'd
watered my stock, he tried to ride me down. I didn't lift a hand until
then.”

Raymond was the first to speak.
“I wonder if that don't save me a hundred and a quarter; they
certainly ain't entitled to his share, now are they?” But if they heard
him, no one replied to the deserter, who continued to regard Rogers
with an envious admiration. “The eternally condemned bag of bones,
where'd he get the heart for it?” he muttered.
And then a savage cry came from the direction of the water-hole,
telling that the body had been found by Basil and Baptiste. Stephen
turned to Rogers.
“Get in one of the wagons, and lie still—take Benny with you—
and, no matter what happens, stay there!” to the others he added:
“Mind, right or wrong, we are not going to surrender him to them.
That would but make a bad matter worse.”
“What's your notion, Steve?” asked Bushrod briskly. “Hadn't we
better look sharp for the half-breed?”
“Yes, but don't be hasty. I'll attend to Basil.”
“Say, Mr. Landray, if you'll give me a gun I'll make the shot for
you.” said the deserter officiously. He was not regarded, but he
continued to loudly lament that he was unarmed.
Rogers had scarcely disappeared in one of the wagons when Basil
and Baptiste galloped into camp; they flung themselves from their
horses and confronted the little group about Stephen.
“Where is he?” Basil shouted, seizing the latter by the arm.
“Where's Rogers? You're no kin to me unless you give him up to us.”
“Basil,” said Stephen quietly, falling back a step and freeing
himself from the other's clutch, “it was the result of a quarrel, the
fight was a fair one.”
“It's a lie—it was murder!” the fur trader cried hoarsely. “Where is
he?” and he glared about him.
“Where you shan't touch him.”
“Shan't?” he raged, his black beard bristling.
“No.”
“Where've you hidden him?”

“Never mind. Where you can't find him?”
“Do you make this you're affair?”
“I won't say that, but it was self-defence. If he hadn't shot the
Indian, the Indian would probably have shot him.”
“Who says so? Did you see the fight? Fight?” he laughed aloud.
“Fight? It was murder, cowardly murder!”
“No, we didn't see the fight,” Stephen answered calmly.
“Oh, you take his word, do you? Well, I don't,” and he started
toward the wagons. “He's in there, and by God, I'll have him out,
and Baptiste here shall settle with him!”
“Dunlevy! Walsh!” called Stephen sharply.
The two men stepped in front of the fur trader.
“Basil,” said Stephen, “we'll inquire into this when we're all cooler.”
“We'll settle it now!” swore Basil, with a great oath.
“If he's done wrong he shall be punished; but not by you, not by
us; the law—”
“Damn the law! There's only one law for the plains.”
“We'll hand him over to the commandant of the first military post.”
Rogers, who heard every word that was said where he lay in the
bed of one of the wagons, with a barricade of boxes about him,
smiled grimly at this.
“No they won't, son,” he whispered to the boy. “You and me will
see California for all of them.”
He reached up over his barricade, and with his hunting-knife cut a
slit in the wagon's canvas cover. The slit was just large enough to
accommodate the muzzle of his rifle.
But now Basil withdrew to his own camp, taking with him the
halfbreed and the deserter. The latter went with him reluctantly
enough, for he knew the fur trader was in no mood to tamper with.
The five men about the wagons waited, never relaxing their
vigilance. They expected something would be done or attempted,
they scarcely knew what. They could hear nothing of what passed

between Basil and his two companions, but they saw that he was
talking earnestly with Raymond. Twice the deserter turned and
looked toward them, finally he appeared to give a satisfactory
answer to what Basil had been saying, and the conference came to
an end; they heard the echo of his light laugh. He turned from Basil
and the half-breed and approached Stephen, whom he seemed to
regard with a quickened interest, but the friendly smile never left his
selfish, good-natured face.
“Well, good-bye,” he said, and extended his hand. “I reckon I'll
have to go with him yonder.”
“Are you willing to go with him?” Stephen asked.
“Oh, yes,” smiling evasively. “Yes, I'm plenty willing to go with
him,” he said.
“Because if you have any fears for your safety—”
“No, I'm worth a heap more to him alive than I would be dead,”
responded the deserter with an air of complacent conviction. He
added pleasantly. “I reckon, though, it's right handsome of you to
want to look out for me, and me a stranger.” He dropped his voice to
a whisper. “He'll calm down some; give him time. I allow he feels
Baptiste is looking to him to take on like hell, but once he cuts loose
from you gentlemen you needn't bother about him; he'll be mainly
interested in getting on to California. Now if you keep on about due
west you'll strike Green River sometime to-morrow; after you ford it,
your trail leads a little south of west to the Bear.” He looked hard at
Stephen.
“Thank you,” said the latter.
“Beyond the Bear you shouldn't have any trouble. You'll strike the
Weber next, and you can just follow it into the valley, crossing
Kamas Prairie. I know all that country—and don't worry none about
him, he ain't hunting trouble. Well, good-bye, and good luck.”
He rejoined Basil and Baptiste.
“Why did he tell us that?” asked Bushrod suspiciously.

“Just his good-nature,” said Stephen indifferently, and thought no
more of the deserter's advice until it became necessary to follow it.
The three men mounted their horses, and the fur trader again
approached his cousins.
“Once more, will you give him up?” he asked.
But no one answered him.
“You won't give him up, eh? Well, look out,” and he shook his fist
at them. “Look out, for I'll even this before I'm done with you.”
They heard his threat in silence, then seeing he was not to be
answered, he wheeled about, and, followed by the half-breed and
Raymond, crossed the ridge at a gallop. They stopped at the water-
hole just long enough to lash the dead man to his saddle.
But Raymond, the deserter, rode away rejoicing in the possession
of Louis's rifle which Basil had given him. When they had
disappeared from sight, Stephen said to Bingham and Dunlevy: “Go
down and look up the stock; if you find it's strayed from the water-
hole, come back and we'll all turn out after it.”
Then, followed by Bushrod, he went to the wagons and called to
Rogers. “They've gone. You've nothing to fear,” he said. The
Californian crawled stiffly from his place of concealment. His friends
were silent as he emerged from the wagon, against which he leaned
for support.
“God knows it was a fair fight, Landray,” he said tremulously, for
now, that the sustaining excitement was past, he was like one
shaken with the ague. His face was drawn and ghastly, and his dark
eyes burnt with an unearthly light. “He'd a done for me if I hadn't
shot him. It was him or me; but it was mighty fair of you to stand by
me.”
“We've stood by you, but I'm not satisfied, Rogers,” said Stephen
moodily. “It's true he was an Indian, and it may be true, as you say,
that you did the shooting in self-defence; I hope it was; but you've
had bad blood for them from the start.”

“Bad blood! Yes, curse them—and curse me! for I've lived and
camped with them for days and nights,” cried Rogers fiercely, glaring
at Stephen. “If I'd been the man I was once I'd a fetched it to an
issue long ago. See—” he held out a shaking hand, “You might think
from that, he was the first. The heart's gone out of me with this
cough that's tearing me asunder. It was the Indians killed my wife; I
reckon if you stood in my place now you'd wonder why the hell we
was arguing whether I shot yonder varment in fair fight or not:
She'd gone to the corral—I'm telling you how my wife died—when I
heard her cry out, and I ran to the ranch door. It wa'n'. two hundred
yards to the coral, but it might as well been miles and she'd been no
worse off; for it was surrounded; and when she ran shrieking
through the bars, trying with all the strength God Almighty had
given her, to make the house, they closed in about her and I saw
one of them drive his axe into her brain.” The sweat stood in great
beads on his brow. “I saw I was too late to help her, and I went
back into the house and fastened the door, I still had him to think of
—” pointing to the child. There was a long pause. Rogers gulped
down something that rose in his throat, and went on: “Well, when
the settlers who'd been hot on their trail ever since they broke loose
on the settlement, come in and drove them off, and pulled Benny
here and me out of the burning ranch house, they laid out ten of the
red brutes. I'd let the daylight through.” He threw up his head
defiantly. “What the hell do you suppose I care for one greasy half-
breed!” and he clutched the stock of his gun with trembling fingers.
“For God's sake,” he moaned, “Let's be moving. It was only a half-
breed, what the hell's use quarrelling about him. I've sent him where
he'll do no more harm.”

T
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HEY saw no more of Basil Landray, Baptiste, and the too-
smiling Raymond, which caused them some surprise at first;
for the fur trader's sinister threat at parting had not sounded
like an empty menace; yet when a week elapsed they decided that
he had spoken rather for the half-breed than to them.
“What can they do?” said Bushrod contemptuously. “I've been
looking for them to take pot shots at some of us; but after all that
would be a risky business.”
“I wish,” said Stephen, “that we might find another way into Salt
Lake; I don't like this thing of keeping on after them.”
“No,” said Rogers slowly, as though he were himself reluctantly
abandoning some such idea. “No, our best chance is to keep on as
we are going until we strike the head waters of the Weber. But look
here, Mr. Landray, I didn't count on seeing the last of them so soon.
Do you reckon they've hatched some plan to hold us up there in the
valley?”
“How could they?” Stephen demanded. “You mean you think they
may try to hold us for the murder,” he added.
“Mr. Landry, it wa'n'. no murder,” said Rogers, deeply offended at
his unfortunate choice of words. “I wouldn't ask to die no fairer than
he done.”
“I didn't mean to say that, Rogers,” said Stephen hastily.
“No, but you think of it as that,” retorted Rogers bitterly. “There's
no use of our quarrelling about it, Rogers,” said Stephen. “You
settled with him in your own fashion.”
“I never knowed of a case,” said Rogers moodily, “but I've heard
of a white man being tried for killing a redskin; and the one I shot

was a half-breed, and so some sort white just as he was some sort
red.”
“I hadn't thought of that,” said Stephen.
“Well,” observed Rogers, “three or four days now will bring us into
the valley. Mr. Landray, that's one redskin I'm mighty sorry I put out
of business; if I'd been at the same pains to stave off the trouble I
was to fetch it to a head, or if I'd sort of nursed it along until we got
to the other side of this two-wife country, it might have saved us a
heap of bother.”
Early the following morning Rogers was roused by Stephen, and
as he came to consciousness he felt Stephen's hand on his shoulder.
“Turn out, Rogers,” said Landray. “One of the mules has broken its
rope and strayed.”
The Californian crawled sleepily from among his blankets.
“What do you say—the mules—”
“The piebald's slipped her picket rope.”
“Dam her pepper and salt hide anyhow!” said Rogers, now wide
awake. “I bet I rope her to-night so she don't get loose.”
“She can't have gone far for she was here when Bingham relieved
me three hours after midnight.”
It was then just dawn.
“Where are the others?” asked Rogers, glancing about.
“They have gone down into the valley; suppose you take the back
track up the pass while I get breakfast. Will you ride?”
“No, it ain't likely she's strayed far.”
He went back down the pass narrowly scanning the ground for the
trail of the straying animal. A walk of a mile brought him to a point
where a small canyon led off from the pass; a high separating
wedge-shaped ridge lay between the two defiles, and it occurred to
him that if he climbed to the summit of this ridge he would
command a view of the pass proper as well as of the smaller
canyon. He made the ascent with some difficulty and gaining the top
of the ridge carefully scanned the pass, down which he could look

for a mile or more; then he turned and found that he was
overlooking a small valley, which but for the canyon would have
been completely enclosed by a low range of hills, beyond which but
at some distance rose the grey flanks of the mountains.
He did not see the lost mule, but he did see something that
caused him an exclamation of surprise. Across the valley, and just
rising above the low hill, what looked to be a small blue cloud was
ascending lazily in the clear air. It was smoke; smoke from some
camp-fire; and the camp-fire probably that of some roving band of
Indians.
He went down the ridge a matter of half a mile, and entered a
thick growth of service berry, aspin, and willows; this was so dense
that he no longer saw the hill opposite and toward which he was
bending his steps. He worked his way well into the thicket and had
gained the centre of the narrow bottom, when he suddenly became
aware that a man or some animal was crashing through the bush
ahead of him which not only covered the bottom but clothed the
base of the hill as well. Man or beast, the disturber of that solitude
was coming forward rapidly and apparently with no attempt at
concealment, for there was a continual snapping of branches.
Rogers paused; he could see nothing though the sounds drew
nearer each moment. He cautiously forced his way yet deeper into
the thicket, his gun cocked and swung forward ready for immediate
use. Then suddenly he came out upon an open piece of ground, and
found himself looking squarely into the face of the smiling Raymond.
But the deserter was not smiling now. With a startled cry he had
swung up his rifle and presented its muzzle at Rogers's breast; yet
quick as he was, the Californian had been equally prompt, his long
rifle was levelled, too, and his forefinger rested lightly on the trigger.
There was this difference, however, the hammer of the deserter's
gun still covered the cap. It forever settled a most important
question.
“Drop it!” said Rogers quietly between his teeth; and Raymond,
whose face was grey and drawn, and whose eyes never left the
Californian's eyes, instantly opened his hands and the gun dropped

at his feet. By a quick movement Rogers kicked it to one side. There
was a long moment while the two men, breathing hard, glared at
each other. It was the deserter who spoke first.
“Why, Mr. Rogers,” he said in a shaken whisper, “I wa'n'. counting
on seeing you.”
“I bet you wa'n'.,” said Rogers briefly, but with grim sarcasm; and
moving forward a step he kicked Raymond's rifle yet further into the
brush.
There ensued an ominous silence. A tortured sickly smile seemed
to snatch at the corners of the deserter's mouth, but it was past his
power to fix it there; it left him loose-lipped, gaping helplessly down
the muzzle of Rogers's long rifle. He was struggling with a terrible
fear that the Californian might make some sudden and deadly use of
his weapon. He remembered how they had found the half-breed
with the single round hole in his hunting-shirt attesting to the
excellence of his slayer's markmanship.
“Why don't you shoot?” he cried at last in agony.
“Hold your jaw!” said Rogers in a savage whisper.
“If you're going to shoot, why don't you?” the deserter demanded
with hoarse, dry-throated rage.
“I reckon that's something I'll take my time to,” said Rogers
calmly. “Maybe I'll shoot and maybe I won't. I'm thinking about it—
hard. Fall back a step, I got no hankering for your company. There,
that'll do, and if you so much as raise your voice again—” he did not
finish the sentence, but tapped the stock of his rifle with sinister
significance. There was another pause and then Rogers said more
mildly, “I reckon you can tell me how you happen to be here.”
Raymond took grace of his altered tone; with a final desperate
twitching of the lips the smile fixed itself at the corners of his mouth.
“You pretty nearly took my breath away,” he faltered.
“You're right there, I did,” said Rogers with sudden ferocity.
Raymond smiled vaguely. To the very marrow of his bones he
feared this gaunt captor of his.

“Quick now,” said Rogers sternly, “what are you doing here?”
“Well, you see I've give Basil the slip—”
“That's a lie,” retorted Rogers. “Whose smoke is that off yonder
back of you?”
“I reckon you mean my camp-fire.”
“That's another lie. Some one's been throwing on wood, green
wood, since we been standing here,” said Rogers with an ugly grin.
“Look and see—the smoke'll tell you that as plain as it tells me.”
“You're plumb suspicious, Mr. Rogers, it's my camp; ain't I always
been a friend?”
“You ain't friend to no man, unless it be to yourself, that's my idea
of you,” said Rogers.
“It's my camp-fire I tell you—”
“Yes, and Basil's there, and the half-breed's there,” he took his
eyes off Raymond's face, and for the first time noticed that he had
exchanged his ragged uniform for an excellent suit of grey
homespun. “You've crossed the range and been down into the valley.
Now what are you doing here on the back track when you were all
so keen for trying your luck in California?”
“Well,” said the deserter with a quick shift of ground, “maybe Basil
is there, and maybe the half-breed is there; what does it signify?”
“Why are you following us?”
But at this Raymond shook his head vehemently. “Following you—
and why'd we be following you? I'll tell you the truth, fact is,
sometimes it gravels me to tell the truth; but with a friend—we're
taking a party of Saints back to the Missouri. There was money in
the job, and darn California anyhow; it's a long way off, and they say
in the valley the bottom's dropped clean out of this here gold
business. It's all rank foolishness, they are beginning to come back,
and the Saints are feeding them and helping them on toward the
States; we mighty soon got shut of that notion when we'd seen and
talked with a few of them that'd crossed to the Coast; and when

Young offered to hire us to take a score of his missionaries to the
Missouri we jumped at the chance.”
“You daren't go near Fort Laramie,” said Rogers, but his theories
as to what had brought Raymond there had been rather shaken by
the excellent account he was now giving of himself.
“I wa'n'. aware I said I was going near the fort. No, sir, we're
going out the way we come in. We allow to hit the trail a hundred
miles the other side of old Laramie.”
Rogers looked at him doubtfully, yet he was almost inclined to
believe that it was as he said, that the first rush of emigration might
have encountered a few discouraged ones who had gone into
California the preceding fall, and who having been unfortunate were
making the best of their way back to the States—this might even
have resulted in a stampede among the emigrants. He recalled how
the fear of the cholera had turned back thousands before a quarter
of their journey had been completed.
With his shifty eyes narrowed to a slit, the deserter watched the
Californian. He could see something of what was passing in his mind
and he could guess the rest; yet when he spoke again he said, “I
reckon you don't take any great stock in what I'm telling you; come
up to the top of yonder ridge and you can see our camp, and that
it's exactly as I say.”
This was the very thing Rogers had resolved on doing.
“I'm going with you all right, but look here, if you so much as
make a sign or a sound, to let 'em know we're close at hand, I'm
going to blow the top of your head off. Here, walk before me, and
heed every word I say. If I find you're telling me the truth about its
being a party of Mormon missionaries, I'll bring you back here and
turn you loose. We'll leave your gun here.”
“That's fair enough,” said Raymond genially. “Well I certainly am
proud to see you, though I took you for a redskin first off; lucky you
spoke—”
“I allow it was a sight luckier for me I got you covered first,” said
Rogers sourly. “Go ahead now, and mind you, no noise.”

It was evident, however, that the deserter felt he had quite as
much at stake as Rogers himself, for he advanced cautiously through
the thicket that clothed the base of the hill. Rogers followed him
with his rifle held ready for instant use, but no thought was further
from Raymond's mind than betrayal. At first he had felt the
desperate need of some explanation, that would account for his
presence there; and the story he had finally told had seemed to him
to cover the case and to leave no reasonable room for doubt in
Rogers's mind.
As they neared the top of the ridge he threw himself flat on his
stomach and wormed his way up toward its broken crest, and
Rogers keeping close at his heels followed his example. He gained
the crest, and peering about the base of a stunted pine, found that
he was looking down into a snug pocket of the hills, and so close to
the camp that he might have tossed his cap into it, though it lay far
below him. He counted eighteen or twenty picketed horses; a
number of men were moving about, and a glance told him they were
white men. He looked long and earnestly, and then turned to
Raymond with a frankly puzzled expression. The deserter was
smiling and triumphant.
“Want I should take you into camp?” he asked in an eager
whisper, but Rogers shook his head; he was not convinced, yet why
and what he doubted was more than he could have told.
“We'll go back,” he said at last. “Go first;” and they descended the
ridge in silence. Rogers was vainly seeking to fit some explanations
to the mystery, beyond Raymond's words. When they reached the
scene of their original encounter, he paused for an instant.
“I reckon you'll have to go on with me for a little spell before I
turn you loose,” he said. “No, you can come back here and get your
gun when I'm through with you,” and he laughed shortly.
“Oh, all right,” said Raymond cheerfully. “It's just as you say.”
“You bet it's as I say,” and he motioned the deserter to precede
him again.
They crossed the ridge that lay between them and the pass.

“I reckon this'll do,” said Rogers. “I sha'n'. want you to go any
further. Look here, the Landrays treated you all right.”
“They did indeed,” said Raymond gratefully.
“Well, what are those men yonder in camp for?”
“I just got through telling you that, Mr. Rogers,” responded
Raymond with an injured air. “The outfit's bound for the States. Old
Brigham reckons you godless cusses back East need some
converting; that's what he's up to, and I'm helping rush 'em to the
river.”
“I'm pretty certain you're lying whatever you say,” observed
Rogers.
“Well, sir, I've fooled people telling them the truth,” retorted
Raymond. “But that was their own fault.”
“I reckon maybe that's so,” said Rogers.
“This is a mighty one-sided conversation anyway you look at it,”
said the deserter pleasantly, and smiling without offence. “No, sir,
I'm telling you God Almighty's truth, they are Mormon missionaries
going back to the States.”
“Well, whatever they are, I sha'n'. want you any more; you can
travel back to 'em as fast as you like; but look here, you see that
none of them don't stray in the direction I'm going.” And the
Californian moved off up the pass.
“Good luck, Mr. Rogers!” the deserter called after him, and then he
began leisurely to climb the ridge.
When Rogers reached the camp he saw that the mule had been
found and that the teams were made up and ready to start.
“What's kept you so long?” asked Stephen.
“I was following what I took to be old piebald's trail,” answered
Rogers.
At first he had been undecided as to whether or not he should tell
the others of his encounter with Raymond; but he had finally
determined to say nothing of this meeting. Silent and preoccupied
he took his place in one of the wagons, seeking some excuse for

Raymond's presence so close at hand, beyond that which the
deserter had himself given.
Their trail first led across a narrow valley, and then they entered
the pass again, which with each slow mile mounted to a higher
altitude; but by the middle of the morning it seemed to have
reached its greatest elevation, for on beyond them it wound down
and down, opening at last into a wide level valley lying in a vast
amphitheatre of hills and mountains.
“Mr. Landray, I don't know but I'd like to ride your horse for a
spell,” said Rogers.
“You'll find it much cooler in the wagon,” said Stephen.
“It is hot,” agreed the Californian, wiping the sweat from his face.
Nevertheless he swung himself into the saddle, and fell in at the
rear of the wagons; and then he increased the distance that
separated him from the train, from a few yards to almost half a mile,
keeping his horse at the slowest walk. Once or twice in the last hour
before their brief noon halt, he thought he heard the distant clatter
of hoofs in the pass back of him, but he dismissed this as a mere
nervous fancy. A little after midday they entered the valley. For a
matter of two miles they toiled forward over a perfectly level plain,
barren and bare of all useful vegetation.
Stephen who was in the first wagon reined in his mules to say,
“We'll let our teams have a few minutes rest.”
“I'd push ahead, Mr. Landray; I wouldn't waste no time here,” said
Rogers anxiously, as he rode up.
“In just a moment, Rogers—hullo! what's that?”
He was looking toward the point where they had entered the
valley. Rogers turned quickly and saw that a number of small black
objects were emerging from the pass; distant as they were, all knew
they were mounted men.
“What do you make them out to be?” Stephen asked.
“I reckon I don't know and I reckon I don't care. Do you see that
bit of a hill ahead of us? There's water and grass somewhere near

there; push on for that.”
He fell in at the rear of the last wagon, and the look of
indifference his face had worn a moment before vanished the instant
he was alone. He rode in silence for perhaps five minutes with his
face turned toward the black dots. He never once took his eyes from
them.
“Faster!” he called. “Push the mules!”
Now the black objects had become individual, separate; they were
men who rode in open order, and as they rode they spread out in a
half-circle that swept momentarily nearer the train. Presently he
caught the hoof beats of the swiftly galloping horses, now loud, now
scarcely audible in the sultry stillness; and then it became a steady
beat like the rattle of hail on frozen ground; the beat and throb of
his own pulse took up and magnified the rhythm until his temples
ached with the sound.
“Faster!” he called again. “Faster yet! Give them the rawhide!”
But his companions knew now why he urged greater speed; and
the long lashes of their whips fell again and again on the backs of
the straining mules.
“We must make that hill—don't let them cut us off from it!” cried
Rogers, as he reined in his horse and faced about; he dropped the
butt of his rifle to his shoulder and sent a bullet in the direction of
their pursuers.
As the first shot vibrated sharply across the plains the horsemen
were seen to draw rein, but this was only for a brief instant, and
then the race for the hill was begun afresh, and with renewed
energy. The huge wagons lurched to and fro, tossed like ships in a
seaway, the mules at a gallop; while Rogers, a spectral figure, his
long hair flying in the wind, hung in the rear of the train, or rode
back and forth menacing their pursuers.
“Keep off!” he called, and sent a second messenger in the
direction of the horsemen; this at closer range than the first seemed
to find a mark, for one was seen to sway in his saddle, and there

was a momentary pause in their onward rush as his companions
gathered about the wounded man.
“I can shoot yet!” said Rogers with grim joy, He loaded his rifle
again with a deliberation and care no peril could shake, then he felt
his horse's forefeet strike rising ground, and glanced about; he had
reached the base of the hill, he turned again in the saddle, fired, and
without waiting to see the effect of his shot, drove his spurs into his
horse's flank and fled forward after the wagons.

Operations Management Processes and Supply Chains 11th Edition Krajewski Test Bank

T
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HE wagons were arranged in a triangle on the hill, and their
wheels chained together. Into this enclosure the mules were
hastily driven and secured. While Bushrod, assisted by the
teamsters and Walsh, was busy preparing this defence, Stephen and
Rogers stood ready to repel any advance on the part of the
horsemen; but having failed to cut the train off on the open plain
they circled once or twice about the base of the hill, taking care,
however, to keep well out of gun-shot range; then they separated
into two bands, one of which rode rapidly off toward the west, while
the other remained in the vicinity of the hill, withdrawing after a little
time to a distance of perhaps half a mile.
Stephen and Rogers had watched their movements closely and in
silence; now Landray turned to the Californian: “What does that
mean?” he asked.
Rogers shook his head. He looked at Stephen as if he expected
him to say something more, but evidently no suspicion had entered
the latter's mind; yet to the Californian the disguise was so apparent
that he wondered at this. A few fluttering blankets and a smear of
red dirt would never have deceived him; the silence they had
maintained with never a shout nor shot as they spurred in pursuit of
the wagons, was characteristic of men who saw no glory in mere
murder, though they might be keenly desirous of the profits it could
be made to yield.
“What are they doing, Steve?” Bushrod asked, stepping to his
brother's side.
“They seem to be waiting.”
“They act as though they had pocketed us and could finish this
business in their own way and time,” said Bushrod, with a troubled
laugh.

“I reckon that won't come any too easy to their hands,” said
Rogers quietly.
“Look here,” said Bushrod, “what do you say to my banking up the
earth under the wagons?”
“It's an excellent idea; I'd do it,” said Stephen.
“Come,” said Rogers, “lets you and me take a look around, Mr.
Landray. I reckon they're in no hurry to try this hill, I wouldn't be if I
was them.” They crossed the barricade, and inspected their
surroundings. The top of the hill was perfectly flat, and an acre or
more in extent; beyond this level space the ground fell gently away
to the plain below.
“It's right smart of a place for a fight,” remarked Rogers, after a
brief glance about.
Stephen nodded; he admitted to himself that with such an enemy
the spot had its own peculiar advantages; he could believe that they
might hold it for an almost indefinite period, even against much
greater odds. His memory reverted to the glories of the freshly
fought fields of Texas and Mexico: Odds? What had odds meant in
the past to the men of America; and what were they still meaning on
a thousand miles of lonely frontier?
To the west, near the base of the mountains, a fringe of
cottonwoods and willows marked a water course; there the herbage
of the plain was a richer green. Stephen almost fancied he could
seen the water sparkling among the trees, then he remembered that
their own supply was wholly exhausted. Rogers seemed to
understand what was passing in his mind; he touched him on the
arm.
“We could never have made it, Mr. Landray,” he said regretfully.
“They'd have cut us off in the open.”
The horsemen who had ridden away toward the west were now
nearing the cottonwoods. Rogers turned from regarding them to
look at the forted wagons.
“Your brother 'll fix the camp snug enough. I reckon after he gets
finished we can make it hot for the redskin who thinks his road lays

across the top of this hill.”
“You have told me of these fights; what chance have we?” asked
Stephen gravely.
“No twenty men that ever lived can cross them wagon poles
unless we are willing they should.”
“But why should they attempt that when they can keep us here on
a strain until our powder and lead is exhausted, or the need of water
forces us to abandon the hill?”
“I reckon that'll be their game; but see here, by the time our guns
are silent we may have them pretty considerably crippled up. I
needn't tell you that twenty men in the open against six with good
cover like we got, have their work ahead of them.”
“Look!” cried Stephen, pointing.
On the edge of the cottonwoods which they had just reached, the
horsemen were joined by a much larger party which suddenly rode
out of the timber.
“We reckoned 'em too quick and too few,” said Rogers simply.
“There's forty or fifty of the varments.”
The horsemen were now galloping toward the hill. Rogers
watched them in silence, then turned again to Stephen.
“Good God! Mr. Landray, don't you see no difference?” the
Californian demanded almost angrily. Stephen's lack of all suspicion
was too much for him.
“There is a difference in dress, if that is what you mean.”
“Yes, that; and do you note the size of their horses?”
“They are smaller certainly.”
“I wa'n'. going to let you know, but it's a heap easier to be fair
with you; those down yonder's white men; this new lot's Indians—
there's no mistaking that.”
“What!” cried Stephen in astonishment.
“It's Basil and Raymond and some cutthroats from the valley
trigged out to look like redskins.”

“Nonsense, Rogers, that's the wildest surmise; how can you know
that?”
“You don't believe me. Well, I seen him.”
“You saw whom? Basil?”
“No, Raymond.”
“The deserter—when?”
“This morning;” and Rogers told him in the fewest words of his
meeting with Raymond. “I allow they're mainly after me, and I
reckon you can make some sort of terms by handing me over to
them. I ain't saying but what it would be right for you to do this; you
got your folks back East to think about; I only got Benny; I reckon
you'll look out for him. My first notion was to let matters stand until
we'd put our mark on a few of them, knowing it would be too late to
do anything then.”
“No,” said Stephen, “if it's so, if it's Basil, he's wanting more than
revenge; he knows we have a large sum of money with us.”
“Well, I allow we've both made a few mistakes,” said Rogers.
He added, “I'm ready to do what's right. Give me your horse, and
I'll make a dash for the hills. You can tell 'em you've turned me out
of camp.”
But Stephen shook his head. “Why, man, we wouldn't think of
that!” he said earnestly.
Above the mountain tops the sun was sinking, filling the grey plain
with floods of glorious gold and violet. Rogers took off his hat and
faced the west; his mouth twitched and his look of resolution
softened.
“This is mighty decent in you, Mr. Landray, it is so. I ain't saying
much, but Benny and me won't forget this in many a long day.” and
he held out his hand. “Maybe it is the money they're after, as you
say; I reckon it is, for they've undertaken right smart of a contract
just to get even with me for killing that half-breed.”
The two bands had now united, and after a brief parley, charged
down on the hill with loud yells. Stephen and Rogers withdrew from

their exposed position and sought the shelter of the barricade.
“There's no need of throwing away ammunition,” said Rogers,
surveying the little group that formed about him. “There'll be plenty
of noise, but you'll get used to that. Hear the vermin yell!”
His first thought was of Benny. He hid the child away in a safe
place.
“Is this an Indian fight, pop? And is them real live Indians?” the
child asked eagerly, as he nestled down in the nook his father had
found for him.
“I allow some of them will presently be dead Indians, son,”
answered his father hopefully. “You pray that your old daddy's aim
may be what it used to be, for he wants mightily to fetch you and
him out of this with a whole hide apiece.” and repeating his
injunction to Benny to lie very still, he rejoined his companions.
A glance sufficed, and the experienced eye of the frontiersman
told him that as yet little harm had been done by his companions
fire, though it had served to keep the Indians at a respectful
distance.
In spite of the presence of their white associates, the tactics of
these latter did not differ materially from what they must have been
had they been alone. They circled about the hill evidently keenly
sensible of the fact that there existed a zone of deadly peril into
which it was not wise to venture; on the outer edge of this they
hung with noisy zeal, and it was only when some one of their
number more daring and reckless than his fellows dashed in toward
the wagons, that the men on the hill levelled their rifles; but they
were not long in discovering that these displays of prowess were
more than likely to be attended by fatal consequences; for twice
Rogers stopped them in mid career; once Bushrod was similarly
successful; he killed the pony and crippled the Indian; then as he
showed a disinclination to fire on a wounded man, Rogers who had
withheld his hand out of consideration for what he conceived to be
his friend's rights in the matter, made the shot for him.

“That's three!” he cried in high good humour. “I tell you, Lan-dray,
you mustn't hang back from giving them their full dose. It's them or
us, and I'm all in favour of it being them.”
“How long will this last?” asked Bushrod, crouching at his elbow.
“Why don't they come in where we can get at them?”
“It's their notion of fighting; they'll draw off when night falls.”
“I suppose there is no hope of their drawing off entirely?”
“Not until they've had a fair try at us.”
While he was speaking his gun had been thrust cautiously over
the top of the barricade, and fired at a savage who had ventured
within easy range, but the light was now uncertain and the bullet
sped wide of its mark. With a muttered oath he turned to Bushrod.
But before Landray could bring his rifle to bear on the savage the
latter's gun was discharged, and Dunlevy at the opposite side of the
barricade rose from his knees with a startled cry, spun round once
and fell back among the mules. Walsh who was nearest him, turned
a white scared face on Stephen.
“Poor Dunlevy's hurt I think! Won't you help him, Mr. Landray? I
can't, the sight of his blood makes me ill.”
But Rogers had already crept to the teamster's side; he reached
out a hand and pushed the boy back in his place.
“Never mind him, you keep out of sight,” he said quietly.
“Do you mean he's dead!” cried Walsh.
Here Bushrod Landray's warning cry recalled the Californian to his
post.
“They seem to be forming for a charge,” he said.
“And they're nearer than they need be,” rejoined Rogers, throwing
his rifle to his shoulder. The group melted away at the flash, but one
of the savages tumbled from his saddle and lay as he had fallen until
one of his friends crept up on hands and knees and dragged the
body off; at him the Californian fired again, but apparently without
effect.

“The varments will fetch away their dead and wounded every time
if they can!” he said.
“Dunlevy was killed outright?” asked Landray.
“Yes, he wan't much of a shot, and he would raise his head to see
what was going on. I heard your brother tell him more than once to
keep down,” said Rogers resentfully.
The fight continued until the sun sank beyond the ragged lines of
peaks; and its glory turned first to grey and then deepened into
twilight; a twilight through which the horsemen moved vaguely like
shadows; then suddenly the attack ceased; the brisk volleys
dwindled to a few straggling shots, and silence usurped the place of
sound, silence absolute and supreme. Bushrod turned to Rogers who
rose slowly and stood erect. “I reckon it's over until daylight comes
again,” he said.
They lifted Dunlevy into one of the wagons and drew his blanket
over his face. Now that the excitement of the day was past, a deadly
weariness had come upon them; they were oppressed and silent;
they ached like men who had been bruised and beaten. Looking
about them they saw things that they had not seen before; two of
their mules were dead, and three others wounded, the wagon covers
were in tatters. They seemed hours away from the fight in point of
time, and yet their ears still roared with the sound of crashing
volleys, the clatter of hoofs, a medley of yells and shrieks; yet while
these sounds had been in actual continuance they had scarcely
heard them.
When they had eaten a few cold mouthfuls. Rogers said:
“I'm going to take the first watch. Mr. Landray you'll relieve me;
your brother can follow you; and Bingham and Walsh can finish out
the night together. I reckon I needn't tell you all, that you'd best get
what sleep you can.” And with this he took up his rifle, crossed the
barrier, and with noiseless step made the circuit of the wagons.
The enemy had withdrawn to the cottonwoods where their blazing
camp-fires were now plainly visible. At his back in the shelter of the
forted wagons, his companions had huddled close together in the

darkness, and were now talking in whispers; he heard nothing of
what they said, and presently the murmur of their voices ceased
entirely.
Until this day he had known never a doubt as to the success of
their journey; the reasonable uncertainty he might have felt had
long since faded from his mind; others might fail, but he never; and
now their way was blocked. Twenty white men alone he would not
have feared; the Indians by themselves he would have feared even
less; but together, the cunning of the one supplemented by the
intelligence of the other, was something he had not reckoned on.
Even should they beat them off, their whole plan must be changed.
He was quite sure that it would not be safe to venture into Salt Lake.
He had heard too much of the justice the Mormon leaders were
wont to mete out to such of the Gentiles as came under their
displeasure, especially when these Gentiles had in their possession
valuable property; and Basil knew, and probably by this time
Raymond knew, that they had with them a large sum of money. The
needy saints would never let them out of their hands while any
pretext remained on which to detain them; and what better pretext
could be furnished them than that some of their co-religionists had
been killed by members of the party. Then his brain became busy
with the problem of immediate escape. They could mount the mules
and make a dash for the mountains; but his reason warned him than
any such desperate measure must be attempted only when their
need of water had rendered the hill absolutely untenantable; for the
chances were that thy would be surrounded and butchered before
they had gone a mile. No, clearly such an attempt should be made
only in the last and direst extremity.
In the stillness of his own thoughts the noises of the camp in the
cottonwoods came to his ears. He heard the neighing of horses, the
voices of men; now it was a burst of laughter, a fragment of song,
that reached him; the white men were carousing with their red
allies. He stood in an attitude of listening; he seemed to find
something insulting in these sounds, and scarcely knowing what he
did he fell to threatening the camp; he shook his gun at it and

waved his free hand menacingly, then, he fell to cursing under his
breath, softly so as not to disturb the others. How long he continued
thus he did not know; he was finally aroused by hearing Stephen call
his name; and Stephen stepping to his side placed a hand on his
shoulder.
“Why, Rogers, what's the matter?” he asked in a whisper.
“Matter, Landray? They're having water when better men are
going thirsty!” he said stupidly, and his utterance was thick and
difficult. “That's matter enough I reckon,” he added, with something
of his usual voice and manner; he was like a man waking from a
dream.
“You have seen nothing?” questioned Stephen.
“Nothing—have you slept?”
“A little; not much.”
Here a burst of sound from the camp reached them, long
continued and sustained; it was strident, fierce, primitive; Stephen
turned to Rogers.
“I'd almost say they were singing hymns,” and he smiled at the
fancy.
“They are dancing our scalps,” said Rogers.
“That's premature,” said Stephen.
Rogers moved off toward the wagons. A moment later he had
stretched himself on the ground at Benny's side.

S
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TEPHEN fell to pacing about the wagons as Rogers had done.
He saw the fires of the Indians die down until they became
mere specks of living colour that seemed to glare steadily at
him out of the distance. As the fires died, so did all sound until at
last a mighty silence held the plain in its spell; and with the silence
came a tormenting loneliness. But for the black outline of the
mountain peaks against a lighter sky he might have been looking off
into infinite space. The night wind sinking to a murmur, sighed about
the wagons, softly flapping their bullet-torn canvases. It seemed to
hold the very soul of that lone land. He turned his face to the east;
somewhere there beyond the night, in the new day that was
breaking, was Benson. With a gulp of sudden emotion he saw the
valley as he had seen it on a thousand summer mornings, with no
special realization of its beauty; dawn, the day's beginning; here and
there a lantern flashing in and out among barns and outbuildings;
the darkness growing always greyer, always toward the light, until
the sleek cattle could be seen in the fields, newly risen from the long
wet grass and with the dew yet sparkling on flanks and sides,
crossing slowly to pasture bars to be fed and tended; and then far
down the valley a touch of glowing colour that crept above the low
hills to become fixed in a narrow luminous rim which changed swiftly
to a great flaming quadrant of light that grew into the level sun.
Regret, terrible because it was unavailing, lay hold of him. Virginia
was there. Was it possible that by any gift of divination she could
know of their danger? She had told him more than once that no evil
would ever befall him and she be wholly unconscious of it, no matter
what the distance that separated them. He hoped this was so. He
prayed that if the coming day closed on a tragedy, she might learn
at once of the destruction of the train; but who would there be left
to tell her of the end? None of his companions would survive, he

was sure of this, if Basil and Raymond were responsible for the
attack; indeed, it would be the merest chance if she ever knew. He
would not go back to her—that would be all; this alone she would
know, that he had not returned; the rest would be conjecture.
He recalled how they had passed in indifference the graves by the
trail side; they had not once been moved to curiosity, even the most
idle; for what were these little tragedies in the supreme selfishness
of that rush across the plains, and who would stop or turn aside to
unravel the small mystery of their last stand? What man would care
who they had been, or whence they came, when the certain hand of
death had done its work? Their very bones might bleach there for a
hundred years before another white man climbed that hill.
He told himself his fears were cowardly; he sought to reason
himself out of his forebodings; a thousand things might happen
when day came to make the situation seem less hopeless. It was
only the night, the unspeakable loneliness and silence, or the
memory of that ghastly presence in the wagon, with its white
upturned face, that filled him with abject fear. He closed his eyes,
but the white face was there before him—always the white face—
with the small dark stain on the temple among the brown curls; the
visible cause so inadequate measured by the consequences. Dunlevy
might have lived for sixty years without that mark; and sixty years
were countless weeks, endless days, hours and minutes
innumerable; and yet all in a second the possibilities of life had been
withdrawn, and there remained only the senseless clay and the
uncertainty that hope and love had crystallized into its high belief of
immortality.
To get away from this he tried to think only of Virginia. He saw her
again on the white porch of their home; he could only remember her
so; the days they had spent together seemed blotted out and to
have dwindled to the agony of that last look; yet even this gave him
hope and courage. He thought now of the time when the toil and
effort of the trail should be ended, when he should have made or
lost in this foolish enterprise, to his sobered judgment it mattered
not which.

But what if this was his last night; his lips parched, and his
breathing became laboured; already in anticipation he tasted death.
What if it would be his lot to share poor Dunlevy's sleep! He thought
with bitter regret how he had filled Virginia's heart; there were no
children to take his place; all her strong maternal love had been
given to him.
His mind drifted back to commonplaces. He had disposed of his
business in an orderly fashion before he left home. Benson knew
just how matters stood, and he believed Benson to be scrupulously
honest. There would be ample left for her, if the worst came to the
worst, out of the wreck he and Bushrod had made of the family
fortunes; ample for the simple life she would choose to live. Then he
remembered the packet of papers in his pocket; among them was
the memorandum which he and his brother had drawn up at
Benson's request and which included an accurate inventory of their
interests. He had intended sending Virginia a copy, but had
neglected to do so.
The sound of a light footfall roused him from his revery; he turned
quickly. In the grey light he saw the figure of the child; his hold on
his gun relaxed; the boy stole to his side.
“Why aren't you asleep, Benny?” he asked in a whisper so as not
to disturb the others.
“I have been sleeping,” the boy answered, “but I waked up and
got lonely, and I couldn't wake my pop.”
“Couldn't wake your father? That's odd; he usually rouses at the
slightest sound.”
“I know; but he didn't to-night, and I got scared.”
A horrible doubt flashed through Stephen's mind. “Here,” he said,
“you hold my gun, and I'll go and see if he's all right.” And he made
his way to the Californian's side, but the latter's regular breathing
instantly dispelled his fears. He returned to Benny. “What did you
do; did you call him?” he asked.
“Yes, and I put my hand on his face as I always do when I want
him to wake up.”

“Oh, well, he's very tired, that's all.”
“Have they gone away, Mr. Landray?” the boy asked.
“Are you afraid, Benny?”
“No”—slowly and uncertainly—“at least I reckon not so very afraid.
Are they still there?”
“I expect they are.”
The child was silent. Stephen stood leaning on his rifle looking
down at him with a wistful pity in his eyes. He had scarcely noticed
him before, he was so silent, so little in the way; and now for the
first time he was seeing how small and weak he was. Why had
Rogers brought him with them; why had he not left him behind with
some woman who would have cared for him? His sudden sense of
pity made him bitterly resentful of what he considered the man's
ignorant unimaginative devotion, for of course he knew that the boy
was all in all to the Californian; but why since he loved him had he
brought him out into the wilderness to face hardship and possible
death? It was bad enough for men, but this child—he sickened at
the thought.
Then he recalled with no little satisfaction that even Basil had
shown more than a passing interest in the boy; brutal and hard as
he was with every living thing, the child had yet found a way into his
surly, grudging regard, and this in spite of the open breach that from
the first had existed between Rogers and himself. Remembering this,
he could not believe that the fur trader would allow any harm that it
was in his power to avert, to come to him. Then he thought again of
the packet of papers in his pocket; why not give them to Benny to
keep?
“See here, Benny, do you think you could take care of some
papers for me to-morrow?”
The child nodded interestedly. “What are they?” he asked.
Stephen took the packet from the pocket of his flannel hunting
shirt. “I am going to give you these papers to take care of for me,
Benny,” he said. “Now you are to remember, if anything should

happen to me they are to go back to Benson.” He paused
hopelessly; could the child understand?
“Yes, sir, they are to go back to Benson.”
“Now think, Benny, how would you send them there?”
“I'd give them to Mr. Bushrod, or to my pop, or Mr. Walsh.”
“Good, so you would, Benny; they would know perfectly what to
do; but if anything should happen to them, you are to keep in mind
just two things, the name of Benson, and the name of Landray. Do
you think you can remember?”
The child laughed softly. “Why, of course I can, Mr. Landray. I can
remember you; and Benson's the name of the place where my pop
was a little boy.”
“Yes, but do you know where Benson is?”
The child's face fell for an instant, then it lighted up with sudden
intelligence, he turned quickly and pointed to the East. “It's there.
That's Benson,” he said.
“It's there true enough, but it's a long way off, a very long way.
Benny, Benson's in the State of Ohio; do you think you can
remember that?”
“Benson's in the State of Ohio,” said Benny dutifully.
“That's right, Benson's in the State of Ohio,” Stephen slowly
repeated after him. He smiled almost pityingly, his hope hung by
such a slender thread; a child's drifting memory.
“Yes, sir,” said the boy, “Benson's in the State of Ohio.”
“And you are never to part with these papers unless it is to give
them to some white man who will send them to the person whose
name is written in the packet; and should you ever meet Basil Lan-
dray again, you are not to let him know that you have the papers.”
Benny looked at him shrewdly. “He won't come around, Mr.
Landray. My pop 'lows he'll fix him if he ever shows his head in this
camp.”
The papers were in a buckskin bag that closed with a stout
drawstring. “You can wear it around your neck, Benny—so,” said

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