It spurted over them from their fallen leader

  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 course.   From a growth of shrub a woman in an Indian blanket peered toward the grade. She saw the Indian standing there furiously snapping his empty rifle after the fleeing bohunks. And with a smile she faded away.   Westward, along the grade, from the shadows Helen Mahon stepped, rifle in hand. In a puzzled way she looked first toward the spot where the squaw had fired from. Then she ran for the trestle.   When she reached it Torrance's body lay on the grade. Mahon, at the sound of her feet, swung about and held out his arms.   "Darling," he murmured, "you saved us. You haven't lost your aim."   But she shook her head. "I fired to frighten. Some one else--"