Ranching for Sylvia Part 42

"You won't get it," said Farren shortly. "I want the ties laid on the next load."

"Then you can send somebody else to fix them. We're doing more than we booked for."

"You're getting paid for it."

"Shucks!" said the other contemptuously. "What we want is an evening at the b.u.t.te; and we're going to have it! Hand over the two dollars."

"No, sir," said Farren. "I've given in once or twice and I've got no work out of you for most two days afterward. You can quit tie-laying, if you insist; but you'll get no money until pay-day."

One of the men pulled out his watch.

"Boys," he said, "if we stop here talking, there won't be much time left for a jag when we make the b.u.t.te. Are you going to let him bluff you?"

The growl from the others was ominous. They had been working long hours at high pressure in the rain, and had suffered in temper. One of them strode forward and grasped Farren's shoulder.

"Now," he demanded, "hand out! It's our money."

There was only one course open to Farren. His position was not an easy one, and if he yielded, his authority would be gone.

His left arm shot out and the man went down with a crash. Then the others closed with him and a savage struggle began.

Hardie laid hold of a man who had picked up an iron bar, and managed to wrest it from him, but another struck him violently on the head, and he had a very indistinct idea of what went on during the next minute or two. There was a struggling knot of men pressed against the side of the car, but it broke up when more figures came running up and one man cried out sharply as he was struck by a heavy lump of gravel. Then Hardie found himself kneeling beside Farren, who lay senseless near the wheels with the blood running down his set white face. Behind him stood the panting locomotive engineer, trying to hold back the growing crowd.

"Looks pretty bad," he said. "What's to be done with him?"

"We had better get him into his bunk," directed Hardie. "Then I'll make for the b.u.t.te as fast as I can and bring the doctor out."

"It would take two hours," objected the engineer, as he gently removed Farren's hat. "Strikes me as a mighty ugly gash; the thing must be looked to right away. If I let her go, throttle wide, we ought to make Carson in half an hour, and they've a smart doctor there." He said something to his fireman and added: "Get hold; we'll take him along."

It looked as if the outbreak had not met with general approval, for a number of the bystanders offered their help and the injured man was carefully carried to the locomotive.

"I'll run the cars along as far as the gravel pit; then I can book the journey," the engineer said to Hardie. "But as I can't get off at the other end, you'll have to come along."

Hardie wondered how he would get back, but that was not a matter of great consequence, though he had to preach at Sage b.u.t.te in the morning, and he climbed up when Farren had been lifted into the cab.

Then he sat down on the floor plates and rested the unconscious man's head and shoulders against his knees as the engine began to rock furiously. Nothing was said for a while; the uproar made by the banging cars would have rendered speech inaudible, but when they had been left behind, the engineer looked at Hardie.

"In a general way, it's not the thing to interfere in a row with a boss," he said. "Still, four to two, with two more watching out for a chance to b.u.t.t in, is pretty steep odds, and Farren's a straight man.

I felt quite good when I hit one of those fellows with a big lump of gravel."

Hardie could understand his sensations and did not rebuke him. So far as his experience went, the western locomotive crews were of an excellent type, and he was willing to admit that there were occasions when the indignation of an honest man might be expressed in vigorous action.

"It was really four to one, which makes the odds heavier," he said.

"I guess not," rejoined the engineer with a smile. "You were laying into one of them pretty lively as I ran up."

Hardie felt a little disconcerted. Having been partly dazed by the blow he had received, he had no clear recollection of the part he had taken in the scrimmage, though he had been conscious of burning anger when Farren was struck down. It was, however, difficult to believe that the engineer had been mistaken, because the locomotive lamp had lighted the track brilliantly.

"Anyway, one of them put his mark on you," resumed his companion. "Did you notice it, Pete?"

"Sure," said the grinning fireman; "big lump on his right cheek." He fumbled in a box and handed a tool to Hardie. "Better hold that spanner to it, if you're going to preach to-morrow. But how's Farren?"

"No sign of consciousness. The sooner we can get him into a doctor's hands, the better."

"Stir her up," ordered the engineer, and nodded when his comrade swung back the fire-door and hurled in coal. Then he turned to Hardie.

"We're losing no time. She's running to beat the Imperial Limited clip, and the track's not worked down yet into its bed."

Hardie, looking about for a few moments, thought the speed could not safely be increased. There was a scream of wind about the cab, though when he had stood upon the track the air had been almost still; a bluff, which he knew was a large one, leaped up, hung over the line, and rushed away behind; the great engine was rocking and jolting so that he could hardly maintain his position, and the fireman shuffled about with the erratic motion. Then Hardie busied himself trying to protect Farren from the shaking, until the scream of the whistle broke through the confused sounds and the pace diminished. The bell began to toll, and, rising to his feet, Hardie saw a cl.u.s.ter of lights flitting back toward him. Shortly afterward they stopped beside a half-built row of elevators.

"Guess you'll have to be back to-morrow," the engineer said.

Hardie nodded.

"I've been rather worried about it. It would take me all night to walk."

"That's so," agreed the other. "All you have to do is to see Farren safe in the doctor's hands and leave the rest to me. I've got to have some water, for one thing." He turned to his fireman. "We'll put in that new journal babbit; she's not running sweet."

The clergyman was inclined to believe that the repair was not strictly needed, though it would account for a delay; but one or two of the station hands had reached the engine and, following instructions, they lifted Farren down, and wheeled him on a baggage truck to the doctor's house. The doctor seemed to have no doubt of the man's recovery but said that he must not be moved again for a day or two; and Hardie went back to the station, rea.s.sured and less troubled than he had been for some time. The att.i.tude of the engineer, fireman, and construction gang, was encouraging. It confirmed his belief that the lawless element was tolerated rather than regarded with sympathy, and the patience of the remainder of the community would become exhausted before long. Though he admitted the influence of a bad example, he had firm faith in the rank and file.

CHAPTER XXIII

A HARMLESS CONSPIRACY

On the evening that George left for Brandon, Edgar drove over to the Grant homestead.

"It's Sat.u.r.day night, my partner's gone, and I felt I deserved a little relaxation," he explained.

"It's something to be able to feel that; the men who opened up this wheat-belt never got nor wanted anything of the kind," Grant rejoined.

"But as supper's nearly ready, you have come at the right time."

Edgar turned to Flora.

"Your father always makes me feel that I belong to a decadent age. One can put up with it from him, because he's willing to live up to his ideas, which is not a universal rule, so far as my experience of moralizers goes. Anyhow, I'll confess that I'm glad to arrive in time for a meal. The cooking at our place might be improved; George, I regret to say, never seems to notice what he eats."

"That's a pretty good sign," said Grant.

"It strikes me as a failing for which I have to bear part of the consequences."

Flora laughed.

"If you felt that you had to make an excuse for coming, couldn't you have made a more flattering one?"

"Ah!" said Edgar, "you have caught me out. But I could give you a number of better reasons. It isn't my fault you resent compliments."

Flora rose and they entered the room where the hired men were gathering for the meal. When it was over, they returned to the smaller room and found seats near an open window, Grant smoking, Flora embroidering, while Edgar mused as he watched her. Dressed in some simple, light-colored material, which was nevertheless tastefully cut, she made an attractive picture in the plainly furnished room, the walls of which made an appropriate frame of uncovered native pine, for he always a.s.sociated her and her father with the land to which they belonged.

There was nothing voluptuous in any line of the girl's face or figure; the effect was chastely severe, and he knew that it conveyed a reliable hint of her character. This was not marked by coldness, but rather by an absence of superficial warmth. The calmness of her eyes spoke of depth and balance. She was steadfast and consistent; a daughter of the stern, snow-scourged North.