Part 27 (2/2)
They set to work, and in an hour the sound and damaged timber had been sorted into piles. Then, when the foundations were exposed, Kermode and the carpenter examined a socket in which a broken piece of wood remained.
”This has been a blamed bad tenon,” the mechanic remarked. ”The shoulders weren't b.u.t.ted home.”
”I'm afraid that's true; I made it,” Ferguson admitted; but Kermode, laying his finger on the rent wood, looked up at his companion.
”For all that, should it have given way as it has done?”
”I'll tell you better when we find the beam it belonged to.”
It took them some time; and then the carpenter turned to Ferguson.
”You marked this tenon off before you cut it. Did you run the saw past your line?”
”No,” said Ferguson with a start; ”that's certain. I dressed up to the mark afterward with a chisel.”
The carpenter looked at Kermode meaningly.
”Guess you're right. See here”--he indicated the broken stump--”there's a saw-cut running well inside his mark. Now that tenon was a bit too small, anyway, and when they'd notched her, she hadn't wood enough left to hold up the weight.”
There were exclamations from the others standing round in the snow, but Kermode glanced at Ferguson. His face grew darkly red, but with an effort he controlled his anger.
”Who can have done this thing?” he asked.
”There's no direct evidence to show, but I've my suspicions,” Kermode said. ”It's dangerous to interfere with people's business, particularly when it isn't quite legitimate. You must have known you ran a risk.”
”Do you think I should have let that stop me?” Ferguson asked with sparkling eyes.
”That's a matter of opinion,” Kermode rejoined. ”Perhaps you had better wait and think the thing over when you cool off. I've some logs to haul in.”
He moved off with his team and went on with his work all day, but when night came he attended, by special invitation, a meeting held in a tent that flapped and strained in the boisterous wind. Half a dozen men were present, steady and rather grim toilers with saw and shovel, and though two or three had been born in Ontario, all were of Scottish extraction.
Their hard faces wore a singularly resolute expression when Kermode entered.
”Boys,” he said, ”before we begin I'd better mention that taking a part in a church a.s.sembly is a new thing to me.”
One or two of them frowned at this: his levity was not in keeping with the occasion.
”Ye're here, and we'll listen to your opinion, if ye hae one,” said their leader. ”Jock is for raiding Mitcham's shack and firing him and the other scoundrel out of camp.”
”I see objections. Mitcham has a good many friends, and if he held you off, you'd have made a row for nothing, besides compromising Mr.
Ferguson.”
”There's reason in that,” another remarked.
”Then,” continued Kermode, ”you can't connect Mitcham with the wrecking of your church.”
”I'm thinking the connection's plain enough for us. Weel, we ken----”
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