Part 15 (1/2)

The father, in great good humor, joined his son, and they proceeded to dine, chaffing each other good-naturedly the while, and occasionally exchanging pleasantries with their neighbors at adjoining tables. The Laird was in excellent spirits, a condition which his interview that afternoon with Nan Brent had tended to bring about; during the period that had elapsed between his subsequent doubts and his meeting with his son, he had finally decided that the entire matter was a mare's nest and had dismissed it from his mind.

After dinner, they walked down to the railroad station together, Donald carrying his father's bag. While The Laird was at the ticket-window purchasing his transportation, his son walked over to a baggage-truck to rest the bag upon it. As the bag landed with a thud, a man who had been seated on the truck with his back toward Donald glanced over his shoulder in a leisurely way, and, in that glance, the latter recognized one of the Greeks he had evicted from the Sawdust Pile--the same man who had thrown a beer-bottle at him the day he motored through Darrow.

”What are you doing in Port Agnew?” Donald demanded.

To his query, the fellow replied profanely that this was none of his interrogator's affair.

”Well, it is some of my affair,” the new boss of Tyee replied. ”I have a crow to pluck with you, anyhow, and I'm going to pluck it now.” He grasped the Greek by his collar and jerked him backward until the man lay flat on his back across the baggage-truck; then, with his h.o.r.n.y left hand, Donald slapped the sullen face vigorously, jerked the fellow to his feet, faced him in the direction of Darrow, and, with a vigorous kick, started him on his way. ”That's for throwing beer-bottles!” he called after the man. ”And hereafter you keep out of Port Agnew. Your kind are not welcome here.”

The Greek departed into the night cursing, while The Laird, still at the ticket-window, glanced interestedly from his son to the Greek and then back to Donald.

”What's the idea, son?” he demanded.

”A recent dweller on the Sawdust Pile,” his son replied easily. ”He declared war on me, so, naturally, he comes into my territory at his own risk. That sc.u.m from Darrow must keep out of our town, dad, and force is the only argument they can understand. Daney gave them a free hand and spoiled them, but I'm going to teach them who's boss around here now. Besides, I owe that fellow a poke. He insulted Nan Brent.

There would have been a bill for repairs on the scoundrel if I had caught him the day I drove his gang off the Sawdust Pile.”

”Well, I approve of your sentiments, Donald, but, nevertheless, it's a poor practise for a gentleman to fight with a mucker, although,” he added whimsically, ”when I was your age I always enjoyed a go with such fellows. That man you just roughed is George Chirakes, and he's a bad one. Knifed three of his countrymen in a drunken riot in Darrow last fall, but got out of it on a plea of self-defense. Keep your eye on the brute. He may try to play even, although there's no real courage in his kind. They're born bushwhackers,” The Laird glanced at his watch and saw that it still lacked eight minutes of train-time.

”Wait for me a minute,” he told his son. ”I want to telephone Daney on a little matter I overlooked this afternoon.”

He entered the telephone-booth in the station and called up Andrew Daney.

”McKaye speaking,” he announced. ”I've just discovered Donald has an enemy--that Greek, Chirakes, from Darrow. Did Dirty Dan come in from the woods to-night?”

”I believe he did. He usually comes in at week-ends.”

”Look him up immediately, and tell him to keep an eye on Donald, and not to let him out of his sight until the boy boards the logging-train to-morrow night to go back to the woods. Same thing next week-end, and when Donald completes his tour of duty in the woods, transfer Dan from the logging-camp and give him a job in the mill, so he can watch over the boy when he's abroad nights. He is not, of course, to let my son know he is under surveillance.”

”I will attend to the matter immediately,” Daney promised, and The Laird, much relieved, hung up and rejoined his son.

”Take care of yourself--and watch that Greek, boy,” he cautioned, as he swung aboard the train.

Donald stood looking after the train until the tail-lights had disappeared round a curve.

XII

Daney readily discovered in a pool-hall the man he sought. ”Dirty Dan”

O'Leary was a chopper in the McKaye employ, and had earned his sobriquet, not because he was less cleanly than the average lumberjack but because he was what his kind described as a ”dirty” fighter. That is to say, when his belligerent disposition led him into battle, which it frequently did, Mr. O'Leary's instinct was to win, quickly and decisively, and without consideration of the niceties of combat, for a primitive person was Dirty Dan. Fast as a panther, he was as equally proficient in the use of all his extremities, and, if hard pressed, would use his teeth. He was a stringy, big-boned man of six feet, and much too tall for his weight, wherefore belligerent strangers were sometimes led to the erroneous conclusion that Mr. O'Leary would not be hard to upset. In short, he was a wild, bad Irishman who had gotten immovably fixed in his head an idea that old Hector McKaye was a ”gr-rand gintleman,” and a gr-rand gintleman was one of the three things that Dirty Dan would fight for, the other two being his personal safety and the love of battle.

Daney drew Dirty Dan out of the pool-hall and explained the situation to him. The knowledge that The Laird had, in his extremity, placed reliance on him moved Dirty Dan to the highest pitch of enthusiasm and loyalty. He pursed his lips, winked one of his piggy eyes craftily, and, without wasting time in words of a.s.surance, set forth in search of the man he was to follow and protect. Presently he saw Donald entering the butcher shop; so he stationed himself across the street and watched the young laird of Tyee purchase a fowl and walk out with it under his arm. Keeping his man dimly in view through the gloom, Dirty Dan, from the opposite side of the street, followed on velvet feet to the outskirts of the town, where Donald turned and took a path through some vacant lots, arriving at last at the Sawdust Pile. Dirty Dan heard him open and close the gate to Caleb Brent's garden.

”Oh, ho, the young divil!” Dirty Dan murmured, and immediately left the path, padding softly out into the gra.s.s in order that, when the door of Caleb Brent's house should be opened, the light from within might not s.h.i.+ne forth and betray him. After traversing a dozen steps, he lay down in the gra.s.s and set himself patiently to await the reappearance of his quarry.

In response to several clearly audible knocks, the front door failed to open, and Dirty Dan heard Don walk round the house to the back door.

”The young divil!” he reiterated to himself. ”Faith, whin the cat's away the mice'll play, an' divil a worrd o' lie in that! Begorra, I'm thinkin' the ould gintleman'd be scandalized could he know where his darlin' bhoy is this minute--here, wait a minute Daniel, ye gossoon.

Maybe, 'tis for this I've been sint to watch the lad an' not for to protect him. If it is, faith 'tis a job I'm not wishful for, shpyin'

on me own boss.” He pondered the matter. Then: ”Well, sorra wan o' me knows. What if the young fella do be in love wit' her an' his father have wind of it! Eh? What thin, Daniel? A scandal, that's what, an', be the toe-nails o' Moses, nayther The Laird nor his son can afford that. I'll take note o' what happens, but, be the same token, 'tis not to Misther Daney I'll make me report, but to the ould man himself.