Part 42 (1/2)

”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?”