Part 49 (1/2)

Now followed a buzz of excited talk. There were those among the crowd who from the beginning had had doubts, and to these Dave's words appealed. He had voiced something of what they had hazily thought.

Others there were who were furious at his biting words. Others again, and these were not real lumber-jacks, who were for turning upon him the savage brutality of their drink-soaked brains.

An altercation arose. It was the dispute of factions suddenly inflamed.

It was somewhere in rear of the crowd. Those in front turned to learn the cause. Dave watched and listened. He understood. It was the result of his demand for a spokesman. Opinions were divided, and a dozen different men were urged forward. He knew he must check the dispute.

Suddenly his voice rang out above the din.

”It's no use snarling about it like a lot of coyotes,” he roared. ”Pa.s.s them all through, and I'll listen to 'em all. Now, boys, pa.s.s 'em through peaceably.”

One of the men in front of him supported him.

”Aye, aye,” he shouted. ”That's fair, boys, bring 'em along. The boss'll talk 'em straight.”

The man beside him hit him sharply in the ribs, and the broad-shouldered ”jack” swung round.

”Ther' ain't no 'boss' to this layout, Peter,” objected the man who had dealt the blow. ”Yonder feller ain't no better'n us.”

The man scowled threateningly as he spoke. He was an enormous brute with a sallow, ill-tempered face, and black hair. Dave heard the words and his eyes surveyed him closely. He saw at a glance there was nothing of the lumberman about him. He set him down at once as a French Canadian bully, probably one of the men instrumental in the strike.

However, his attention was now drawn to the commotion caused by six of the lumbermen being pushed to the front as spokesmen. They joined the front rank, and stood sheepishly waiting for their employer. Custom and habit were strong upon them, and a certain awe of the master of the mills affected them.

”Now we'll get doing,” Dave said, noting with satisfaction that four of the six were old hands who had worked beside him in his early days.

”Well, boys, let's have it. What's your trouble? Give us the whole story.”

But as spokesmen these fellows were not brilliant. They hesitated, and, finally, with something approaching a shamefaced grin, one of them spoke up.

”It's--it's jest wages, boss.”

”Leave it at 'wages,' Bob!” shouted a voice at the back of the crowd.

”Yes,” snarled the sallow-faced giant near by. ”We're jest man to man.

Ther' ain't no 'bosses' around.”

”Hah!” Dave breathed the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. Then he turned his eyes, steely hard, upon the last speaker, and his words came in an unmistakable tone. ”It seems there are men here who aren't satisfied with their spokesmen. Maybe they'll speak out good and plenty, instead of interrupting.”

His challenge seemed to appeal to the original spokesman, for he laughed roughly.

”Say, boss,” he cried, ”he don't cut no ice, anyways. He's jest a b.u.m roadmaker. He ain't bin in camp more'n six weeks. We don't pay no 'tention to him. Y'see, boss,” he went on, emphasizing the last word purposely, ”it's jest wages. We're workin' a sight longer hours than is right, an' we ain't gettin' nuthin' extry 'cep' the rise you give us three months back. Wal, we're wantin' more. That's how.”

He finished up his clumsy speech with evident relief, and mopped his forehead with his ham-like hand.

”And since when, Bob Nicholson, have you come to this conclusion?”

demanded Dave, with evident kindliness.

His tone produced instant effect upon the man. He became easier at once, and his manner changed to one of distinct friendliness.

”Wal, boss, I can't rightly say jest when, fer sure. Guess it must ha'

bin when that orator-feller got around----”