though he had emerged from a perilous situation with little damage, torrance was nursing a keen sense of injury when conrad returned from his visit to the police and saw a light still burning in the shack. the foreman listened to the story with more concern than anger. the danger lay not in what the bohunks demanded--they could resist that--but in the insolent confidence that put the demand into words. therein, was displayed a disturbing sense of power, a reckless daring to strike the boss in his most sensitive convictions. it could only mean that they were prepared to bring matters to a head without loss of time.
and the trestle was just ready for the final touches!
that the incident increased the difficulties of his own position did not enter conrad's head. thoughtful eyes moving from father to daughter, his first words betrayed his main anxiety.
"tressa can leave right away for the east."
surprise and indignation were added to the cloud of fury that twisted torrance's face; he was speechless. tressa herself settled the question:
"i'm not going."
"send her out of the country for a few filthy bohunks!" sputtered her father. he spat into the sawdust box and crammed a charge of tobacco into his pipe with his uninjured hand, though the pain of holding the pipe in his left hand made him wince. "i won't recognise them by so much as a wink. they have my answer, and i imagine it was a bit convincing--"
"the indian can't always be on hand," said conrad stubbornly.
torrance screwed up his eyes.
"he's getting the habit of popping up unexpectedly. i wonder what's the game. i thought i was strong, but that chap could whistle 'god save the king' and truss me up like a partridge at the same time. his arms felt like them two trees that fell on me down thunder bay way. i'd hate to have him on the other side in a fight."
the practical conrad brought him back to the point.
"and now what?"
torrance considered a moment.
"first we'll tell the police. i was going to fire them off the bat, but i'm too mad for that. i want to see them get a couple of years in jail. i want the law to take a hand now; i've taught them my law."
"what can the law do to them?"
the contractor eyed his foreman belligerently.
"what can it do? don't you think coming up here and trying to rough-house me is worth a year or two? say, you don't think it was a slapping match, or a pink tea sociable! take a look about the room." the sarcasm of it was pleasing to his jangling nerves. "if you don't guess right the first time, take another. if you're off the track then, i'll get a doctor for you--or show you this arm of mine."
"who started it?"
torrance leaned forward and searched conrad's face as if he considered him demented.
"o' course," he sneered, "you'd go into court and swear i went on the rampage and cornered them. you'd say i caught 'em at their evening devotions and smashed their crucifixes over their heads and tackled 'em with a cutlass in my teeth and two revolvers--"
"you might have a little on morani for using a knife," conrad agreed calmly, "but you'd have trouble finding a lawyer to take such a case. they made a request, without violence--"
"yah, they knelt down on their marrow-bones and begged his highness to grant them the small boon of letting them put their feet on his neck. they humbly petitioned me to kick over the trestle, pay them ten dollars a day, raise the allowance of pie, and then give them certificates of character. you'd have done it, i suppose. only that isn't the way i've made a success of railway construction, my lad."
conrad took it cheerfully. "then imagine you take it to court. have you time? it'll mean battleford for the police trial. and what would you win? they don't jail men even out here for defending themselves. and what would happen the trestle in the meantime?" he saw hesitation in torrance's eyes. "besides, i'd hate to be called to prove the sweetness of your temper and your unprovocative ways."
torrance took it out on his pipe for three minutes. "then off you make for the camp," he decided, "and fire them. don't let 'em even spend the night here. if i set eyes on one of them again there'll be murder; i won't be responsible for myself if that cur werner's smirking physog gets in front of me; and i'll punch morani on sight, just for safety-first."
conrad rose and went to the door, where he stood in silence a long time looking through the darkness to the camp lights.
"i'm thinking of the work," he said gravely.
"oh!" snapped torrance. "i'm not, of course!"
"sometimes i question it. werner and morani and heppel were sent by the bohunks. with koppy they have the whole bunch in the hollow of their hands. we couldn't face a strike at this time of the year; we'd never get another crew now till next spring--and you couldn't stand that. . . . don't imagine you've cowed them through their delegation. i'm willing to wager the camp never hears of the fight; it might disillusion them of a fancied power. koppy knows better than to let them know they're licked."
"i said to fire them." torrance spoke so calmly that conrad searched his eyes with unaccustomed concern. yet the foreman did not falter.
"there are other things to consider--"
the contractor raised himself to his full height and frowned down on the smaller man. "you seem to misunderstand your position, adrian conrad. what did i hire you for?"
"for quarter what i'm worth," replied conrad caustically.
torrance blinked twice, then, coldly:
"from the first of this month your pay will be four hundred a month. now do what you're told--or your pay stops instanter."
"then i'll have to work for nothing," said conrad serenely. "i'm not working for you--or you'd have been paying me four hundred for the last two years, and some one else to look after me." he examined the contractor up and down with frank disgust. "i don't know how any daughter of yours keeps me here."
tressa came to them then and seized a hand of each. they made a pretty picture in the lighted doorway--the big, frowning father in the rear, the smaller foreman with one foot on the step, and between them this sweet girl whose whole horizon was bounded by them, holding a hand of each, now dimpling, now pouting, always pleading and certain of herself.
down in the camp the peace of night had fallen. weary and gorged, quieted by the evening's lounge and the music they loved, the crude off-scourings of a dozen nations had retired to their bunks and were sleeping as peacefully as if their consciences were clean. here and there a light twinkled, but as the three in the doorway looked, they blanked out one by one. the soundless night had closed in.
torrance moved uncomfortably. he would have yielded to anything but disobedience, and a disobedience that entailed the retention of men who had made a ridiculous demand and then attacked him when he refused it. would it look as if he feared to discipline, as if the flash of a knife could cow him? anything rather than knuckle down to such creatures!
"may i speak to the boss?"
a familiar voice came out of the darkness not a. yard from conrad. they heard it with an inward start; the training of their lives had been never to exhibit alarm--it was one of the muscles whereby they controlled men like these.
"i hear what happen. i come for truth."
torrance, at the first sound, had slipped the bandage and lowered his shirt sleeve, stained as it was. he brushed the other two aside and filled the doorway. a sudden disgust filled him lest the pole should enter.
"you know the truth already, you skunk! you knew what would happen before it happened--or you thought you did. i guess i disappointed a few of you."
"i find lefty with sore head and i ask why. i make them tell. my men tell when i command. he say--"
"i don't care a tinker's cuss what he say. it's what i say counts on this job."
"did they hurt boss?" koppy's voice was servilely anxious. "lefty tell me morani stab."
torrance laughed contemptuously. he was stroking his moustache with the injured hand; now he threw both arms out and repeated the sneering laugh.
"chico's knife is more dangerous to himself than to me." he turned back and picked up the stiletto from the table. "here"--tossing it on the ground before the pole--"tell him he dropped his needle in his hurry; and i guess he didn't want to come back for it. it's no use to me. your five hundred chicos, with all their knives and knuckle-dusters, can't come up here and give orders."
"i fire them to-night," promised koppy.
"no, you won't." torrance's mind was working with unusual celerity. "they got what was coming to them from my fists this time. next time they'll need a doctor--or an undertaker. besides, it's not your business to fire. that's all. good-night."
"ignace koppowski hope young missus not frightened," came the voice from the darkness.
"why should she be? there ain't enough men in the camp to hurt her. if you doubt it, refer to werner and morani."
koppowski coughed. "indian strong man. indian save your life. godd! but he hurt my men. indian look out. they never forget. you tell him?"
"tell him yourself," jerked the contractor. "and i'd like to be around when you're at it. i fancy he can look after himself."
"indian need to," said koppy from the darkness.
