WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BROOK
The hoarse whistle of the mill, proclaiming the noon hour, sounded out
fully half a minute, and when it ceased the machinery in the mill also
came to a stop, and men and boys poured forth to get their dinner.
Some went to their homes, or to their boarding-places, while others,
who lived at a distance and had brought their dinner with them, sought
shady and cool spots along the bank of the stream.
Dale did not quit work instantly, as Philip Sommers had done. He, too,
was carrying a board, and this he placed on a pile a hundred feet away,
as originally intended. Then he straightened out the whole pile of
boards, work that took another five minutes of his time.
"Hullo, Bradford, working overtime?" cried one of the mill hands, who
had quit at the first sound of the whistle.
"Sure," answered Dale pleasantly.
"Of course the old man is going to pay you double wages for it."
"Guess he will--if I ask him."
"You won't get a cent. Better stop and make the job last."
"I'll stop, now I have finished," answered Dale, and walked away with a
quiet smile.
Although neither Dale nor the other workman knew it, John Larson
overheard the conversation.
"Young Bradford is a good one," he murmured. "Just as good as his
father was before him. Hang such men as Felton, who are always looking
at their watches or waiting for the whistle to blow."
It soon became noised around among the workmen that their employer had
been unable to obtain the logs he had sent for, and that evening, after
the mill had shut down, a number of them waited on John Larson and
asked him about the prospects. He was frank and told them what he had
told Dale.
"I expected to keep going all summer," he said. "But I can't do it, and
after this week I'm afraid you'll have to look for other openings."
As a consequence of this talk several of the men that very evening
rowed over to the mill opposite, while some went down to the mills on
the Penobscot. A few obtained other situations and left John Larson's
employ the next day, but the majority came back from their quests
unsuccessful.
By Saturday noon the big circular saws had cut up the last of the logs,
and two hours later the men at the shingle machine also stopped work.
Then ensued several hours of sorting out and clearing up, and by five
o'clock the hands of the Enterprise Lumber Mill were paid off and told
that when they should be wanted again they would be notified.
Dale had been asked by John Larson to remain after the others, and he
did so.
"I told you I'd keep you another week," said the mill owner. "There is
not a great deal to do, and you can come around every morning at six
o'clock and work until twelve, and then have the rest of the day in
which to hunt up another job. On Saturday I'll pay you for a full week."
This was certainly very fair, and Dale thanked his employer heartily
for his kindness. Yet the youth's heart was heavy, for he knew that
finding another opening would not be easy.
"I'll tell you what to do, Dale," said Frank Martinson, the man with
whom he boarded. "You try down to Crocker's and over to Odell's. Tell
'em I sent you. They'll give you a job if they have anything at all to
do."
"All right, I will," answered the young lumberman.
Crocker's mill was located down on the Penobscot. It was a new place,
filled with the latest of machinery, and employing over half a hundred
hands. Dale visited it on Monday afternoon, going down on a small
lumber raft that happened to be passing.
The din around this hive of industry was terrific, for Crocker turned
out much lumber in the rough for a furniture company, and the buzzing
and zipping went on constantly from morning till night. The mill itself
was knee-deep in shavings and sawdust, a good portion of which was fed
into the furnaces under the boilers for fuel.
"Sorry, young man, but I can't take you on," said the superintendent
of the works. "Had an opening last week, but it is filled now. Come
around in two or three weeks. If Frank Martinson recommends you I know
you're all right." And thus poor Dale had his trip for nothing. It took
him until midnight to get home, and he had to walk a good part of the
distance.
But he was not one to give up easily, and two days later borrowed one
of John Larson's horses and directly after dinner set off for the mill
run by Peter Odell. This was up in the hills, on the edge of a small
lake, a ride of thirteen miles.
The way was rough, but Dale did not mind this, and as he loved to ride
on horseback, the journey proved pleasant enough. Once he stopped at
a brook to let the horse drink and sprang down himself to quench his
thirst and bathe his face and hands.
"This is like old times, when I used to be home with all the others,"
he thought. "Oh, how I wish those times could come back."
At last he came in sight of the mill, nestling among the trees
bordering the little lake--a scene full of rural beauty. To his
surprise all was quiet about the place.
"It can't be that Odell has shut down, too," he thought. "If that is so
we ought to have heard of it before this."
He was just turning into a side path leading to the mill when a man
leaped out from behind a clump of trees and caught his animal by the
bridle. The fellow was a French-Canadian, with a dark face and dark,
evil-looking eyes.
"Hi! what do you mean by that?" demanded Dale. He did not like the
looks of the stranger.
"You stop, talk wiz me," said the Canadian.
"What do you want?"
"You go to de mill, yes?"
"What if I am going to the mill?"
At this the French-Canadian muttered something in French which the
young lumberman could not understand. "You look for job, hey? No job no
more down by de Larson mill, hey?"
"That is none of your business. Let go of my horse."
Again the man muttered something in French. "You no go to de mill. Geet
hurt sure. All mens dare on de strike. You go back." And now he shook
his fist in Dale's face.
"Are you on a strike?"
"Yees."
"What are you striking about?"
"Dat none your bus'nees. You go back."
"I will not go back!" declared Dale, his temper rising. "If you don't
let go of that horse pretty quick, somebody will get hurt."
"Hah! You are von big fool!" snarled the man, and clung to the animal
as tightly as ever. The horse began to prance, and, watching his
chance, Dale leaned forward and struck the French-Canadian a sharp blow
in the forehead that caused him to stagger back in dismay.
"Good for you!" sang out a voice not far off, and looking in the
direction Dale saw a young man of twenty approaching. The newcomer was
a young lumberman like himself, and Dale had met him several times, on
the river and elsewhere.
"Hullo, Owen," replied Dale. "Who is this chap?"
"That is Baptiste Ducrot, one of the mill hands up here," replied Owen
Webb. "Odell hired him about a month ago, but I guess he wishes he
hadn't, for the rascal drinks like a fish."
"He says there is a strike on at the mill."
"So there is, among the Canadians. They wanted me to join, but I
wouldn't do it."
While this talk was in progress, Baptiste Ducrot recovered himself and
glared first at Dale and then at Owen Webb. Evidently he did not fancy
the coming of his fellow workman to the spot. Dale now smelt the liquor
on Ducrot and noticed that his steps were far from steady. He urged
his horse forward, and left the French-Canadian standing in the road
shaking his fist savagely.
"That was a neat crack you gave him," observed Owen Webb, as he strode
along beside Dale. "I guess he won't forgive you for it."
"He had no business to stop me, Owen."
"You're right there. What brought you up? I heard something of a
shut-down at Larson's."
"Yes, we've shut down and I came up here to look for work."
"You came at a bad time--with some of the men on a strike."
"That's true." Dale's brow grew thoughtful. "Perhaps I had better go
back, after all. I don't want to do some poor chap out of his job."
"They don't deserve work--half of them!" declared Owen. "The crowd that
is out is the drinking gang. They want more money to waste on liquor.
All the steady fellows are working the same as usual."
"Then I'll see Mr. Odell and chance it. Where can I find him?"
"He was in the mill a short while ago."
Owen had a mission up the lake and soon left Dale, and the latter
dismounted and entered the mill, just as the machinery started up once
more.
Mr. Odell was a burly old lumberman of sixty. He had spent all his life
in the woods and few knew woodcraft or mill work better than he. He
gazed at Dale sharply when he listened to what the young lumberman had
to say.
"Well, I guess I can give you a job, seeing as how about half of my
crew is gone," said Peter Odell. "But I can't guarantee it to last, for
I'm 'most in the same fix as Larson. The pulp mills have knocked the
sawmills endways up here."
"What about the strikers? I don't want to----"
"I haven't any strikers around here. Those fellows drank too much and
I discharged them, that's all. I won't take 'em back--I'll lock up the
mill first." And the mill owner's manner showed that he meant what he
said.
It was arranged that Dale should come to work the following Monday, at
the same rate of wages he was now receiving. He was to labor both in
and out of the mill and was to board at the same house where Owen Webb
was stopping. This latter arrangement suited him exactly, for he had
taken quite a fancy to Owen, who, like himself, was alone in the world.
The summer day was drawing to a close when Dale started on his return
to Larson's Run. He looked around to see if Baptiste Ducrot was at
hand, but the fellow did not show himself.
"I hope he keeps out of sight," thought the young lumberman. "I don't
want to have another quarrel with him."
The lake front was soon left behind and he plunged into the trail
leading down the hillside. Under the trees it was quite dark, and he
had to keep a tight rein on his horse for fear the animal might stumble
and break a leg.
"I must return the horse in as good a condition as when I took him
out," he told himself. "It wouldn't be fair to Mr. Larson if I didn't."
Soon he reached the brook where he had stopped to obtain a drink. Here
he paused as before.
As he was bending to quench his thirst he heard a slight noise behind
him. Then he received a violent push from the rear that sent him
headlong into the stream. His head struck on the rocks at the bottom of
the shallow watercourse, and for the time being he was partly stunned.