THE PRISONERS
"I wish't Hurley was here," said Saginaw Ed, as he and Connie returned
to the boss's camp after locking the prisoners in the oat house. "The
men's goin' to want to know what them four is locked up fer. If we don't
tell 'em there'll be trouble. They don't like them birds none but, at
that, they won't stand fer 'em bein' grabbed an' locked up without
nothin' ag'in' 'em. An' on the other hand, if we do tell 'em there's
goin' to be trouble. Like as not they'd overrule me an' you an' hunt up
a handy tree an' take 'em out an' jiggle 'em on the down end of a tight
one."
"Couldn't we slip 'em down to the nearest jail and tell the men about it
afterwards, or send for a constable or sheriff to come up here and get
them?"
Saginaw shook his head: "No. If me an' you was to take 'em down the
camp would blow up in no time. When the men woke up an' found the boss,
an' the clerk, an' three hands, an' the cookee missin', an' the lock
pried offen the stable door, work would stop right there. There ain't
nothin' like a myst'ry of some kind to bust up a crew of men. We
couldn't wake no one else up to take 'em without we woke up the whole
men's camp, an' they'd want to know what was the rookus. If we sent fer
a constable it'd be two or three days 'fore he'd git here an' then it
would be too late. This here thing's comin' to a head when them
teamsters goes fer the oats in the mornin', an' I've got to be there
when they do."
"I hate to see Steve mixed up in this. He's only a kid. I wonder if
there isn't some way----"
Saginaw Ed interrupted him roughly: "No. There ain't no way whatever.
He's a bad aig or he wouldn't do what he done. You're only a kid, too,
but I take notice you ain't throw'd in with no such outfit as them is."
"I can't help thinking maybe he's getting a wrong start----"
"He's got a wrong start, all right. But he got it quite a while
ago--this here kind of business ain't no startin' job. They're all of a
piece, kid. It's best we jest let the tail go with the hide."
"What will Hurley do about it? If he agrees with us, won't the men
overrule him?"
"I don't know what he'll do--I only wish't he was here to do it. But, as
fer as overrulin' him goes--" Saginaw paused and eyed Connie solemnly,
"jest you make it a p'int to be in the same township sometime when a
crew of men ondertakes to overrule Hurley. Believe me, they'd have the
same kind of luck if they ondertook to overrule Mont Veesooverus when
she'd started in to erup'."
The door swung open and Hurley himself stood blinking in the lamplight.
"This here's a purty time fer workin' men to be up!" he grinned. "Don't
yous lads know it's half past twelve an' you'd orter be'n asleep four
hours?"
"I don't hear _you_ snorin' none," grinned Saginaw. "An' you kin bet me
an' the kid sure is glad to see you."
"Got through sooner'n I expected. Slue Foot had the crew all picked out.
He'll bring 'em in from the Spur in the mornin'. Thought I'd jest hike
on out an' see how things was gittin' on."
"Oh, we're gittin' on, all right. Tote road's all cleared, Camp Two's
clearin's all ready, an' the buildin's most done. An' besides that, four
prisoners in the oat house, an' me an' the kid, here, losin' sleep over
what to do with 'em."
"Prisoners! What do you mean--prisoners?"
"Them I. W. W.'s an' that cookee that throw'd in with 'em. They tried to
burn the outfit--locked the hosses in the stable an' set fire to it,
after waitin' 'til the wind was so it would spread over the hull camp."
Hurley reached for a peavy that stood in the corner behind the door. "Ye
say they burn't thim harses?" he rasped, in the brogue that always
accompanied moments of anger or excitement.
"No they didn't, but they would of an' it hadn't be'n fer the kid, here.
He outguessed 'em, an' filled their coal-oil can with water, an' then we
let 'em go ahead an' put on the whole show so we'd have 'em with the
goods."
The big boss leaned upon his peavy and regarded Connie thoughtfully. "As
long as I've got a camp, kid, you've got a job." He bit off a huge chew
of tobacco and returned the plug to his pocket, after which he began
deliberately to roll up his shirt sleeves. He spat upon the palms of his
hands, and as he gripped the peavy the muscles of his huge forearm stood
out like steel cables. "Jist toss me th' key to th' oat house," he said
in a voice that rumbled deep in his throat.
"Wait!" Connie's hand was upon the boss's arm. "Sit down a minute and
let's talk it over----"
"Sure, boss," seconded Saginaw. "Let's have a powwow. If you go out
there an' git to workin' on them hounds with that there peavy you're
liable to git excited an' tap 'em a little harder'n what you intended
to, an' then----"
Hurley interrupted with a growl and the two saw that his little eyes
blazed. "Oi ain't got the strength to hit 'em har-rder thin Oi intind
to! An-ny one that 'ud thry to bur-rn up harses--let alone min slaypin'
in their bunks, they can't no man livin' hit 'em har-rd enough wid
an-nything that's made."
"I know," agreed Saginaw. "They ain't nothin' you could do to 'em that
they wouldn't still have some a-comin'. But the idee is this: Bein'
misclassed as humans, them I. W. W.'s is felonious to kill. Chances is,
the grand jury would turn you loose when they'd heard the facts, but
the grand jury don't set 'til spring, an' meantime, where'd you be? An'
where'd this camp be? Your contract calls fer gittin' out logs, an'
don't stipulate none whatever about spatterin' up the oat house with I.
W. W.'s. I don't like to spoil a man's fun, but when a mere frolic, that
way, interferes with the work, as good a man as you be is a-goin' to put
it off a spell. You know, an' I know, there's more than gittin' out logs
to this winter's work."
Saginaw's words evidently carried weight with Hurley. The muscles of the
mighty arms relaxed and the angry gleam faded from his eyes. Also, the
brogue was gone from his voice; nevertheless, his tone was ponderously
sarcastic as he asked: "An' what is it you'd have me to do, seein' ye're
so free with yer advice--pay 'em overtime fer the night work they done
tryin' to burn up my camp?"
Saginaw grinned: "The kid's got it doped out about right. He figgers
that it'll show 'em up better if we let the courts handle the case an'
convict 'em regular. With what we've got on 'em they ain't no chanct but
what they'll get convicted, all right."
"You see," broke in Connie, "the I. W. W.'s are a law-defying
organization. The only way to bring them to time is to let the law do
it. As soon as _all_ the I. W. W.'s see that the law is stronger than
they are, and that their lawless acts are sure to be punished, there
won't be any more I. W. W.'s. The law can't teach them this unless it
has the chance. Of course, if the law had had the chance and had fallen
down on the job because the men behind it were cowardly, it would be
time enough to think about other ways. But, you told me yourself that
Minnesota was beginning to give 'em what's coming to 'em, and she'll
never get a better chance to hand 'em a jolt than this is, because we've
got 'em with the goods. Now, if we'd go to work and let the men at 'em,
or if you'd wade into 'em yourself we wouldn't be smashing at the I. W.
W.'s, but only at these three men. When you stop to think of it, you
can't teach an outfit to respect the law when you go ahead and break the
law in teaching 'em."
Hurley seemed much impressed. "That stands to reason," he agreed.
"You're right, kid, an' so's Saginaw. I know Judge McGivern--used to go
to school with him way back--he ain't much as fer as size goes but
believe me he ain't afraid to hand these birds a wallop that'll keep 'em
peekin' out between black ones fer many a day to come. I'll take 'em
down myself, an' then I'll slip around an' have a talk with Mac." Hurley
tossed the peavy into its corner and proceeded to unlace his boots.
"I kind of hate to see Steve go along with that bunch. He ain't a
regular I. W. W., and----"
The boss looked up in surprise as a heavy boot thudded upon the floor.
"What d'ye mean--hate to see?" he asked.
"Why, he might turn out all right, if we kept him on the job and kind of
looked after him."
The boss snorted contemptuously. "Huh! He done you dirt onct didn't he?"
"Yes, but----"
"He throw'd in with these here ornery scum that ain't neither men, fish,
nor potatoes, didn't he?"
"Yes, but----"
"'Yes' is all right--an' they ain't no 'buts' about it. I had him last
winter, an' he wasn't no 'count. I thought they might be some good in
him so I hired him ag'in this fall to give him another chanct, but he's
rotten-hearted an' twisty-grained, an' from root to top-branch they
ain't the worth of a lath in his hide. He's a natural-borned crook. If
it was only hisself I wouldn't mind it, but a crook is dangerous to
other folks--not to hisself. It ain't right to leave him loose." The
other boot thudded upon the floor and Hurley leaned back in his chair,
stretched out his legs and regarded the toes of his woollen socks. "I've
often thought," he continued, after a moment of silence, "that men is
oncommon like timber. There's the select, straight-grained, sound stuff,
an' all the grades down through the culls 'til you come to the dozy,
crooked, rotten-hearted stuff that ain't even fit to burn. There's sound
stuff that's rough-barked an' ugly; an' there's rotten-hearted stuff
that looks good from the outside. There's some timber an' some men
that's built to take on a high polish--don't know as I kin git it acrost
to you jest like I mean--but bankers and pianos is like that. Then
there's the stuff that's equal as sound an' true but it wouldn't
never take no polish on account its bein' rough-grained an'
tough-fibred--that's the kind that's picked to carry on the world's
heavy work--the kind that goes into bridges an' ships, an' the frames
of buildin's. It's the backbone, you might say, of civilization. It
ain't purty, but its work ain't purty neither--it jest does what it's
picked to do.
"It's cur'us how fer you kin carry it on if yer a mind to. There's some
good timber an' some good men that's started bad but ain't got there
yet. The bad habits men take on is like surface rot, an' weather checks,
an' bug stings--take that stuff an' put it through the mill an' rip it
an' plane it down to itself, an' it's as good as the best--sometimes.
The danger to that kind is not puttin' it through the mill quick enough,
an' the rot strikes through to the heart.
"There's a lot of timber that there ain't much expected of--an' a lot of
humans, too. They're the stuff that works up into rough boards, an' cull
stuff, an' lath, an' pulp wood, an' cordwood an' the like of that--an'
so it goes, folks an' timber runnin' about alike.
"It takes experience an' judgment to sort timber, jest like it takes
experience an' judgment to pick men. But no matter how much experience
an' judgment he's got, as long as _man's_ got the sortin' to do,
mistakes will be made. Then, a long time afterwards, somewheres
somethin' goes wrong. They can't no one account fer it, nor explain
it--but the Big Inspector--he knows."
Hurley ceased speaking, and Connie, who had followed every word, broke
in: "Couldn't we keep Steve here and--put him through the mill?"
The boss shook his head: "No--we didn't catch him young enough. I'm
responsible, in a way, fer the men in this camp. This here runt has
showed he don't care what he does--s'pose he took a notion to slip
somethin' into the grub--what then? Keepin' him in this camp would be
like if I seen a rattlesnake in the bunk house an' walked off an' left
it there."
Connie realized that any further effort on his part to save Steve from
sharing the richly deserved fate of the I. W. W.'s would be useless. The
three turned in and it seemed to the boy that he had barely closed his
eyes when he was awakened by the sounds of someone moving about the
room. Hurley and Saginaw Ed were pulling on their clothes as the boy
tumbled out of bed.
"You don't need to git up yet, kid. Me an' Saginaw's goin' to slip out
an' see that the teamsters gits their oats without lettin' no I. W. W.'s
trickle out the door. Better pound yer ear fer an hour yet, cause
you're goin' to be busier'n a pet coon checkin' in Slue Foot's supplies,
an' gittin' his men down on the pay roll."
As Connie entered the cook's camp for breakfast he noticed an
undercurrent of unrest and suppressed excitement among the men who stood
about in small groups and engaged in low-voiced conversation. Hurley and
Saginaw Ed were already seated, and, as the men filed silently in, many
a sidewise glance was slanted toward the big boss.
When all were in their places Hurley rose from his chair. "We've got
three I. W. W.'s an' the cookee locked up in the oat house," he
announced bluntly. "An' after breakfast me an' Frenchy is goin' to take
'em down to jail." There was a stir among the men, and Hurley paused,
but no one ventured a comment. "They tried to burn the stable last
night, but the kid, here, outguessed 'em, an' him an' Saginaw gathered
'em in."
"Last night!" cried a big sawyer, seated half-way down the table. "If
they'd a-burnt the stable last night the whole camp would of gone! Let
us boys take 'em off yer hands, boss, an' save you a trip to town."
The idea gained instant approval among the men, and from all parts of
the room voices were raised in assent.
"Over in Westconsin we----"
Hurley interrupted the speaker with a grin: "Yeh, an' if we was over in
Westconsin I'd say go to it! But Minnesota's woke up to these here
varmints--an' it's up to us to give her a chanct to show these here
other States how to do it. You boys all know Judge McGivern--most of you
helped elect him. Give him the chanct to hand the I. W. W.'s a wallop in
the name of the State of Minnesota! If the State don't grab these birds,
they'll grab the State. Look at North Dakota! It ain't a State no
more--it's a Non-partisan League! Do you boys want to see Minnesota an
I. W. W. Lodge?"
As Hurley roared out the words his huge fist banged the table with a
force that set the heavy porcelain dishes a-clatter.
"No! No!" cried a chorus of voices from all sides. "The boss is right!
Let the State handle 'em!" The men swung unanimously to Hurley and the
boss sat down amid roars of approval.
And so it was that shortly after breakfast Frenchy cracked his whip with
a great flourish and four very dejected-looking prisoners started down
the tote road securely roped to the rear of the tote wagon, at the end
gate of which sat Hurley, rifle in hand and legs a-dangle as he puffed
contentedly at his short black pipe.