Reivers did not come to the shop that night for his evening diversion,
nor did Toppy see him at all during the next day. But in the morning
following he saw that Reivers had taken cognizance in his own peculiar
way of Toppy's action in driving the shotgun guard away from the quarry.
As the line of rock men filed out of the stockade in the chill half
light Toppy saw that the best worker of his gang, a cheerful, stocky man
called Mikal, was missing. In his place, walking with the successful
plug-ugly's insolent swagger, was none other than Bill Sheedy, the
appointed trouble-maker of Hell Camp; and Toppy knew that Reivers had
made another move in his tantalising game.
He went hot despite the raw chilliness at the thought of it. Reivers was
playing with him, too, playing even as he had played with Rosky! And
Toppy knew that, like Rosky, the Snow-Burner had selected him, too, to
be crushed--to be marked as an inferior, to be made to acknowledge
Reivers as his master.
Reivers had read the challenge which was in Toppy's eyes and had, with
his cold smile of complete confidence and contempt, taken up the gauge.
The substitution of Bill Sheedy, Reivers' pet troublemaker, for an
effective workman was a definite move toward Toppy's humiliation.
There was nothing in Toppy's manner, however, to indicate his feelings
as he followed the line to the quarry. Toppy allowed Sheedy's swagger,
by which he plainly indicated that he was hunting for trouble, to go as
if unobserved. Sheedy, being extremely simple of mind, leaped instantly
to the conclusion that Toppy was afraid of him and swaggered more
insolently than ever. He was in an irritable mood this morning, was Bill
Sheedy; and as soon as the gang was out of sight of the stockade--and,
thought Toppy bitterly, therefore out of possible sight of Reivers--he
began to vent his irritation upon his fellow-workmen.
He shouldered them out of his way, swore at them, threatened them with
his fists, kicked them carelessly. There was no finesse in Bill's
method; he was mad and showed it. When the daylight came up the river
sufficiently strong to begin the day's work, Bill had worked himself up
to a proper frame of mind for his purpose. He stood still while the
other men willingly seized their tools and barrows and tramped into the
quarry.
Toppy apparently did not notice. So far as he indicated by his manner he
was quite oblivious of Sheedy's existence. Bill stood looking at Toppy
with a scowl on his unpretty face, awaiting the order to go in with the
other men. The order did not come. Toppy was busy directing the men
where to begin their work. He did not so much as look at Bill. Bill
finally was forced to call attention to himself.
"----!" he growled, spitting generously. "Yah ain't goin' tuh git me tuh
wurruk in no hole like that."
"All right, Bill," said Toppy instantly. "All right."
Bill was staggered. His simple mind failed utterly to comprehend that
there might lie something behind Toppy's apparently humble manner. Bill
could see only one thing--the straw-boss was afraid of him.
"Yah ---- know it, it's all right!" he spluttered. "If it ain't I'd ----
soon make it all right."
"Sure," said Toppy, and without looking toward Bill he hurried into the
quarry to see how the timbers were standing the strain. Bill stood
puzzled. He had bluffed the straw-boss, sure enough; but still the thing
wasn't entirely satisfactory. The boss didn't seem to care whether he
worked or whether he loafed. Bill refused to be treated with such little
consideration. He was of more importance than that.
"Hey, you!" he called as Toppy emerged from the pit. "I'm going to wheel
rock down to the dam, that's what I'm going tuh do. Going to wheel it;
but yuh ain't goin' tuh make me go in there and dig it. See? I'm going
to wheel rock."
Now for the first time Toppy seemed to consider Bill.
"What makes you think you are?" he said quietly. He was looking at his
watch, but Bill noticed that in spite of his sore ankle and cane the
boss had managed to move near to him in uncannily swift fashion.
"You know you can't work here now," Toppy continued before Bill's thick
wits had framed an answer. "You won't go into the quarry, so I can't use
you."
Bill stared as if bereft of all of his faculties. The boss had slipped
his watch back into his pocket. He had turned away.
"Can't use me--can't----Say! Who says I can't work here?" roared Bill,
shaking his fists. He was standing on the plank on which the
wheelbarrows were rolled out of the cave, blocking the way of the men
with the first loads of the day.
"Look out, Bill!" said Toppy softly, turning around. Instinctively Bill
threw up his guard--threw it up to guard his jaw. Toppy's left drove into
his solar plexus so hard that Bill seemed to be moulded on to the fist,
hung there until he dropped and rolled backward on the ground.
"Get along there!" commanded Toppy to the wheel-barrowmen. "The way's
clear. Jump!"
Grinning and snatching glances of ridicule at the prostrate Sheedy, they
hurried past. They dumped their loads in the dam and came back with
empty barrows, and still Sheedy lay there, like a dumped grain-sack, to
one side of their path. The flat faces of the men cracked with grins as
they looked worshipfully at Toppy.
"Jump!" said he. "Get a move on, you roughnecks"
And they grinned more widely in sheer delight at his rough ordering.
Bill Sheedy lay for a long time as he had fallen. The blow he had
stopped would have done for a pugilist in good condition, and Sheedy's
midriff was soft and fat. Finally he raised his head and looked around.
Such surprise and wobegoneness showed in his expression that the
grinning Slavs laughed outright at him. Bill slowly came to a sitting
posture and drew a hand across his puzzled brow while he looked dully at
the laughing men and at Toppy. Then he remembered and he dropped his
eyes.
"Get on your way, Bill," said Toppy casually. "If you're not able to
walk, I'll have half a dozen of the men help you. You're through here."
Bill lurched unsteadily to his feet and staggered away a few steps. That
terrific punch and the iron-calm manner of the man who had dealt it had
scared him. His first thought was to get out of reach; his second, one
of anger at the Bohunks who dared to laugh at him, Bill Sheedy, the
fighting man!
But the fashion in which the men laughed took the nerve out of Bill.
They were laughing contemptuously at him; they looked down upon him;
they were no longer afraid. And there were a dozen of them, and they
laughed together; and Bill Sheedy knew that his days as camp bully were
over. The straw-boss was looking at him coldly, and Bill moved farther
away. Fifteen minutes later the straw-boss, who had apparently been
oblivious of his presence, swung around and said abruptly:
"What's the matter, Bill? Why don't you go back to Reivers?"
Bill's growled reply contained several indistinct but definitely profane
characterisations of Reivers.
"I can't go back to him," Sheedy said sullenly.
"Why not?" laughed Treplin. "He's your friend, isn't he? He let you keep
the money you'd stolen, and all that."
"Keep----!" growled Sheedy. "He's got that himself. Made me make him a
present of it, or--or he'd turn me over for a little trouble I had down
in Duluth."
Toppy stiffened and looked at him carefully.
"Telling the truth, Bill?"
"Ask him," replied Sheedy. "He don't make no bones about it; he gets
something on you and then he grafts on you till you're dry."
Toppy stood silent while he assimulated this information. His scrutiny
of Sheedy told him that the man was telling the truth. He felt grateful
to Sheedy; through him he had got a new light on Reivers' character,
light which he knew he could use later on.
"Through making an ass of yourself here, Bill?" he asked briskly. Bill's
answer was to hang his head in a way that showed how thoroughly all the
fight was taken out of him.
"All right, then; grab a wheelbarrow and get into the pit. Keep your end
up with the other men and there'll be no hard feelings. Try to play any
of your tricks, and it's good night for you. Now get to it, or get out."
Sheedy's rush for a wheelbarrow showed how relieved he was. He had been
standing between the devil and the deep sea--between Reivers with his
awful displeasure and Toppy with his awful punch; and he was eager to
find a haven.
"I ain't trying any tricks," he muttered as he made for the quarry. "The
Snow-Burner--he's the one. He copped me dough and sent me down here and
told me to work off my mad on you."
"Well, you've worked it off now, I guess," said Toppy curtly. "Dig in,
now; you're half a dozen loads behind."
Sheedy did not fill the place of the man he had supplanted, for in his
mixed-ale condition he was unable to work a full day at a strong man's
pace. However, he did so well that when Toppy checked up in the evening
he found that his tally again was well over the stipulated average of a
hundred loads of rock per hour.
"Move two," he thought. "I wonder what comes next?"