At the meeting on the night before it had been agreed to spread the news
of the check-weighman movement, for the sake of its propaganda value. So
now when the three men came out from the office, there was a crowd
waiting to know what had happened; men clamoured questions, and each one
who got the story would be surrounded by others eager to hear. Hal made
his way to the boarding-house, and when he had finished his supper, he
set out from place to place in the camp, telling the men about the
check-weighman plan and explaining that it was a legal right they were
demanding. All this while Old Mike stayed on one side of him, and
Edstrom on the other; for Tom Olson had insisted strenuously that Hal
should not be left alone for a moment. Evidently the bosses had given
the same order; for when Hal came out from Reminitsky’s, there was
“Jake” Predovich, the store-clerk, on the fringe of the crowd, and he
followed wherever Hal went, doubtless making note of every one he spoke
to.
They consulted as to where they were to spend the night. Old Mike was
nervous, taking the activities of the spy to mean that they were to be
thugged in the darkness. He told horrible stories of that sort of thing.
What could be an easier way for the company to settle the matter? They
would fix up some story; the world outside would believe they had been
killed in a drunken row, perhaps over some woman. This last suggestion
especially troubled Hal; he thought of the people at home. No, he must
not sleep in the village! And on the other hand he could not go down the
canyon, for if he once passed the gate, he might not be allowed to
repass it.
An idea occurred to him. Why not go _up_ the canyon? There was no
stockade at the upper end of the village--nothing but wilderness and
rocks, without even a road.
“But where we sleep?” demanded Old Mike, aghast.
“Outdoors,” said Hal.
“_Pluha biedna_! And get the night air into my bones?”
“You think you keep the day air in your bones when you sleep inside?”
laughed Hal.
“Why don’t I, when I shut them windows tight, and cover up my bones?”
“Well, risk the night air once,” said Hal. “It’s better than having
somebody let it into you with a knife.”
“But that fellow Predovich--he follow us up canyon too!”
“Yes, but he’s only one man, and we don’t have to fear him. If he went
back for others, he’d never be able to find us in the darkness.”
Edstrom, whose notions of anatomy were not so crude as Mike’s, gave his
support to this suggestion; so they got their blankets and stumbled up
the canyon in the still, star-lit night. For a while they heard the spy
behind them, but finally his footsteps died away, and after they had
moved on for some distance, they believed they were safe till daylight.
Hal had slept out many a night as a hunter, but it was a new adventure
to sleep out as the game!
At dawn they rose, and shook the dew from their blankets, and wiped it
from their eyes. Hal was young, and saw the glory of the morning, while
poor Mike Sikoria groaned and grumbled over his stiff and aged joints.
He thought he had ruined himself forever, but he took courage at
Edstrom’s mention of coffee, and they hurried down to breakfast at their
boarding-house.
Now came a critical time, when Hal had to be left by himself. Edstrom
was obliged to go down to see to his wife’s funeral; and it was obvious
that if Mike Sikoria were to lay off work, he would be providing the
boss with an excuse for firing him. The law which provided for a
check-weighman had failed to provide for a check-weighman’s body-guard!
Hal had announced his programme in that flash of defiance in
Cartwright’s office. As soon as work started up, he went to the tipple.
“Mr. Peters,” he said, to the tipple-boss, “I’ve come to act as
check-weighman.”
The tipple-boss was a man with a big black moustache, which made him
look like the pictures of Nietzsche. He stared at Hal, frankly
dumbfounded. “What the devil?” said he.
“Some of the men have chosen me check-weighman,” explained Hal, in a
business-like manner. “When their cars come up, I’ll see to their
weights.”
“You keep off this tipple, young fellow!” said Peters. His manner was
equally business-like.
So the would-be check-weighman came out and sat on the steps to wait.
The tipple was a fairly public place, and he judged he was as safe there
as anywhere. Some of the men grinned and winked at him as they went
about their work; several found a chance to whisper words of
encouragement. And all morning he sat, like a protestant at the
palace-gates of a mandarin in China, It was tedious work, but he
believed that he would be able to stand it longer than the company.