THAT WOODS-RAT
Between Dexter Allison's monopoly of his time and the persistence with
which Miriam Burrell clung to Stephen O'Mara, Barbara Allison had
opportunity for little more than a perfunctory word or two of greeting
that afternoon, during the first hour or two that followed a jolting
ride on the flat car which trundled them to the head of operations.
Almost as soon as her feet touched the ground Miriam's eager survey
singled out a tall figure at the edge of the farthest embankment; and
in spite of the fact that he was at the moment in sober conversation
with white-haired, white-bearded McLean, she crossed instantly to take
possession of both Steve's arms and his undivided attention. Barbara,
at Wickersham's side, glancing now and then in their direction, knew
well what subject was engrossing them to the exclusion of all else.
But Allison's acceptance of that arrangement as time passed grew less
patient.
For a time he was content to stroll along with the rest--content with
his facetious comments on Elliott's explanation of this matter or that.
Yet whenever his eyes strayed toward Miriam and that other figure whom
a week or two before he had designated as "my man, O'Mara," his
jovialty faltered a little, his manner grew restive. After a time he,
too, detached himself and sauntered in the direction of that wholly
preoccupied pair.
"See here, my lady," he accosted the girl, who turned extremely bright
eyes upon his approach. "This won't do at all. How do you suppose I
am going to get a minute with Mr. O'Mara, here, if you persist in
clinging to his elbow? You'll have to run along--you run over and
listen, with the rest, to Elliott's heroic tale of this scarring of the
face of nature. I've waited a good many days to talk business with Mr.
O'Mara; I'm not going to lose him, now I've got him cornered."
Had Dexter Allison been less occupied with other thoughts, the face
which Miriam Burrell turned toward him would have surprised him, if
only because of the unusual color burning in her cheeks. At that he
was vaguely aware that he had never before seen that quiet,
self-contained girl so pulsingly happy. She stood and gazed at him a
moment, then made him a low and mocking obeisance.
"Don't flatter yourself that I haven't noted your covetous glances,"
she flashed. "I've been talking very fast, because I knew this
interruption was coming. But we've finished, thank you, so I'll leave
you to--to bore him now!"
She turned back toward O'Mara. "And thank you," she murmured not very
audibly. "Thank you, more than I ever thanked anybody before in my
life. You've made me very, very happy."
No one could have missed the depth of real thankfulness in those last
words. Even Allison stood astonished at it, mouth open, following her
rapid withdrawal toward the group fifty yards away.
"Huh-h-h," he snorted. "Huh-h-h. A mighty strange girl!" And then,
as abruptly as he had interrupted their low conversation, "Well, how
does it go, Chief? How does it look to you, as far as you've gone?"
No man's good humor could be more infectious than was that of this big,
noisily garbed man. Steve smiled and met his cordiality more than half
way.
"Not too bad," he answered. "Not too bad." He swept the ground before
them with a short gesture. "You aren't beginning to worry, too, are
you?"
"Worry?" Allison's frown was barely perceptible. "Why should I? I
never let anything worry me. Who is beginning to fret? You aren't,
are you? You don't look--much disturbed."
"Not a particle!" Steve still smiled. "I never do either, unless that
there is something worth while to make me. I just thought perhaps you
might have contracted it from Mr. Elliott. He's been bothered, you
see, by the way some of the men are acting. We're short a lot of labor
this week."
The big man wheeled and squinted at the droves of men sweating under
the unseasonably hot sun; he peered keenly at each clump of laborers,
some of them scarcely distinguishable knots of humanity in the distance.
"Not very short," he stated comfortably. "I don't claim to be a wholly
competent judge, but it looks to me as though they would be in one
another's way if there were any more of them. What's wrong?"
The chief engineer's answer was drawling in its deliberation.
"I wish I knew," he replied. "I wish I could be positive. And there
aren't too many of them; they are altogether too few. We're going to
need them, and more, too, before we finish, Mr. Allison. Perhaps I'd
better figure on--perhaps if they continue to quit on us, by twos and
threes, as they have in the last week--I'll have to----"
His pause seemed almost an invitation that the other suggest a remedy;
and whether it was or not Dexter Allison was quick to seize the
opening. His suggested solution was heartily bluff.
"Import some more," he said. "When you've employed these men as long
as I have--the type of man who has worked all his life on the
river--you'll know as well as I do just how uncertain and unreliable
they are. What you need is a gang that doesn't want to think for
itself. This crowd has too much imagination for a grind like this."
Steve nodded very thoughtfully.
"If it is all imagination," he wondered. "But they're not merely
discontented, you see, Mr. Allison. They--they are misleading
themselves. They seem to think, from what I've gathered from McLean
and a few with whom I have talked, that they are working themselves out
of a job for good, when they help to build this strip of railroad.
They think so--they have been convinced that such is the truth.
Personally, however, I feel sure that between us, we can correct that
impression."
Even though he was looking in the direction of a heavy smoke-cloud that
had followed a sharp blast to the north of them, Steve felt the weight
of Allison's questioning glance.
"We," he echoed. "Where do I figure in it?"
The younger man's upward glance was seemingly surprised.
"You? Why, you're a stockholder. It means as much to you as it does
to Mr. Ainnesley and Mr. Elliott."
Allison interrupted him.
"Of course," he exclaimed. "Surely! I see! What I mean was how in
the world can I make them understand that such a fool idea is all
wrong? So far as this constructive work is concerned, I'm not an
active member. I--I had that understood with Elliott when I went into
this thing!"
"Of course," Steve in turn broke in. "I understand that. But they
know you; they know that Morrison would be nothing more than a street
of well-kept lawns and cow-pastures, if you hadn't seen its
possibilities. And so I've already told some of them, Mr. Allison;
I've gone even further, and given a lot of them my word that you'll
guarantee, yourself, that this is the biggest thing for the good of
this section that has yet happened."
The speaker smiled frankly into the bigger man's eyes.
"And that was all they needed, was it?" Allison queried, at length.
"That fixed it, did it?"
"Absolutely!" Steve's cheeriness should have been infectious.
"Absolutely, Mr. Allison. A lot of people have come to look on your
word as law in this country, you know--a lot of them!"
"Hum-m-m," replied Allison. "Hum-m-m."
Both of them were quiet for a time. Steve's next remark brought
Allison's head up sharply.
"I meant to bring some of my estimates and plans down with me, when I
came," he told him. "You spoke of wanting to run over the whole
proposition with me, you'll remember, the first day you arrived."
Allison nodded shortly.
"I remember."
"I'll bring them, next trip," Steve finished. "I came so near to
losing them last night that I'm taking no chances until they're in
duplicate. We can run over them later?"
Allison wheeled and gazed meditatingly toward the group who were slowly
moving their way. His daughter Barbara, with Wickersham at her side,
was in the lead.
"Any time," he agreed. "There's no particular hurry."
And then a moment later, just when she was beginning to wonder whether
he was purposely avoiding her, Barbara was surprised at the calm ease
with which Steve took her away from her tall escort. She had noticed
that Wickersham and Steve had not touched hands when they first met, an
hour or two before, nor even hinted at such a salute. But now, as
earlier in the day when her dash toward the stables had left him
standing rigid in the middle of the lawn, she failed to see the
expression that settled upon Wickersham's long face. It was Dexter
Allison this time who noticed it, and hours later, when he and
Wickersham sat and faced each other in the downstairs room in the house
on the hill, which served as Allison's office, he remembered and
recognized it.
"You wanted to talk with me?" Wickersham inquired as he entered the
room that evening.
Somehow Wickersham's unending politeness had always irritated Allison.
That night his smoothly infectionless question nettled him.
"Your damned fool, Harrigan, bungled last night!" he blurted out. "He
messed things up, beautifully. He not only failed, but he failed to
get away without being seen. That's what comes of entrusting a job
like that to a drunken sot."
Wickersham seated himself--sat and caressed a cigarette. Coolly he
waited and blinked his eyelids.
"My man?" he murmured. "My man?"
"Ours then," Allison corrected sharply. "Ours." Then he seemed to
recollect himself and his voice became less abrupt. "Listen. This
afternoon I had a talk with O'Mara. That is, I started to have a talk
with him, but--but he beat me to it. And in just about three minutes
he told me that he'd caught Harrigan on the job--not mentioning any
names, I don't mean--but he didn't need to, And he told me more than
that. He as good as gave me to understand that he'd know where to
place the blame, if there was any more interference with his men."
Wickersham crossed a long leg and blew a thin blue streamer of smoke.
"Yes?" he intoned bodilessly.
It brought a blaze to Allison's eyes--that nerveless monosyllable.
"That doesn't interest you, eh?" he snapped. "Doesn't interest you at
all! Well, it does me. Three months ago I bought into this affair
because I was as sure as any man could be that I'd collect a hundred
per cent on my money, next spring. Elliott and Ainnesley? Pah!--Nice
gentle old ladies, when it comes to a game like this. They're
anachronists; they are honest business men, twenty years behind the
times. You've heard of taking candy from children. Well, that's what
it looked like then. But it doesn't look that way any longer. Talk
with you? Yes, I did want to talk. I wanted to tell you that if you'd
like to switch I'm willing, right now. I wanted to tell you that if
you'd rather be a good little boy and get into line, I'm willing and
more than willing. Because I can promise you, since I talked it over
with O'Mara this afternoon, that we haven't any nice, dead-sure thing
on our hands any longer.
"Oh, you can sit there and smile your cold-blooded smile! And if you
think I'm experiencing pangs of conscience you're mistaken. All I
have, I got from other men who--who weren't strong enough to hang on to
it. There isn't any friendship in business--or if there is I never
played it that way. I'm just telling you that now is our one
opportunity, if we want to join hands and hurrah with the rest of them
for the completion of this job by next May. We lose a railroad at a
bargain, perhaps, but we've still got a mighty good right-of-way to the
border, that will insure our welcome in the ranks. Maybe we lose
and--and maybe--well, I never did like to be beaten! Nor do I say that
such an argument will have any weight with you, but it's a chance to be
on the dead level, for once. What do you say? Do we switch?"
Then Allison remembered the expression which had flitted over
Wickersham's face when Stephen O'Mara coolly appropriated Barbara. But
that expression had been a totally gentle thing beside the pale fury
which now slowly overspread his features. Wickersham twisted the
cigarette to fragments--flung them from him, and the very gesture was
vicious.
"Switch," he snarled. And he leaned forward, face bloodless, and beat
upon a chair arm. "Switch now!" He laughed shrilly. "Why, I'm going
to beat that damned woods-rat in his matinée-idol costume so bad
between now and next May that he'll be walking the roads for his next
job. Switch? I'm going to brand him as the worst incompetent that
ever dragged two poor fools down into pauperism. I'll see him broke.
I'll wipe that damned smooth smile from his lips, by God, if I have
to----"
Wickersham gasped; he came to his feet panting all in an instant with
the rage that set his dry lips writhing. But at that point he, too,
remembered himself. He swallowed and faced Allison, and the latter,
sitting pop-eyed before his outbreak, gaped now at the change that came
back over that twisted face. Wickersham smiled. Once more his bearing
was the very essence of perfect poise and self-control.
"If you--if you are afraid----" he inferred. "If you----"
Allison's laugh was big and booming, for all that the astonishment had
not yet left his eyes.
"Cold feet," he rumbled. "Cold feet! Me!" And suddenly his gust of
mirthless laughter made petty the other's insolence. "Wickersham, I've
broken better crooks than you'll ever be. A man has to have a big
heart to be a big crook and you--and you--well, sometimes I wonder
whether there wasn't some sort of an oversight in that line, when they
put you together."
He couldn't have explained why the thought came to him at that moment
any more than he understood his swiftly malicious impulse to use it;
but all in a flash there came back to him a recollection of that day
when he and Caleb had burst through the hedge to find the boy, Stephen
O'Mara, pummeling a bigger prostrate boy who shrieked under the earnest
thoroughness of that pummeling. Allison, too, rose to his feet.
"I only wanted to give you a chance," he stated dryly. "I reckon I can
take care of myself. I always could. And you--well, you know as well
as I do what sort of a scrap that--that woods-rat can put up, or you
ought to. He gave you a sort of a demonstration, once, if I remember
correctly. I stick! I never was overly squeamish. But don't fool
yourself, Archie, don't fool yourself. If we light, we're fighting
with a regular guy, your insinuation to the contrary. I merely wanted
you to realize what I know now. We'll think we've been in a battle
before we come to a finish!"
His hand was on the door knob when the door itself flashed open.
Dexter Allison's daughter hesitated, surprised, on the threshold. Her
eyes, brilliantly alight, leaped from her father's face to that of the
man half toward her and back again.
"Oh," she exclaimed uncertainly, "I didn't know you were busy. I saw
the light. I'd been over to Uncle Cal's, just for a minute. I wanted
to tell you--good night!"