Adonia, terminus of the narrow-gauge, has one train arrival per day, in
the late afternoon. That arrival always attracts the populace of the
village. The train brings freight and mail and passengers.
Ward Latisan had come down from the headwaters of the Noda and was at
the station, waiting for the train. He had ordered more dynamite for the
drive and proposed to take especial charge of the consignment. The drive
was starting off slowly. There was ice in the gorges; the first logs
through would have the freshet head of water. Latisan had heard more
threats and he had definitely detected the trigs which the river bosses
of the Three C's were laying--and he had ordered more dynamite!
The arriving train dragged slowly into the station and Latisan kept pace
with the freight car which was attached next behind the locomotive.
The conductor swung off the steps of the coach before the train halted.
He hailed Latisan, calling the name loudly. He beckoned with vigor and
the drive master swung around and walked back to meet the trainman.
"I did my best, Latisan, to have your shipment loaded from the freight
car on the main line, but they wouldn't let me."
"Who wouldn't?"
"Our super. He was acting under orders from higher up. There was a
special officer on hand to see that the orders were obeyed. Law says
that explosives shall not be conveyed on a mixed train."
"I know all about that law," retorted Latisan. "But it has been eased up
on in these parts because you pull a passenger coach on every train."
"But law is law; it has been jammed down on us!"
"You mean that Craig has put the twist ring into your snout," shouted
the drive master. "And he's leading your railroad by the nose like he's
leading a good many others in the Noda country."
"I'm only a hired man----"
"And the Three C's will have everybody in this section hired if the
money holds out, and that's the hell of it!"
"Look here, Latisan, you're on railroad property, and that's no kind of
talk to have over in front of passengers."
The train was at a standstill; the new arrivals were on the platform.
Latisan, well advertised by the name the conductor had bawled, glanced
around and perceived that he was the center of observation. Especially
was he concerned with the direct stare of a young woman; she continued
to regard him steadfastly and he allowed his attention to be engaged
with her for a moment.
Latisan had his own mental tags for womankind; this was "a lady." He had
set himself back to the plane of the woods and his rough associates. He
felt a woodsman's naive embarrassment in the presence of a lady. Her
survey of him was rebuke for his language, he was sure. There could be
no other reason why "a lady" should look at a man who was fresh down
from the drive, unshaven and roughly garbed. She was from town, he could
see that. Those sparkling eyes seemed like something that was aimed at
him; he was in a helpless, hands-up sort of mood!
He pulled off his cap. He had the courageous frankness of sincere
manhood, at any rate. "I'm sorry! I was expecting dynamite. It didn't
come. I blew up just the same."
The lady smiled.
Then she turned and started away.
A stout man had been standing close behind her. Nobody among the
loungers at the railroad station entertained any doubt whatever as to
just what this stranger was. His clothes, his sample case, his ogling
eyes, his hat cockily perched on one side of his head proclaimed him "a
fresh drummer," according to Adonia estimates.
He leaped forward and caught step with the girl. "Pardon! But I'm going
your way! Allow me!" He set his hand on her traveling case.