“If he was mine I’d knock him in the head an’ pitch him in the pit.”
There was a moment’s silence at his words. And in that silence Sammee
cocked his head up at Smith and then deliberately turned his back upon
him.
Thompson led the laughter.
“He hasn’t got any use for you, Smith,” he roared. “Read you like a
book, he did.”
Smith scowled; and when the laughter kept up he shouldered his way to
the door and went out into the night. As he passed Sammee he gave the
pup a venomous glance from his one good eye.
Juan was looking down at the puppy and did not observe it. Sammee yawned
and Juan placed his lunch bag on a bench and made him a bed with some
clean waste that was lying around. Then he opened his locker and put on
his work clothes. When the midnight whistle sounded he went forth to his
night’s work, not forgetting to fill an empty can with water and set it
before Sammee.
* * * * *
From that night Sammee and Juan became inseparable. Each night the puppy
came to work with his master. And while Juan glided to and fro, high
over the pit in the control cage of the crane, Sammee snoozed on the bed
of waste that Juan fixed for him or went on short exploring expeditions
around the outside of the small building.
Smith the one-eyed, gorilla-framed, persisted in his dislike. He said
loudly and often that dogs like that should be put out of the way. Every
time that Sammee crossed his path he aimed a kick or a curse at him.
Sammee, in turn, quickly became aware of Smith’s enmity and avoided
walking near him. Finally his repulsion became so great that when Smith
came too near him the hairs on his neck would lift and a growl would
issue—not perhaps as fierce as he imagined it to be, but a growl
nevertheless—all of which furnished fuel for the flame of Smith’s
dislike.
Once, when the men were gathered together for the twenty-minute lunch
period, he stated that if Sammee ever bit him he would kill the dog at
once. Juan was sitting on the floor and Sammee was lying between his
outstretched legs. Juan dropped his hand on Sammee’s back in a caress
and said to Smith—
“He will not hurt you.”
Smith glowered across the room at the two of them and snapped:
“I know damn’ well he won’t! But if he tries it—I’ll fix him!”
“He is but a small puppee,” said Juan defensively.
“He’ll be a dead pup one of these days,” growled Smith.
Juan was troubled by the threat. He had a peace loving disposition and
did not know exactly how to deal with the truculent Smith; so he did not
reply, and after a moment went on eating his lunch.
Early the very next night Sammee brought the wrath of Smith down upon
him. Smith had slipped on a loose clinker. To balance himself he threw
out a hand and seized the nearest support, the main rod of an engine
that was then on the pit. The rod was covered with dirty grease and oil
and Smith’s hand was fouled with it. He had no waste in his pocket and
went to the locker building for some.
Juan, as was his custom, had gathered the stock of clean waste into a
bundle and made a little bed in one corner for Sammee. The puppy was
curled up on it when Smith entered.
Smith stalked into the door, looked about the room, saw there was no
waste but that under the puppy and advanced across the room with an
oath. Sammee watched him approach. The hairs on his neck rose up and a
tiny growl rumbled in the back of his throat. As Smith reached down to
throw him off the waste, he gave a deeper growl and opened his small
mouth threateningly.
In none too good humor anyhow, Smith halted and swore a great oath. His
one eye flamed and he looked swiftly about the room. There was an old
battered brake-stick leaning in one corner and he lurched across to it.
Sammee sensed trouble and arose from his bed and warily started for the
door. And when Smith picked up the brake-stick and charged at him, he
fled through the door into the night, his voice raised in shrill yelps.
Juan, high in the air, heard him and saw, through the half-gloom of the
pit lights, the squat figure of Smith dash out of the building after
him, the battered brake-stick held threateningly in one hand. Juan
stopped the crane and made his way down to the ground as quickly as he
could.
He met Smith returning from an unsuccessful chase into the darkness that
lay beyond the rays of the pit lights.
“Sammee—” demanded Juan anxiously. “Where is he?”
“The little devil’s out there somewhere,” snarled Smith. “He got away
this time, but I’ll get him as soon as he shows his nose.”
“What did he do?” asked Juan in a troubled voice.
“Tried to bite me!” flamed Smith. “I told you if he ever did it I’d kill
him. He’s as good as dead now.”
“He did not bite you?”
“He tried to!”
“Then,” said Juan stoutly, “you shall do nothing to heem. He is but a
puppee.”
“The hell I won’t!” declared Smith, his one eye flaming.
His love for Sammee gave Juan unexpected spirit.
“The hell you weel!” he retorted.
Smith looked at the slight, little, mild-mannered Juan and was
speechless with astonishment for a moment. He would as soon have
expected the unfortunate Sammee to turn and charge him as to see a show
of spirit from his master. In a moment speech returned and he grunted
savagely.
“You heard me! And if you get fresh I’ll beat you up afterward.”
Without deigning to say more he shouldered by and returned to his work.
Juan sighed and went in search of Sammee. After a little, by dint of
calling and keeping out in the darkness, he found him. Lest there be
further trouble at the time, he took Sammee under his arm and carried
him up into the control cage of the crane.
There, on the floor of the little cage, between Juan’s feet, Sammee lay
until the four o’clock whistle blew. But the whir and growl of the
motors overhead and the snap and spark of the controls kept Sammee in a
constant state of terror. So, when he descended to eat his lunch, Juan
took Sammee down with him. Although Juan was mild of disposition, he was
not a coward, and he did not think that Smith would harm the dog while
he was around.
In that he was correct. With the first flush of rage over, Smith lost
some of his lust for the instant death of Sammee, but he still retained
his hate. So much of it showed in his face that Juan took his bag of
lunch and went outside. There, on a box by the side of the door, he sat
and munched the food. And for amusement, after Sammee had eaten, Juan
took a small stick and began to throw it off, that Sammee might bring it
back to him. It was the first of many tricks that he hoped to teach his
pet.
Sammee had learned his lesson well. When the stick left Juan’s hand he
would dash after it at top speed. And when it had fallen to the ground
and he had picked it up and given it a few shakes, he brought it back at
once. So, for some minutes they played, and both became absorbed in the
game.
Neither saw Smith finish his lunch and lean against the inside of the
doorway. Neither had an inkling of the thought that came to Smith, a
thought that twisted his face into a leer and made his one eye glitter
with anticipation.
* * * * *
The lunch period came to an end. Down the tracks, at the inspection pit,
the inspectors finished another locomotive and one of them backed it off
and started toward the ash pit. That stretch of track was on a down
grade and the monster locomotive slipped silently along, tender first.
Juan picked up the stick and gave it an extra hard toss. Up into the
darkness it went, and off Sammee dashed after it. He did not locate it
at once and ran around in little circles, searching. Suddenly, another
stick, a larger stick, sailed out of the doorway, clattered on the
inside rail of the tracks, and slipped down into the water. Sammee heard
the noise, thought his master had thrown another stick, and dashed
frantically to where it had fallen. Over the first track he went and
looked questioningly down into the pit. And while he gazed, the monster
steel tender slipped swiftly down out of the night and blotted life from
him with one sickening crunch.
Juan had seen the stick sail through the air, had followed Sammee’s
movements with his eyes, without thinking. The end had come as a
complete surprise to him also. He sat in stunned silence as the
locomotive came to a halt, and then, back of him, a laugh of
satisfaction burst forth.
“Now he’s a good dog,” jeered Smith.
Slowly Juan stood up and turned around. For an instant he looked at the
leering face of Smith and a tide of blinding rage welled up in him.
“You are a devil!” he said thickly, and ran at Smith, his fists
flailing.
It was little more than a gesture. Smith would have made two of him. The
one-eyed one received him with anticipation. The shower of blows that
Juan rained he parried easily. And then he set himself, swung one of his
long, powerful arms and caught Juan full in the pit of the stomach.
There was nothing more to it. Juan staggered back into the night and
collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony. Smith looked at him and
laughed.
“I guess that’ll fix you for a while,” he said with satisfaction.
The whistle sounded; the men went back to their work before Juan
recovered from the effects of the terrible blow. Slowly he dragged
himself up from the ground, deathly sick, and staggered over to the box
by the door, where he could sit down.
For some minutes he rested on the box, sick in body and sick in mind.
Sammee had been his one true friend. And Sammee was gone. A great ache
filled his heart.
No one noticed him and presently he stood up and walked over to the
bottom of the ladder leading up to the crane. He was still weak and he
leaned against the side of the pillar, postponing the ascent for a
moment.
His eyes, wandering aimlessly about, came to rest on the great steel
crane bucket. It hung motionless, rusted, scarred—an inanimate thing of
steel. Yet, for him, every night it ceased to be just a bucket, became
instead almost a part of himself.
At the thought Juan looked at the bucket with increasing interest. It
did as he willed. The great mass of steel, the thick cables, were his to
command. By them he was metamorphosed into a colossus who scooped great
handfuls of ashes from far beneath the surface of the deep water-filled
ash pit and cast them unerringly to one side. On the ground he was
small, puny. But the moment he entered the little cage, high above, he
ceased to be himself—became instead a cable-thewed giant capable of
prodigious feats of strength; capable of—yes, capable of crushing those
beneath him if he so desired. Even the gorilla-framed Smith was but a
puny thing when he, Juan Mendoza, stood in his little cage high in the
air. Smith, with all his strength, could never do to him what he could
do to Smith from above.
Juan stood away from the pillar and lifted his shoulders. The pain in
his stomach fled, the slight giddiness which had clung to him
disappeared. A strange, sweet, new strength, a sense of power, of
confidence, stole through him. A flash of inspiration appeared to him.
* * * * *
Smith was standing outside the engine directing a hose into the ash pan.
Juan stepped on the slatwork that covered the deep, brooding waters of
the pit and walked to his side.