Chapter VII: Charley Has a Narrow Escape

"I AM not the boss of this outfit," said the Missourian, with a smile. "I do what I am told to do. Rooney and McGill ordered me to pile the wood on that side, so I've been doing it. I reckon Rooney and his partner figured it out that they would get a little more rest that way. Let's have a look at the mules, if you can spare the time."

"Sure," said Charley gladly. "I want to get in touch with every part of the business as soon as possible."

"I always build them a corral whenever we make a new camp," observed the Missourian, as he led the way to the pen where he kept the mules. "Hold on!" he shouted, as Charley stooped to pass under the bars. "If Pansy and Violet don't just happen to like your appearance, they are likely as not to kick the soul out of you."

Charley withdrew in haste. "My, but they are beauties for mules."

"Finest team I've handled," declared the teamster, with a grin. "I kinder like to have them a little savage with everyone. It keeps strangers from fooling with them. They have life and plenty of sense. I could not do my work with a poor team of mules. This work is terrible on animals."

"And on men, too, I guess," Charley agreed. "I want to say that hereafter your wages will be $2.00 per day as long as we satisfy each other. Now, how is your work? How much wood have you got ahead for the machine?"

"Not much," admitted the teamster ruefully; "perhaps enough for a day and night, if the machine runs like it usually does."

"That's not enough," Charley said decidedly. "There should be at least a week's wood ahead all the time. In case a mule gets sick, or goes lame, don't you see that the machine would have to lie up until we could get another team? It looks to me like this dredging business is like links in a chain. If any one man, from teamster up, fails to do his part in the work, why, the whole machine has got to go out of business until the defect can be made good."

"I'm doing my best," the teamster protested. "Most of my wood has to be cut and hauled over a mile to the machine, and the route I have to take to get to it is generally a winding one, for I have to pass around all ponds and bog holes. It takes careful driving to avoid bogging down your team and losing it."

"Well, then there is one weak link we have got to strengthen right away," said the lad cheerfully. "I will not be back from town until day after to-morrow, but, when I come, I will bring a good man to help you. He can do the wood chopping while you do the hauling; meanwhile, keep on with your work, so as to get ahead while the machine is idle to-day and to-morrow. Another thing I would mention is that I want to get things so systematized that it will not be necessary to do but little work on Sunday. I want that as a day of rest for all hands, so far as possible."

The lanky Missourian reached out and grasped Charley's hand. "I'm right with you, lad, clean up to the hilt. You've got the right ideas. A body of men will do as much in six days as in seven, besides being more contented, healthy and cheerful."

"Well, I must get back to camp. I've got several things to see to before I start for town," Charley said.

"Hold on!" yelled the teamster, as the boy was turning away. "For God's sake don't move your feet!"

Startled, Charley looked down. In moving forward he had placed his right foot squarely upon the head of a huge snake, while his left foot was lying across the reptile's big body. It was only by summoning all his self-control that the lad kept from jerking impulsively ahead or to one side, a course which would surely have resulted in instant death. In fact, death was threatening as it was. The boy could hardly retain his position as the powerful reptile began to twist back and forth beneath his feet. Luckily, where he stood the ground was soft, and the parts of the snake upon which he stood were deeply imbedded in the soft sand, but, even with that in his favor, it was only a question of seconds before the repulsive reptile wriggled free. Charley drew his automatic and fired down at the huge, writhing, black body between his feet. The first shot penetrated the middle of the snake, and, firing slowly and carefully, Charley cut roughly through the middle of the snake's body. As its struggles grew less, the lad leaped far ahead and looked back. The snake was still struggling vigorously, but, with its body nearly severed, it could do nothing but swing its head viciously.

"You did that pretty neat, lad," said the teamster cheerfully. "I was afraid you would try to jump. You've shore got pluck."

Charley grinned. "It was simply a bad case of being too scared to move. Well, let's climb on the wagon and get back to camp. Say," he continued, as the teamster whipped up the mules he had harnessed up while talking, "do you have many of those moccasins out here?"

"Not many right here," grinned the driver, "but on these strips of pine lands there is not supposed to be any. I suppose our crew kills from twenty to twenty-five a week. Sometimes we kill them all curled up nice and comfortable in our bunks. But, pshaw! that ain't nothing to the day it will be five or ten miles farther out. I drove out there once and it's a sure bet the wheels and mules' hoofs killed over a hundred going and coming."

"Whew!" Charley whistled, "that's not very pleasant to hear, but, here we are at camp, and I've been too excited over this trip to ask your name."

"It's Jim Canody--'Languid Jim' they generally call me," grinned the teamster.

"You can go back to work, then, Jim," said Charley. "Do your best, and I'll have a good man to help you soon. Drive in by the cook tent and I'll jump off there."

"Well, Chris," he inquired, "how are you getting on?"

The little negro grinned. "Dis ain't going to be no cinch, Massa Charles," he said. "Cooking and cleaning up for twenty-five men is goin' to be a mighty big job for one small nigger. 'Sides, if you work a night crew hit means a whole lot more work putting up midnight lunches. Dat's a lot of extra work."

"I see you have got to have an assistant," Charley agreed.

"Dat's so," acquiesced Chris, "but he's going to be mah helper, and I want to pick him out."

"Give me a description of the kind of help you want, and I'll try to get it," Charley grinned.

Chris reflected. "I'd like a nigger jes' 'bout my size," he said musingly. "'Cause he won't be noaccount 'less I can make him do as I tell him. I'd like him to be a yellar nigger, too. 'Cause a yellar negro is much more timid, and shows de dirt much quicker dan a coal-black nigger. Hit's a lot moah easy to keep him clean. Dis nigger don't want no noaccount nigger trifling around dat he can't lick."

Charley grinned. "I'll try to get you one like you wish. Now, I want you to make up a list of everything you need for the next sixty days."

"Golly! Massa Charles," exclaimed the little negro. "I can't do dat, noways. I might figure out what it would take to feed one man, but I can't calculate on twenty-five men for sixty days. Dat's too big figuring for one little nigger."

"Well, just figure on one man for thirty days," said Charley, amused, "and I'll figure on the other twenty-four men."

"Golly," exclaimed Chris, "youah sure got a head on you, Massa Charles. I don't see at all how's you going to figure dat out."

"Get out your list," said Charley, "and some time I'll tell you how to do it. Don't put down any fancy thing--only just what will make substantial hearty grub, like rice, pork, beans, coffee, salt, canned milk, sugar, flour, dried fruits, macaroni, and, I guess, canned meats, until we get out to the hunting ground. Hurry up, now, and get up that list. It's time I was going now."

Leaving Chris to his strenuous labors of figuring out what one man could eat in thirty days, Charley gave a few instructions to the Captain about cleaning up the camp, and then sauntered over to the engineers' tent. With only a "Hello" he threw open the flap. Bully Rooney, half-dressed, rose up from his cot and jerked a rifle from its slings.

"Better put that down," Charley advised him. "Before you could get that thing into action I could riddle you with my automatic." Rooney reluctantly obeyed.

"Now, I didn't come in here for a row," the lad continued. "I came in to tell you that the car is ready for town. I'm going to leave in fifteen minutes. Better hustle and get your things together."

"I ain't going," said Rooney sullenly. "I've been working by the month, and I've got to have a month's notice or an extra month's pay."

"You are going. We will not have you on the ground--and that's pat," Charley declared. "If you and your partner stay on, we will see that you eat none of the company's grub. You can just stay here and starve, for all we care. Make up your mind quick--five minutes of that fifteen minutes have gone."

"We'll go," growled Rooney, "but let me tell you, young fellow, we will sue you as soon as we strike town."

"That's good," said Charley, with cheerfulness. "We have got nothing to lose, because you've got no legal grounds for a suit; besides which, I don't believe either you or McGill dare to go to court. I really believe that neither of you dare face the showing up of the foul things you have done on this job. Now you both get a move on you. If you are not ready when starting time comes I'll leave you and bring out the sheriff to move you when I come back."

Before the time arrived to go, McGill and Rooney were stowing their hastily packed luggage in the car, and the negroes, with their few tattered belongings, were trying to find a place for themselves in the crowded truck. Then, with Charley at the wheel, the truck was headed around for Jupiter, and they were off.