Chapter XIII: Reivers Replies

Reivers did not come to the shop that night for his evening diversion, nor did Toppy see him at all during the next day. But in the morning following he saw that Reivers had taken cognizance in his own peculiar way of Toppy's action in driving the shotgun guard away from the quarry. As the line of rock men filed out of the stockade in the chill half light Toppy saw that the best worker of his gang, a cheerful, stocky man called Mikal, was missing. In his place, walking with the successful plug-ugly's insolent swagger, was none other than Bill Sheedy, the appointed trouble-maker of Hell Camp; and Toppy knew that Reivers had made another move in his tantalising game.

He went hot despite the raw chilliness at the thought of it. Reivers was playing with him, too, playing even as he had played with Rosky! And Toppy knew that, like Rosky, the Snow-Burner had selected him, too, to be crushed--to be marked as an inferior, to be made to acknowledge Reivers as his master.

Reivers had read the challenge which was in Toppy's eyes and had, with his cold smile of complete confidence and contempt, taken up the gauge. The substitution of Bill Sheedy, Reivers' pet troublemaker, for an effective workman was a definite move toward Toppy's humiliation.

There was nothing in Toppy's manner, however, to indicate his feelings as he followed the line to the quarry. Toppy allowed Sheedy's swagger, by which he plainly indicated that he was hunting for trouble, to go as if unobserved. Sheedy, being extremely simple of mind, leaped instantly to the conclusion that Toppy was afraid of him and swaggered more insolently than ever. He was in an irritable mood this morning, was Bill Sheedy; and as soon as the gang was out of sight of the stockade--and, thought Toppy bitterly, therefore out of possible sight of Reivers--he began to vent his irritation upon his fellow-workmen.

He shouldered them out of his way, swore at them, threatened them with his fists, kicked them carelessly. There was no finesse in Bill's method; he was mad and showed it. When the daylight came up the river sufficiently strong to begin the day's work, Bill had worked himself up to a proper frame of mind for his purpose. He stood still while the other men willingly seized their tools and barrows and tramped into the quarry.

Toppy apparently did not notice. So far as he indicated by his manner he was quite oblivious of Sheedy's existence. Bill stood looking at Toppy with a scowl on his unpretty face, awaiting the order to go in with the other men. The order did not come. Toppy was busy directing the men where to begin their work. He did not so much as look at Bill. Bill finally was forced to call attention to himself.

"----!" he growled, spitting generously. "Yah ain't goin' tuh git me tuh wurruk in no hole like that."

"All right, Bill," said Toppy instantly. "All right."

Bill was staggered. His simple mind failed utterly to comprehend that there might lie something behind Toppy's apparently humble manner. Bill could see only one thing--the straw-boss was afraid of him.

"Yah ---- know it, it's all right!" he spluttered. "If it ain't I'd ---- soon make it all right."

"Sure," said Toppy, and without looking toward Bill he hurried into the quarry to see how the timbers were standing the strain. Bill stood puzzled. He had bluffed the straw-boss, sure enough; but still the thing wasn't entirely satisfactory. The boss didn't seem to care whether he worked or whether he loafed. Bill refused to be treated with such little consideration. He was of more importance than that.

"Hey, you!" he called as Toppy emerged from the pit. "I'm going to wheel rock down to the dam, that's what I'm going tuh do. Going to wheel it; but yuh ain't goin' tuh make me go in there and dig it. See? I'm going to wheel rock."

Now for the first time Toppy seemed to consider Bill.

"What makes you think you are?" he said quietly. He was looking at his watch, but Bill noticed that in spite of his sore ankle and cane the boss had managed to move near to him in uncannily swift fashion.

"You know you can't work here now," Toppy continued before Bill's thick wits had framed an answer. "You won't go into the quarry, so I can't use you."

Bill stared as if bereft of all of his faculties. The boss had slipped his watch back into his pocket. He had turned away.

"Can't use me--can't----Say! Who says I can't work here?" roared Bill, shaking his fists. He was standing on the plank on which the wheelbarrows were rolled out of the cave, blocking the way of the men with the first loads of the day.

"Look out, Bill!" said Toppy softly, turning around. Instinctively Bill threw up his guard--threw it up to guard his jaw. Toppy's left drove into his solar plexus so hard that Bill seemed to be moulded on to the fist, hung there until he dropped and rolled backward on the ground.

"Get along there!" commanded Toppy to the wheel-barrowmen. "The way's clear. Jump!"

Grinning and snatching glances of ridicule at the prostrate Sheedy, they hurried past. They dumped their loads in the dam and came back with empty barrows, and still Sheedy lay there, like a dumped grain-sack, to one side of their path. The flat faces of the men cracked with grins as they looked worshipfully at Toppy.

"Jump!" said he. "Get a move on, you roughnecks"

And they grinned more widely in sheer delight at his rough ordering.

Bill Sheedy lay for a long time as he had fallen. The blow he had stopped would have done for a pugilist in good condition, and Sheedy's midriff was soft and fat. Finally he raised his head and looked around. Such surprise and wobegoneness showed in his expression that the grinning Slavs laughed outright at him. Bill slowly came to a sitting posture and drew a hand across his puzzled brow while he looked dully at the laughing men and at Toppy. Then he remembered and he dropped his eyes.

"Get on your way, Bill," said Toppy casually. "If you're not able to walk, I'll have half a dozen of the men help you. You're through here."

Bill lurched unsteadily to his feet and staggered away a few steps. That terrific punch and the iron-calm manner of the man who had dealt it had scared him. His first thought was to get out of reach; his second, one of anger at the Bohunks who dared to laugh at him, Bill Sheedy, the fighting man!

But the fashion in which the men laughed took the nerve out of Bill. They were laughing contemptuously at him; they looked down upon him; they were no longer afraid. And there were a dozen of them, and they laughed together; and Bill Sheedy knew that his days as camp bully were over. The straw-boss was looking at him coldly, and Bill moved farther away. Fifteen minutes later the straw-boss, who had apparently been oblivious of his presence, swung around and said abruptly:

"What's the matter, Bill? Why don't you go back to Reivers?"

Bill's growled reply contained several indistinct but definitely profane characterisations of Reivers.

"I can't go back to him," Sheedy said sullenly.

"Why not?" laughed Treplin. "He's your friend, isn't he? He let you keep the money you'd stolen, and all that."

"Keep----!" growled Sheedy. "He's got that himself. Made me make him a present of it, or--or he'd turn me over for a little trouble I had down in Duluth."

Toppy stiffened and looked at him carefully.

"Telling the truth, Bill?"

"Ask him," replied Sheedy. "He don't make no bones about it; he gets something on you and then he grafts on you till you're dry."

Toppy stood silent while he assimulated this information. His scrutiny of Sheedy told him that the man was telling the truth. He felt grateful to Sheedy; through him he had got a new light on Reivers' character, light which he knew he could use later on.

"Through making an ass of yourself here, Bill?" he asked briskly. Bill's answer was to hang his head in a way that showed how thoroughly all the fight was taken out of him.

"All right, then; grab a wheelbarrow and get into the pit. Keep your end up with the other men and there'll be no hard feelings. Try to play any of your tricks, and it's good night for you. Now get to it, or get out."

Sheedy's rush for a wheelbarrow showed how relieved he was. He had been standing between the devil and the deep sea--between Reivers with his awful displeasure and Toppy with his awful punch; and he was eager to find a haven.

"I ain't trying any tricks," he muttered as he made for the quarry. "The Snow-Burner--he's the one. He copped me dough and sent me down here and told me to work off my mad on you."

"Well, you've worked it off now, I guess," said Toppy curtly. "Dig in, now; you're half a dozen loads behind."

Sheedy did not fill the place of the man he had supplanted, for in his mixed-ale condition he was unable to work a full day at a strong man's pace. However, he did so well that when Toppy checked up in the evening he found that his tally again was well over the stipulated average of a hundred loads of rock per hour.

"Move two," he thought. "I wonder what comes next?"