The Promise Page 18

  CHAPTER XVII

  A TWO-FISTED MAN

  A half-hour later when Bill sought out the boss in the little office,the latter received him in surly silence; and as he read Appleton'snote his lip curled.

  "So you think you'll make a lumberjack, do you?"

  "Yes." There was no hesitation; nothing of doubt in the reply.

  "My crew's full," the boss growled. "I don't need no men, let alone agreener that don't know a peavey from a bark spud. Wha'd the old mansend you up here for, anyhow?"

  "That, I presume, is _his_ business."

  "Oh, it is, is it? Well, let me tell you first off--I'm boss of thishere camp!" Moncrossen paused and glared at the younger man. "You getthat, do you? Just you remember that what I say goes, an' I don't takeno guff offen no man, not even one of the old man's pets--an' that's_my_ business--see?"

  Bill smiled as the scowling man crushed the note in his hand andslammed it viciously into the wood-box.

  "Wants you broke in, does he? All right; I'll break you! Ag'in' springyou'll know a little somethin' about logs, or you'll be so damn sick ofthe woods you'll run every time you hear a log chain rattle; an' eitherway, you'll learn who's boss of this here camp."

  Moncrossen sank his yellow teeth into a thick plug of tobacco and toreoff the corner with a jerk.

  "Throw yer blankets into an empty bunk an' be ready fer work in themornin'. I'll put you swampin' fer the big Swede--I guess that 'll holdyou. Yer wages is forty-five a month--an' I'm right here to see thatyou earn 'em."

  "Can I buy blankets here? I threw mine away coming out."

  "Comin' out! Comin' in, you mean! Men come _in_ to the woods. In thespring they go _out_--if they're lucky. Get what you want over to thevan; it'll be charged ag'in' yer wages." Bill turned toward the door.

  "By the way," the boss growled, "what's yer name--back where you comefrom?"

  "Bill."

  "Bill what?"

  "No. Just Bill--with a period for a full stop. And that's _my_business--see?" As Moncrossen encountered the level stare of the grayeyes he leered knowingly.

  "Oh, that's it, eh? All right, _Bill_! 'Curiosity killed the cat,' asthe feller says. An' just don't forget to remember that what a mandon't know don't hurt him none. Loggin' is learned _in_ the choppin's.Accidents happens; an' dead men tells no tales. Them that keeps theireyes to the front an' minds their own business gen'ally wintersthrough. That's all."

  Bill wondered at the seemingly irrelevant utterances of the boss, butleft the office without comment.

  On the floor of the bunk-house Irish Fallon, assisted by several of themen, was removing the skin from Diablesse, while others looked on.

  The awkward hush that fell upon them as he entered told Bill that hehad been the subject of their conversation. Men glanced at himcovertly, as though taking his measure, and he soon found himselfrelating the adventures of the trail to an appreciative audience, whichgrinned approval and tendered flasks, which he declined.

  Later, as he helped Fallon nail the wolfskin to the end of thebunk-house he told him of the interview with Moncrossen. The Irishmanlistened, frowning.

  "Ye've made a bad shtar-rt wid um," he said, shaking his head. "Ye eyed'im down in th' grub-shack, an' he hates ye fer ut. How ye got by widut Oi don't know, fer he's a scr-rapper from away back, an' av he'dsailed into ye Oi'm thinkin' he'd knocked th' divil out av ye, fer he'shad experience, which ye ain't. But he didn't dast to, an' he knows ut,an' he knows that the men knows ut. An' now he'll lay fer a chanst togit aven. Ut's th' besht ye c'n do--loike he says, kape th' two eyes avye to th' front an' moind yer own business--only kape wan eye behint yeto look out fer throuble. Phwat fer job did he give yez?"

  "I am to start swamping, whatever that is, for the big Swede."

  The Irishman grinned.

  "Oi thoucht so; an' may God have mercy on yer sowl."

  "What is the matter with the Swede?"

  "Mather enough. Bein' hand an' glove wid Moncrossen is good rayson tosuspicion any man. Fer t'is be the help av Shtromberg that Moncrossenkapes a loine on th' men an' gits by wid his crooked wor-rk.

  "He ain't long on brains nohow, Moncrossen ain't, an' he ain't a goodcamp-boss nayther, fer all he gits out th' logs.

  "Be bluff an' bullyin' he gits th' wor-rk out av th' crew; but av utwasn't that Misther Appleton lets um pay a bit over goin' wages, he'dhave no crew, fer th' men hate um fer all they're afraid av um.

  "Th' rayson he puts ye shwampin' fer th' big Swede is so's he'll kapean eye on yez. As long as ye do yer wor-rk an' moind yer own businessye'll get along wid him as well as another. But, moind ye, phwin th'bird's-eye shtar-rts movin' ye don't notice nothin,' or some foineavenin' ye'll turn up missin'."

  "What is this bird's-eye thing?" asked Bill. "What has it got to dowith Moncrossen--and me?"

  The Irishman considered the question and, without answering, walked tothe corner of the bunk-house near which they were standing and peeredinto the black shadow of the wall. Apparently satisfied, he returnedagain to where Bill was standing.

  "Come on in th' bunk-house, now," he said. "I want to locate Shtrombergan' wan or two more. We'll sit around an' shmoke a bit, an' phwin theybegin rollin' in ye'll ask me phwere is th' van, fer ye must haveblankets an' phwat not. Oi'll go along to show ye, an' we'll take aturn down th' tote-road phwere we c'n talk widout its gittin' to th'ears av th' boss."

  Wondering at the man's precautions for secrecy, he followed, and for ahalf-hour listened to the fireside gossip of the camp. He noticed thatFallon's glance traveled over the various groups as if seeking someone, and he wondered which of the men was Stromberg.

  Suddenly the door was flung open and a huge, yellow-bearded man stampednoisily to the stove, disregarding the curses that issued from thebunks of those who had already turned in.

  This man was larger even than Moncrossen, with protruding eyes of chinablue, which stared weakly from beneath heavy, straw-colored eyebrows.Two hundred and fifty pounds, thought Bill, as the man, snortingdisagreeably, paused before him and fixed him with an insolent stare.

  "Hey, you! Boss says you swamp for me," he snorted. Bill noddedindifferently.

  "You know how to swamp good?" he asked. Bill studied the toes of hismoccasins and, without looking up, replied with a negative shake of hishead.

  "I learn you, all right. In couple days you swamp good, or I fix you."

  Bill looked up, encountered the watery glare of the blue eyes, andreturned his gaze to the points of his moccasins. The voice of theSwede grew more aggressive. He snorted importantly as the men lookedon, and smote his palm with a ponderous fist.

  "First thing, I duck you in waterhole. Then I slap you to peak an'break off the peak." The men snickered, and Stromberg, emboldened bythe silence of his new swamper, continued:

  "It's time boys was in bed. To-morrow I make you earn your wages."

  Bill rose slowly from his seat, and as he looked again into the face ofthe big Swede his lips smiled. But Fallon noticed, and others, that inthe steely glint of the gray eyes was no hint of smile, and theywatched curiously while he removed his mackinaw and tossed itcarelessly onto the edge of a near-by bunk from where it slippedunnoticed to the floor.

  Stromberg produced a bottle, drank deep, and returned the flask to hispocket. He rasped the fire from his throat with a harsh, grating sound,drew the back of his hand across his mouth, and kicked contemptuouslyat the mackinaw which lay almost at his feet.

  As he did so a long, thick envelope, to which was tightly bound thephotograph of a girl, slipped from the inner pocket. Instantly hestooped and seized it.

  "Haw, haw!" he roared, "the greener's got a woman. Look, she's a----"

  "Drop that!" The voice was low, almost soft in tone, but the words cutquick and clear, with no hint of gentleness.

  "Come get it, greener!" The man taunted as he doubled a huge fist, andheld the photograph high that the others might see.

  Bill came. He covered the intervening space at a bound, springingswiftly and
straight--as panthers spring; and as his moccasined feettouched the floor he struck. Once, twice, thrice--and all so quicklythat the onlookers received no sense of repeated effort.

  The terrific force of the well-placed blows, and their deadly accuracy,seemed to be consecutive parts of a single, continuous, smoothlyflowing movement.

  In the tense silence sounds rang sharp--the peculiar smack of livingflesh hard hit, as the first blow landed just below the ear, the dullthump of a heavy body blow, and the clash of teeth driven against teethas the sagging jaw of the big Swede snapped shut to the impact of thelong swing that landed full on his chin's point.

  The huge form stiffened, spun half-way around, and toppled sidewiseagainst a rack of drying garments, which fell with a crash to thefloor.

  Without so much as a glance at the ludicrously sprawled figure, Billpicked up his mackinaw and returned the envelope to the pocket.

  "Irish," he asked, "where is the van? I must get some blankets. Mynurse, there, says it's time to turn in."

  "Oi'll go wid ye," said Fallon, and a roar of laughter followed themout into the night.