I I 4 v LIBRARY OF CALIFORNIA DAVIS THE HARD ROCK MAN THE HARD ROCK MAN BY FREDERICK R. BECHDOLT NEW YORK MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 1910 UBKARY UNIVERSITY OF CAUFOKiliA DAVIS Copyright, 1910, by MOFFAT. YARD AND COMPANY NEW YORK TO MY WIFE, ADELE WHO HELPED ME WRITE THE STORY THE HARD ROCK MAN CHAPTER I THE construction camp of Snowslide lay in the depths of the canyon bed, a gray and yel low scar. The gray dump stretched along the side of the brawling stream; at its head clus tered the buildings of unpainted yellow pine. Here in the middle the portal of the tunnel yawned, a black spot on the mountainside. They had been boring Snowslide tunnel eight months ; they would be at it three years more, making a short-cut for the railroad through a three-mile barrier of the living rock. In the eight months they had littered the place with man-made desecrations; on the hill the bunk-houses and dining hall; by the stream- bed the timber-sheds, the blacksmith shop, the power-house smearing the tree-tops with black smoke, and the lean gray dump where the muck trains clattered to and fro. Beside 1 2 THE HARD ROCK MAN their track the outside gang labored, shoveling away the loads which the cars brought to them. There were six of them bending their backs to the heavy toil. Five worked near together; the sixth, at a little distance from them. All the morning they had been working this way, the five in close company their backs toward the one, a little interval between the group and the solitary figure. The five were Slavs; they were short, thick-chested men with long muscle-bound arms; their eyes slanted slightly toward the corners. Their fingers were crooked, warped to the shovel handles. They shoveled deliberately, with precision, working like slow-moving machines. Occasionally one of them glanced obliquely at the sixth man; then said a low word to the others, and they laughed. It was a low laugh with no ring. Toiling thus by himself Tom Morton, the sixth man, shoveled the broken rock awk wardly. He was an Irishman. It was his first day on his first job since he had left a little rented acreage across the sea. And he was young. He worked with eagerness; he made strength do where skill was lacking. He crushed his shovel blade into the heap of THE HARD ROCK MAN 3 rock before him; he threw each load far from him over the edge of the dump down into the stream-bed. He sweated with excess of ef fort, striving to do more than any of the five whose backs were always toward him. At in tervals between the muck trains after he had scraped together the last fragments of his pile and tossed them away he straightened his back and rested. Then he looked upward at the mountains, along their steep sides black- green with mantling hemlocks toward their sheer rock summits cutting the sky's blue with ragged silhouette of brown. They were the first mountains he had ever seen so closely. Green Irish hills lay a little more than a month back, fresh in his memory, low rolling hills ris ing away from a broad river. Standing on the edge of the dump leaning on his shovel handle, he turned his sweating face upward toward the rugged peaks. They were very dark; they seemed to touch the sky like lofty walls. He leaned upon the shovel; his big hands gripped the handle, hiding it; his long arms extended rigidly from his wide shoulders bent now to the reaching for he was very tall, tall 4 THE HARD ROCK MAN and broad; in his hands the shovel looked like a child's plaything. His upturned face was fresh with color, large featured, beardless. His eyes were the clean, hard gray that never changes, save to glint like metal. They re garded the mountains steadily. Thus he stood, every line of his rough-clad figure, from his clumsy shoes to his squam hat of oilskin, proclaiming his awkward strength. Then the muck train brought a new load and he bent his back again to work. The muck came from the tunnel; it was wet, broken granite, among the pieces, fine grit made paste-like by seepage. It was heavy, hard to handle ; it tangled before Tom's shovel point, then disintegrated suddenly leaving the blade all but empty. He sweated over it, swinging his shovel stiffly, pushing it by main force into the heap, lifting huge loads, throw ing them many feet beyond him. He was anxious to do his share, willing to do more than his share if there were any question. At times his breath came heavily and he sobbed with the muscular effort. He was handling one-fourth more than any of the others. The five Slavs worked with stolid faces, their THE HARD ROCK MAN 5 eyes upon the ground save only when one of them glanced slantingly at Tom striving nois ily alone, and spoke the low word which made his fellows laugh. They wormed their shovel blades into the rock, tossing it just clear of the brink so that it rolled down the side of the dump. Each of them handled exactly the same quantity covering an unmarked division whose proportion to the other four never varied. And always there was the same dis crepancy between each of these allotments and the amount which Tom covered. The sun climbed toward the middle of the blue segment of sky that roofed the canyon bed. It glared upon the mountain sides and the tree-clad mountains threw its heat into the bared patch of camp. The dump caught the rays at their focus; its gray surface shimmered with vague waves. The outside gang toiled unshaded, and sweat dropped from their bodies to the broken stones at their feet. It soaked Tom's shirt; it ran into his eyes. His fingers ached to the hard touch of the shovel handle and when he paused to rest they stiffened and became sore. In their group the five Slavs were swinging their arms like sluggish pendu- 6 THE HARD ROCK MAN lums. Suddenly Tom heard among them a low exclamation, subdued but sharp. And at once he saw their demeanor change. They were working stolidly no longer. Their faces were tense, alive with energy. Their shovels were flying; the muck shot from the blades far over the edge of the dump down into the stream-bed. Their short, broad backs were bending down, then straightening up in spasmodic movement. They grunted with their efforts. It was not eagerness to do; it was rather as though someone whom they feared were compelling them. Tom heard a footstep on the track and looked up. A man was passing. He held Tom's eyes like a divinity. He was a huge man, red faced, of mighty girth. He was well clothed, and on his head, tilted to an aggressive angle, he wore a derby hat. Rubber boots encased his legs. In his tie a diamond glistened. His mustache bristled fiery red. He was walk ing wide-f ootedly, striding as one who always gets all the room he wants. His head was back and his arms swung free. He looked at the outside gang, a quick, intolerant glance that swept them in an instant. The five Slavs THE HARD ROCK MAN T cringed and dropped their eyes to their flying shovels. It was The Old Man, the superintendent. In the heart of the mountains here he ruled. He had charge of the work, the two camps on the opposite sides of the granite peak with their power plants, their clanking machinery and six hundred men. He commanded the bosses ; he was supreme. Tom gazed upon his broad back swinging down the car track. It was like watching the passing of a superior being. CHAPTER II THE sun shone hot that afternoon, swing ing toward the western mountain wall. At regular intervals the black hole disgorged the muck train. It clattered along its uneven track to the outside gang and stopped. The motorman stood idly leaning against his con troller box, while the cartender withdrew the keys and dumped the loads. It was heavy shoulder-lifting and he always called one of the five Slavs to help him. The Cartender was a broad-faced young Irish- American ; his wide mouth was continually widening good na- turedly. When his helper was slow he cursed the man volubly and loudly. Once after he had done his tongue lashing he looked over at Tom and winked slowly. While the empty train rattled away the six of them fell to work upon the wet, broken rock, always the five Slavs together, their backs toward Tom. He felt his isolation and in spite of the new labor that it brought he looked 8 THE HARD ROCK MAN 9 ahead for each return of the train because it carried this one man who showed feeling of fellowship, whose face was that of his own race. The only other visitor they had was the out side boss. He came from the head of the dump at long intervals and remained a short time watching them. When he looked at the five Slavs his eyes, trained to such details, caught at once the amount each of them had apportioned to himself. They went to Tom and noted the discrepancy between each of those portions and that over which he sweated. The boss frowned after he had made the survey but he said nothing and he went away. At six o'clock the power house roof emitted a jet of white steam. For some minutes the five Slavs had been working with their eyes in this direction. As soon as the steam-cloud showed against the green-black background of the mountain they dropped their shovels and ran to pick up their coats. As they were run ning the shrill call of the whistle reached Tom's ears. He laid down his shovel and followed them slowly up the dump toward the boarding camp. 10 THE HARD ROCK MAN The buildings of the boarding camp lay to the right of the tunnel portal on the first rise of the hill, glaring structures of yellow pine, three bunk-houses, the general foreman's cot tage and the dining hall. Each of the bunk- houses was designated by a single letter painted sign-like on a board: A, B and C. The gen eral foreman's cottage was similarly lettered, D. It was nearest to the track, close to the huddle of buildings about the portal. The dining hall was well up on the hill behind it near the three bunk-houses. Its front steps were now black with men, members of the day shift waiting for the doors to open. As Tom turned to the right and was passing "D" quar ters the Slavs had already; joined this crowd. At the same moment the wide doors opened. There was a crash of heavy; shod feet, a shout from the center of the crowd now surging up and inward billowing with the struggles of its members to hasten their advance. The steps roared with the beat of the great boots and the mass of men seethed into the wide doors. Then a white-aproned man stood alone on the porch beating upon a triangle. Strag glers came running from the three bunk-houses, THE HARD ROCK MAN 11 some pulling on their coats, others bare-headed and in their shirt sleeves. After the last of these had hurried up the steps Tom entered the place, tired with his day's work, somewhat confused with the newness and the suddenness of the things about him. It was a long, many-windowed room, bare- floored, with rough board walls. Overhead, the roof timbers were browned by smoke from many meals; the shingles showed through wide spaces between the boards. In the rear, cut off by a low railing, the kitchen opened; about its hooded range two bare-armed cooks bent over steaming cauldrons. At the railing aproned waiters, rough-garbed like the men whom they served, lingered briefly for huge tins of food or hurried away bearing their smoking burdens. Three tables stretched the length of the dining hall, flanked by pine benches covered with oilcloth. Two of these tables were lined from end to end by the men of Snowslide. They sat close wedged, elbow to elbow, busy at their food. For the most part they were big men, large-boned, wide of chest. Their faces were at once heavy and alive, heavy with largeness 12 THE HARD ROCK MAN of feature, alive with reckless lines of action; some bore ragged scars, and some were tat tooed blue from burning powder. The men were clad in the rough garments of their toil, oilskins still dripping moisture, coarse flannel shirts, their sleeves uprolled above great arms, their fronts yawning over hairy chests. They were eating as they had toiled, heavily, with effort, crudely. No fabric of etiquette had been woven round their feeding to hinder movement. They ate like animals, to supply a need. From the high-heaped, steaming pans before them they lifted their food in enormous pieces; and the waiters raced back and forth to maintain the supply. There was little speech. Now a giant growled a monosyllabic demand and another giant, complying, shoved toward this one a laden pan. Occasionally a colossus laughed and the dishes shook before the diapason. Always came the clash of the knives on the tin dishes and the noise of the eating. Tom stood near the door looking for a place. A man beckoned him, smiling widely, and pointed to a vacant space beside himself. It was The Cartender. "Set down," said he, THE HARD ROCK MAN 13 "an' pitch in, an' remember, God helps them what helps themselves." It was good food. Tom ate a long time and when he had done the last stragglers were filing outward through the door. The Car- tender remained beside him, whittling tobacco in thin shavings from a brown plug. He rolled the shavings together in the palms of his hands and filled a black briar pipe. He lighted it and drew a few long puffs. "Well, Irish," said he, "how d'ye like ut?" Tom smiled quietly into his eyes. ' 'Tis alright," he said. "Them Polackers," The Cartender went on slowly, rising from the bench; "they're ridin' ye." Tom looked at him inquiringly and shook his head. "Ridin' ye," said The Cartender. "Givin' ye the worst of ut. They don't do their share." "I can shovel more than anny wan av thim," asserted Tom. He did not understand why The Cartender chuckled. As they walked to the bunk-house Tom drew a short-stemmed clay pipe from his 14 THE HARD ROCK MAN pocket. He filled its black bowl and puffed placidly. His big, young face was grave, half -puzzled. "I did more than anny wan av thim," he reiterated finally, "and can do more than anny two." The Cartender stopped his grinning and looked at Tom kindly. "Ye are green," he said, "but ye will larn. On public works ye always can find plenty that's itchin' to let ye handle more than yer share of the muck. Them scum on the outside gang is always layin' fer a white man. Ye must make them do what is theirs to do." "Ye mane?" asked Tom. "I mean they're laughin'," said The Car- tender; "thinkin' how smart thejr be to let ye do most of the work." They went to the middle bunk-house, "B" quarters, the largest of the three. In addition to its shift of tunnel workers it held the out side gangs. Bunks flanked its long, bare- floored room on three sides ; on the fourth were the entrance and the door that opened into the heading foreman's office. The bunks lay in two tiers ; heavy timbers supported them. In a corner near the foreman's office was a sink THE HARD ROCK MAN 15 with hot and cold water faucets, where the men washed themselves. In the center of the room, hung round with steaming garments and surrounded by board benches, there was a long heater stove. The benches were now occupied by a dozen of the drill runners from the day shift, big-boned men with hard, scarred faces save one whose little body was bent, warped as though the rock had been too much for it. He had lost an eye and his face puckered into a thousand wrinkles around the empty socket. Beside him sat the largest of the crowd, a crop-haired giant with blue pocks of burned powder on his cheek. The group were talking of the work and these two were evidently authorities, for whenever one of them spoke the others let their booming voices die. Tom's bunk was near the stove; he sat on the edge and listened to them. The talk went to The Old Man, the red- faced superintendent, whose passing on the dump that morning had held Tom like the passing of a divinity; the head of the work, master o their masters, driver of those who drove them. The crop-haired giant smote his knee with his huge, gnarled fist. "Gimnysack 16 THE HARD ROCK MAN Ryan," he cried, and there was in his deep voice at once familiarity and awe, "Gunny- sack Ryan, I know him; I've known him this fifteen year; an' The Gunner here, ask him. Ryan! Why we seen him when he was raw from the bogs; green I tell ye as that there boy." He waved his hard hand toward Tom and the other giants, looking with the gesture, laughed. "How about it, Gunner?" asked one; "does he know hard rock?" The bent little man lifted his puckered face and smiled, a slow, wise smile. "Gunnysack," said he; "he don't know hard rock an' nivver did. By all rights he's a steam shovel man. He c'n make a steam shovel climb a tree, he can, but he don't know hard rock. It's the men he knows; the men, I tell ye." He paused expressively and let it sink in. "The Old Man," he said, "is a driver, that's what he is; a driver; that's all there is to ut. He makes the others do ut." "That's right, Gunner," several shouted at once. "A driver he is." "Look here!" cried the big man they called Jerry. "Look at The Gunner here. He THE HARD ROCK MAN 17 knows the rock; none better. An' what's he doin'? Him that's pulled more rock than anny of ye; more than Ryan ever see. Why, he's runnin' his slugger in the headin', runnin' a drill like you an' me, drivin' tunnel f er The Old Man. Look at the Walker an' the headin' bosses! They know rock; an' where are they? Bossing to-day, runnin' a drill to-morrow. Pullin' rock fer Ryan, because he knows enough to make them do ut. He drives them. He always did an' always will. He handles men, he does ; men^ not rock." "That's right, Jerry," said the little Gunner. "He makes us do ut for him and makes us like ut." The broad-faced Cartender came and sat be side Tom, on the bunk's edge. "Listenin* to them stiffs drive tunnel?" he asked. "They're always at that between pay days when their money's gone an' they've been trowed out from the saloons. Always drivin' tunnel. They'll blow the stove pipe through the ruff some night, puttin' in too big a shot." He laughed at his figure. "Listen to them now," he said; "handin' ut to The Old Man." "How did he do ut, Gunner?" one of the 18 THE HARD ROCK MAN younger men was asking. "How did he get his start?" The little man smiled and was silent for a moment. "Well," he said finally, "it come this way; somewan crossed him wan day and Ryan licked him; and that was the size of ut. He pounded his way up." "That is right," said Jerry. "Thim that trod on his toes or crossed his path, he mastered thim. When he got his first shift he hild thim under his big fists an' always done so since. And they like ut. Manny's the time his walkers curses him behint his back, mind but they'd go to hell fer him just the same. Yes, I think it is his fightin'. Raymimber Big Martin, Gunner?" "I do that," laughed The Gunner, and lifted his warped face. " 'Twas on the big ditch. Ryan had been blowed up wit black powder an' they had him in bed wit his arms an' chist all bound up in cloth an' oil an' two min to hould him down when his head wint back on him. The day before he'd had a bit av an argument wit this here Martin he was big as a house an' this night Martin comes in the dure. 'Who is that?' asks Ryan. ' 'Tis me,' says Martin. 'Oh, 'tis ye, is ut?' says THE HARD ROCK MAN 19 Gunnysack. Well, I'm glad to see ye.' An' wit that he climbs out of bed, rippin' the bandages where they belt down his arms, an' he lept on Martin an' handed him the pannin' av his life. And his arrms an' chist like a beefsteak." The laughter shook the roof timbers over head. The Gunner raised his hand to silence it. "But it is not that," he said, soberly. "'Tis not the fightin' Ryan has the head. There's thim likes to boss an' thim likes to be bossed. He likes to boss, an' he does ut." "For phwy is ut?" Tom asked The Car- tender, "that they call him Gunnysack?" The Cartender scratched his head. "I re member now," he said; "I heard Big Jerry Morley there tell ut wan night. 'Twas back in the Pondereille country, years ago, whin they was buildin' this same road. He was green then, like you, lad, fresh from the Old Sod; and he was a mucker. The weather was cruel cold an' he seen how the Polackers wrapped gunnysackin' round their brogans to keep their fate the warmer. So he did ut. Three or four years after he had a shift then on some rock work back in New York some- wan come who had seen the baggin' on his fate 20 THE HARD ROCK MAN and told ut. An' so they called him Gunny- sack." "Not to his face," said Tom. "Haw, haw, haw," laughed The Cartender. "Not to his face; well, no; they did not." A few minutes later the janitor came and turned out the lights, all but a single incan descent over the stove, and the drill runners went to their bunks. The place became silent. Heavy breathing rose round the shadowed room. From his own bunk Tom lay looking about him. The single light swung slowly to and fro, shifting brightness and blackness in regular time. Tom's mind was busy with the things that he had heard and seen ; the men with whom he toiled, the five Slavs who held their backs to him and laughed unpleasantly; the good-natured Cartender who had told him why they laughed because he had done what was theirs to do; Ryan, the red-faced master, who had once been like him, "Raw, fresh from the bogs; green as that there boy" he remem bered Big Jerry's words. And this Ryan had mastered others and made them like it. He slipped into slumber with these things in his thoughts. CHAPTER III EVERY night after that Tom sat on the edge of his bunk, listening to the drill runners "drive tunnel" round the bunk-house stove. He sat, his big body bent forward and his large, young face upturned eagerly to catch each word. For to him these hard-faced giants were mighty men, and they told of mighty things. He hearkened while they recounted deeds done in far places, where they had rended the living rock from the mountains, rough deeds of reck less men. They told of tempests that had beaten them while they toiled among the snows; of a sun that had blazed upon them in desert wastes ; of towns that had rung with wild shouts and reeked with brawls, where every night saw murder done, towns that had long since fallen to heaps of ruins beneath the deep ening shadows of hemlock forests; of shaking rock that had thundered down and obliterated men in the midst of strivings; of premature blasts that had annihilated whole shifts. They 22 THE HARD ROCK MAN bragged of toil and drink; they spoke famil iarly of lawless women and they laughed at sudden death. He listened, watching their faces, lined with recklessness, scarred by marks of toil and fight. Their booming voices made his blood stir with vague longings of emula tion; their wanton words and rude gestures and their oaths were to his mind signs of brave spirit. Best of all he liked to hear, and most care fully he cherished, the things they said of The Old Man. The crop-haired giant Jerry and the bent little one-eyed Gunner had known Ryan longest and had followed him furthest from job to job; these two told of his mastery and of the assertion which had made him rise. They told how he roared his orders and his curses, until sometimes whole shifts rushed hither and thither, while Ryan stood on rock or wheelbarrow or other small eminence, red- faced, wrathful, bullying them, driving them. Always there was purpose behind it, assertion that brought obedience and made men cling to him, and when they abused him behind his back abuse him fondly. And so ; Tom passed his first evenings rest- THE HARD ROCK MAN 23 ing from the heavy work, hearing the story of how The Old Man had come to master these reckless men. The Cartender often sat beside him and added details to the anecdotes. Some times he told Tom of the work which these men did, of the inside of the tunnel, where the air drills roared, beating against the living rock, of the booming blasts and the dangers in the black hole's depths. Gradually the feel ing of strangeness was passing from Tom be fore the interest in this new world, its deeds and its men. 'But the days were dreary. The five Slavs always talked together in their own tongue, working with their backs toward Tom. They never had a word for him and they never had a look for him, save the side glances when they laughed unpleasantly. On the dump they kept thus by themselves and in the bunk-house they hung together in the corner furthest from the stove, where they slept. There none had speech with them; they were pariahs. And on the toil, when he was alone with them, they^ treated him as a pariah in his turn. Their attitudes and manner spoke of the silent conspiracy against him of which The 24 THE HARD ROCK MAN Cartender had warned him. Often when the rock came out in large pieces, each piece a carload the five united their efforts to roll over the brink such of these as fell to their share. Never, unless the outside boss was near, did they offer such help to Tom; and then in sullen silence. He watched them silently day after day, studying their manner of shoveling, catching the little tricks that made the toil easier. Then he practiced himself these smooth econ omies of motion, until gradually he learned to swing his great arms to absolute purpose, with out any loss of energy ; and was able to handle twice the amount he had handled at first. He found himself doing it more from day to day. In spite of the knowledge which The Cartender had imparted to him, which he had verified by what he saw, he felt pride in this no heavy-featured alien could beat him work ing. And he let them go on drawing a little further from him, and then a little further still, until the discrepancy became marked; until he found them laughing more openly at him, talking more often in tones of ridicule. THE HARD ROCK MAN 25 He had now mastered the knowledge of shovel handling, and he had begun to feel less strange. Sometimes, now, when he heard them chuckling and saw them glancing obliquely at him, he felt his rage rise within him, and the desire grew strong to leap upon the nearest one and beat him down. Loneli ness oppressed him here ; he had no speech with anyone save The Cartender. While the muck train paused the two of them talked together on the dump as they did in the evenings, listen ing to the drill runners "drive tunnel." "How would a man be afther gettin' to run wan av thim drills?" he asked The Cartender one morning. It was the first expression of a growing longing to go where there was the excitement of more reckless work. They were standing on the track, leaning against an empty muck car. Inside the shift was shoot ing the bench and there was a stoppage in the output of muck, a respite for all who handled it. The Cartender was whittling plug to bacco into his palm. He snapped the knife shut and began rubbing; the shavings in his hard hands. 26 THE HARD ROCK MAN " 'Tis aisy enough, sometimes," said he, "if ye're workin' inside, muckin'. After pay day the shift is always short, runners an' helpers raisin' hell downtown. Then if the boss thinks ye're likely he may put ye to helpin', and if ye hold yer job ye larn enough to run a machine in time." He rammed the tobacco into his pipe bowl, and as he lighted it a dull jar came from the mountain. "They've shot," said The Cartender; "we'll be goin' in now." Tom watched the train until it vanished in the black patch at the foot of the mountain, swallowed by the darkness where he longed to be. He turned slowly and his eyes fell upon the five Slavs. They were talking together in their own tongue, and as he looked he saw them glance toward him and laugh. His eyes rested on them steadily and he got a bold stare. One of them he was the biggest, a short, thick-chested man with bowed legs and arms that hung down to his knees, giving sug gestion of an ape sneered with coarse lips. Tom's fists were clenched so tightly that his nails hurt his calloused palms. His eyes grew cold like metal and the Slav's eyes fell. A moment later they were working elbow to THE HARD ROCK MAN 27 elbow, shoveling away the muck, and Tom was determining on a course of action. On its next trip the muck train brought huge granite blocks from the rended bench. There was one of these to every car. When the train had receded the five Slavs gathered round one of the largest pieces which had fallen to their share. The biggest man among them, the leader, picked up a long pinch bar, bent by many pryings, and inserted its end beneath the rock. He gave a guttural com mand and the other four came toward him to take hold. Then Tom tightened his lips and took a step toward them. His fists were dou bled, his great arms swung from the shoulders, elbows out from the body. They heard him and looked up. He took two more steps he was within five feet of the leader now and pointed to a longer bar by the trackside. "Pick ut up," he said quietly. His voice came from his chest, gruff with the command; his glinting eyes were fixed upon the leader. For an instant the man stood in his tracks, staring wide-eyed at Tom over his shoulder. Then he straightened his back and started to 28 THE HARD ROCK MAN say something to the others. One guttural word had come from his throat when Tom was upon him. He seized the Slav by the collar, twisting him from his feet, then flung him upon the bar to which he had pointed. "Pick ut up," he said again evenly. His eyes were cold now and a hard light played on them. They swept to the other four Slavs; the four shrunk from them. They went back swiftly to the leader. He was scrambling to his feet. His face was bleed ing where it had struck the dump. In his hand he clutched a stone. Gaining his feet he whirled toward Tom, with arm upraised be hind his shoulder. Tom looked upon him steadily. The Slav's eyes lowered and he dropped the missile. "Quick," Tom ordered; "pick ut up." The Slav glanced toward his four fellows. They were staring sullenly at the ground. He bent down and picked up the bar. Tom looked toward the others. "Come here," he bade them. They hesitated a bare instant. Then they came slowly. He ges tured mutely toward the rock; they; seized the THE HARD ROCK MAN 29 1 bar and began prying it over the dump. When they had done he called them to the next. "This wan now," he ordered. To his bidding they handled the trainload. For some moments he stood looking them over. "I boss," he said finally; "mind that." CHAPTER IV; ONE evening, soon after his assertion of authority, Tom left the dining hall and went alone to his bunk. It was still daylight and many of the men were outside. Sitting in the silent room, he held his face between his two big hands, his elbows on his knees. The loneliness of his life was heavy upon him. As he sat there the grip of the evening seized him, a quiet evening when sounds came mellowed from long distances. He left the darkened place and stood outside looking at the moun tains. The green of their hemlocks was not green to him; the mountains were black walls. He started walking slowly down the trail. His hands were behind his back, folded; his broad shoulders bent a little and his head leaned for ward. He was looking straight before him and he did not see the things on which his eyes fell. The air was damp with a soft breeze from the west, a breeze from the sea, whose 30 THE HARD ROCK MAN 31 moisture had gathered tribute from inland valleys and mountain meadows until it was laden with sweet odors. It caressed his cheek like soft, cool finger tips. Its perfumes bathed his senses. His mind went far away. The Cartender, on his way to the bunk-house, ran against him at a turn in the path and recov ered his balance with some difficulty. "Man!" he cried. "Ye have a heavy fut. Ye tromped all over me. What is ut takes yer eyes from where ye're goin'?" Tom looked at him as if he had not heard the words. "Did ye iver see the hills of Con- naught?" he asked. The Cartender grumbled and took a limp ing step beside him, looking upward at his face. "I was a kid when me father left the Old Country," he said more softly. "Grane, grane they are," said Tom. "Ye nivver see ut here; so grane an' saft an' low! Ah! and in the avenin' ye can hear the little childer callin' from far off." He loosed his big hands and dropped them limply to his sides. His shoulders straightened and he looked at The Cartender wistfully. "Did I thread on yer fut?" he asked. "I was thinkin' 32 THE HARD ROCK MAN av the Ould Counthry. 'Twas somethin' come over me to-night." The Cartender smiled It was as a man smiles at a boy "Come wit me," he said. "I'm goin' to take a stroll an' watch the train come in. I've a letter to mail." When the Cartender had gotten his letter in the bunk-house he found Tom bending over a wooden chest, which he had dragged from beneath his bunk. He had thrown back the * lid; his arms were elbow deep in the interior. As The Cartender came he drew out a coat. It was of homespun cloth, a coat with two long, narrow tails, which dangled oddly, with a row of large buttons down its front. Tom held it over his forearm and he passed the thick fingers of his other hand over the rough fabric, caressing it. He laid it softly down on the bunk and began groping again in the chest. Finally he brought out a hat. It was a curious hat of stovepipe pattern, thick, coarse gray felt narrowing toward the crown, with a flaring rim. He brushed the crown around with his finger tips, smoothing it, and his fingers lingered on it kindly. Then he shut the chest and rose. THE HARD ROCK MAN 33 The Cartender watched him curiously as he threw off his working coat and began donning the homespun garment. It fitted his huge shoulders tightly, so that he had to struggle a little, working his arms into the sleeves. The two narrow tails dangled from his waist. They were surmounted by two of the large buttons. The Cartender's eyes widened as Tom turned his back to him. Then his broad mouth grew broader; he started to articulate, but stopped. His heavy face became very grave. Tom picked up the hat. He placed it on his head carefully, so that the tall crown was well back and to one side. He faced The Cartender, who was gazing at him now in silence. Finally: "Ye brought them over?" The Cartender asked politely. "Yis," said Tom soberly. "They were me faather's." "Ah, yes," said The Cartender thoughtfully. There was a pause and The Cartender shuffled one of his feet irresolutely. "There's a bit av a shtick in the chist," said Tom; "a bit av the thorn. 'Twas me faather's, too. But I notice that they do not 34 THE HARD ROCK MAN be carryin' a shtick on a walk av an evenin' here." ' "No," said The Cartender. "No; they do not." He scratched his head, so that his squam hat tilted forward over one eye, and he strug gled inwardly. " 'Tis a pretty pace av cloth," said Tom._ "The coat?" asked The Cartender. "Yis," said Tom. "Ye do not see them often here," said The Cartender. It was his maiden effort at tact; it left him confused, doubtful whether he had said too much. "No," said Tom; "ye do not. I don't ray- mimber seein' wan since I landed." His eyes came to The Cartender's and The Cartender smiled into them squarely, very kindly. "I like ut," he said. "My father had wan like ut. I mind him wearin' ut when I was a kid, in the avenin'." He started toward the door. "We'd best be movin' on, I guess," he said cheerfully. There were two trains a day at Snowslide, one from the east and one from the west. The latter came down over the switchback by which the road now crossed the mountain. It came THE HARD ROCK MAN 35 i from Seattle, arriving in the evening. It brought supplies in the express car, and fre quently new workingmen in the smoker. Be sides these recruits, gathered in Seattle employment offices, there were usually one or two passengers of importance, engineers or bosses, returning from brief vacations in the city. Also there was the bundle of daily papers. The train's brief pause was a main event of the day; it was like the halt of a passing civilization, at which the crowd on the platform might gaze through the windows. When Tom and The Cartender neared the depot they saw that the place was jammed. Half a dozen of the older drill runners were laughing together on the edge of the plat form; near them a few muckers, heavy-faced, silent, awkward in posture. There were a dozen or more from the town: the postmas ter, a storekeeper, a pair of saloonmen and a group of gamblers; these last, white-handed, long-fingered men, with faces that bore un healthy pallor. Two civil engineers in khaki and laced boots gossipped in the baggage room with Gunnysack Ryan. The superin tendent was without his high rubber boots this 36 THE HARD ROCK MAN evening. He wore in their stead shoes that shone lustrously; and he had on a black suit, with carefully creased trousers. His diamond glistened from a spotless linen shirt front. "He's come to meet his wife an' girl," said The Cartender. "He thinks the world of his women folk, does The Old Man. They're the only ones c'n boss him." They were passing close by the hard-faced drill runners now, elbowing their way into the crowd. Someone noticed Tom and exclaimed aloud. There was a laugh. Looking up, Tom saw himself surrounded by broadly smil ing faces. As he went by the wide door of the baggage room he heard a sudden oath from Ryan. Glancing in, he saw the intolerant gray eyes, intolerant no longer, wide with astonishment. A long whistle sounded up the track and his attention, with the others', flew to the approaching train. A moment later it roared among them; halted with a grind of brakeshoes on wheels; and stood, the locomotive panting, the air sob bing in the pipes. Baggage crashed upon the platform. Tom watched a handful of rough- clad men struggling with huge blanket rolls THE HARD ROCK MAN 37 on the steps of the smoker. They were hard- eyed men and they cursed wantonly as they fought with their luggage. Something made him turn his eyes toward the rear of the train. The Old Man was helping two women from the steps of the nearest Pullman. As Tom looked, Ryan handed a dollar to the bowing porter; then he kissed the two women, and the three of them walked together down the plat form. Tom stood transfixed; Ryan held him staring. The man had changed completely; his whole bearing was different. He walked between the two women, and the wide mastery had gone from his stride; he was trying to fit his steps to theirs. And his eyes had changed; it was as though they had been tamed, as though the intolerance that usually looked from them were a horse that had been suddenly broken and bridled and was now being driven sedately. He bent his head to talk and to listen, and every line of his huge figure spoke deference. These were his women. Tom noticed the elder; she was tall and her shoulders were wide like a man's. She wore expensive ready made clothing. Her face was hard-skinned and red, as though it had been 38 THE HARD ROCK MAN roughly rubbed. It was lined with the lines that come from years of work; the lips were very firm. She talked to The Old Man, quick, short words, and he hearkened, bending his head. Tom looked at the other, the younger one, and his eyes dropped before hers. She was laughing at him. Her full, young lips curved mirthfully and her wide, brown eyes were alight with amuse ment. She was not more than eighteen; the unworn bloom was on her cheeks; and the laughing eyes beneath the mass of auburn hair still had that softness which endures but a few years after childhood's passing. Hair and eyes and transparent skin, beneath which the color fluttered swiftly, were like a bit of his old land brought before him. And yet he saw that she was laughing at the things he wore, the hat and coat. He realized it now, what the others had been laughing at. The knowl edge made him redden, a blush of mortification that was not shame, and of anger. It was as though she had laughed at him for wearing a bit of green. He looked up at her, this thought in his eyes, and then he looked away, reddening again. This time the mortification THE HARD ROCK MAN 39 was centered upon himself. For his glance had found her still smiling with wonder on her face, and it had left her, half startled, half hurt. It was as though he, a stranger, had stepped up to her and had spoken a rude word of reprimand. He turned and walked away. "Look at the hat!" He whirled with narrowed eyes toward whence the voice had come and faced the group of drill runners. He scanned every face steadily there were a dozen in the circle, some of them men whom he had heard "driving tun nel" around the bunk-house stove, among these Big Jerry and The Gunner. They met his gaze with suddenly aroused scowls. Finally he halted in his search; he had found the man. He was one of the rough-clad men whom Tom had seen leaving the smoking car. His huge roll of blankets lay beside him on the platform. Near him stood a number of his fellows. Among the reckless-featured men of Snow- slide these newcomers were a hard-faced crew, hard and reckless to the point of fierce ness. And of their faces this man's was most deeply lined between the brows and around the lip ends. There was something wanton about 40 THE HARD ROCK MAN its scowl. The heavy-browed eyes were a little bleared. It was not the blear of drink; rather that goes before drink the white-gray ob scuration of violence. His black hair hung straight over his low, seamed forehead. He was bigger than any of them, bigger than Jerry Morley, as large a man as Tom. And the men around fell silent as these two looked at each other, with heads thrust slightly for ward. They looked steadily; and then, as Tom was opening his mouth to speak the word that would have brought issue, Jerry Morley clapped him on the back. "Never mind, lad," he cried good-naturedly; "ferget ut. That hat is better Irish than the man that said ut. I'd be proud to wear ut St. Patrick's day meself , an' so wud he." The drill runners laughed. The upper lips of nearly all of them were long, and their mirth was good-natured. But Tom's eyes still remained narrowed. It was the group of lead- faced gamblers that saved a clash. Standing nearby, they had heard everything, and now they crowded round, eager for the promised quarrel. Big Jerry turned on them. THE HARD ROCK MAN 41 "Army of you tinhorns lookin' fer trouble?" he inquired elaborately. The other runners whirled with him. The most of them had good cause to dislike these men, who came to the camp once a month, and departed always with a good share of their earnings. They growled at the gamblers and forgot Tom. The engine bell had ceased a brief interval of clanging. There was a sigh of air from the brakes ; the train began to move. The Car- tender came hurrying from the mail car where he had posted his letter. The gamblers were leaving now in close order pursued by the gibes of the drill runners. Tom went in silence up the track with The Cartender. Finally The Cartender spoke. "Did ye see The Old Man when his wife got hold of him?" he asked. "She's the wan boss he has. He thinks the world of his women folk, does Gun- nysack. That girl of his is growin' up to be as big as the Old woman." Tom made no an swer. The Cartender looked at him, "What's on yer mind?" he asked. "I am grane," said Tom slowly; he was ^taring straight ahead. 42 THE HARD ROCK MAN The Cartender was silent now. Tom walked on thinking. Snddenly he burst out, "For why should the Irish be afther laughin' at the things av their own land, answer me that?" "There was no man laughed but would fight fer them same things, Lad," said The Car- tender, "Not wan of them." But Tom was not thinking of the drill run ners. Behind the two of them The Old Man, walk ing with his women, looked at Tom and chuckled, "There's the greenest Mick since I landed at Castle Garden wit me bundle on a stick," he said, "Luk at that hat!" His wife laughed kindly, "Poor bye," she said, "He's sick now for the Old Country I do be thinkin'. Luk, Nora, at that coat. 'Tis the sort yer grandfather wore on a market day." Nora was looking. She was thinking, not of the coat, but of the tall, straight back be neath it, the bigness of the man, and the eyes that had rebuked her masterfully. She said nothing. "Them Cceur d'Aleners," The Cartender was saying, "Ye saw them?" THE HARD ROCK MAN 43 "Who do ye mane?" asked Tom. "That new bunch of runners," said The Car- tender, "Ye had some words wit wan of them, Big Kennedy. What was ut?" Tom's face darkened. "He laughed at me," said he. "He's tough," said The Cartender, "Him an' his gang. The Dynamiter, they call him; he was here once before. Now he's brought the drove of them back wit him. They blowed up a mill somewheres back in Idaho an' they're here wit bum names. They're a hard gang; but The Dynamiter, Kennedy he calls himself, is a good runner. He can pull the rock. An' he c'n fight. Best lave him be." In the bunk-house Tom dragged out his wooden chest and opened it. He took his coat in his hands a moment and stroked it tenderly before he laid it in its place, carefully folding back the two thin tails over the body of it that they might not wrinkle. Then he took the hat; he held it longer than he had the coat. As his thick fingers passed over the rough crown he felt the soft, damp breeze of an Irish evening and he saw long, low hills rolling back from a wide river, soft, green hills melting 44 THE HARD ROCK MAN into a softer sky. He lowered his big face close to the hat, and to his nostrils there came faintly like an old memory the odor of peat smoke. He saw a hearth where red embers glowed steadily and a low-beamed ceiling. He was on his knees beside the chest. He stayed there for some time bending over the hat. Then he placed it carefully away and shut the lid. CHAPTER V "WHAT are ye lookin' at?" The Walker asked the Outside Boss the next morning". The Outside Boss was sitting on a pile of tim ber half way down the dump. He beckoned The Walker to a seat beside him and pointed to the place where Tom and the five Slavs were working, one hundred feet away. "Well?" said The Walker. The Outside Boss repeated the gesture. "I'm watchin' that big MicK, Jack," said he, "Some day there's goin' to be the devil to pay on this dump." The Walker looked at Tom, who was stand ing, his part of the work done, pointing to a patch of muck. And as he looked The Walker saw one of the Slavs begin shoveling this over the side. "Who is that tarrier?" he asked. "A green lad," said the Outside Boss, "Two mont's over an' a matter of a month on the 45 46 THE HARD ROCK MAN job. Them Polacks tried to ride him at first; Now luk at him." "He'd best watch where he goes after dark," said The Walker, "Why don't ye send him inside?" "I tried to," said the Outside Boss, "Two days ago I told him he'd have trouble wit them, an' he says: 'Av ye plaze Sor,' said he, Td like to shtay a whoile; I'll not let thim dhrive me afF.' " He mimicked Tom's brogue with the love an Irishman has for it. Tom leaned on his shovel handle watching the Slav finish the work. The other four Slavs held their eyes upon the ground and were stealing glances at the pair from the corners of them. Their sweating countryman was the largest of them, the slant-eyed leader whom Tom had compelled to pick up the bar. He scowled as he threw the muck from his shovel. Watching the man, Tom realized the price of mastery. He had asserted himself to get his rights, and now he could not relax. He had to rule to keep his place. It was the knowledge of sullen rebellion ready to Kreak out whenever he gave it a chance that had THE HARD ROCK MAN 47 made him refuse the offer of the Outside Boss to get him on the muck gang at the foot of the bench. He had denied himself his own wish to go inside the tunnel from an aversion toward leaving while his authority was in any wise questioned. And so the Outside Boss had clapped him on the back crying, "Stay and welcome, Lad, but make them fight in daytime. Hammer hell out o' them in the day; an' luk where ye go at night." And he had waited while the month's last 'days had passed. They were dreary days, al ways the five backs toward him, always the five averted faces, the eyes stealing sidelong glances from the ground, always the talk in low toned gutterals which he could not under stand, whose import he could not help but feel. They never laughed now. Often in the bunk-house he had noticed them sitting in their own corner with their eyes upon him, five pairs of eyes watching him sullenly while he sat beside The Cartender listening to the drill runners "drive tunnel." The Car- tender had noticed it too. "Where were ye?" he had asked one even ing. 48 THE HARD ROCK MAN "Afther a bit av tobacco at the commissary," said Tom. "Yer friends, what did they get?" inquired The Cartender jerking his thumb toward the corner where the Slavs usually sat. It was empty. "Two nights ago," said The Cartender, "ye mind ye went for them socks? Well, they went too. Luk there now !" One of the Slavs was entering the bunk-house. A moment later another followed; then the rest. And so the thing had gone, an impending crisis that had made Tom chafe. This was payday morning. In the evening he would get his first check. The thought dominated him and made him feel kindly toward all the world. It made him prone to forget details about him. As he shoveled he smiled frequently. And even as he smiled this thing had happened He had seen the little heap of muck which the leader had left un touched; and then, while the two bosses watched, he had made the man shovel it away. All that morning men passed on their ways to join the long line before the station agent's window. The groups were laughing and jest- THE HARD ROCK MAN 49 ing and some of them called out to the out side gang. From where Tom worked he could see the town, a row of flimsy, unpainted wooden buildings, for the most part dance halls and saloons. They were surmounted by gaudily painted canvas signs. During the month this had been a silent place. Now it was filling up. Men passed to and fro along the railed sidewalk ; they hurried in and out of the wide-open doors. A little after four o'clock in the afternoon the day shift leaped from the cars of the out- coming muck train and ran down the dump, a clamorous crowd. From among them came laughter ; the deep voices were cheerful. Tom watched them rushing by and caught the cheer. His check was waiting at the depot it was the day he reaped his first check. All of it was his. He knew the amount to a cent. With The Cartender's help he had figured out the deductions of board and commissary bills, and knew what would be left the balance, his savings. He thought of that. The world was bright clean sunshine and fresh air. He smiled as he worked. The Slavs saw him. Even they seemed to 50 THE HARD ROCK MAN have caught the spirit now. The leader crooked back his lips before his yellow teeth and pointed toward a group of belated muck ers hurrying after the day shift. "Plenta monaay, hey?" the slant-eyed man cried. "You bet," said Tom. He was becoming proud of his Americanisms. There were many empty places in the dining hall that night. Fully half the men were down town. After supper Tom hurried to the sta tion. On his way he heard a piano thumping and from somewhere among the row of wooden buildings came a long, loud whoop. When he had gotten his check from the agent, weary with several hundred such payments, he hur ried to the nearest saloon and cashed it. Then he went to the post office. Daulton, the postmaster, was also the camp's druggist. Although the company had a hos pital and a surgeon at the other portal, Daul ton was known in Snowslide as "The Doctor." It was his semi-official title. He had borne it for many years in the days of construction, when his drug-store had been an institution of every large camp from the Rockies to THE HARD ROCK MAN 51 Puget Sound. He was English born; he al ways wore loud-patterned tweeds and was im maculate as to his linen. His manner was a mingling of dignity and affability, of con descension, incumbent upon his position and semi-comradeship which stood him in good stead as a tradesman. He had one great ad vantage in this latter respect: His position of postmaster allowed him to know the name of every man in camp. He greeted Tom punctiliously from behind the counter. ".Good evening, Mr. Morton," he said bow ing gravely. "A fine evening." Tom grinned. It was the first time in his life that anyone had ever prefixed the title "Mister" to his name, and The Doctor's man ner flattered him. "Good avenin' to ye, Sor," he replied. The memory of that "Mister" bothered him a little ; he was not altogether at his ease. "What is there I can do for you, Mr. Mor ton?" The Doctor asked. "I c&me to buy wan av thim postal ordhers," said Tom. " 'Tis a good way to put by yer money, I'm tould." "Ah yes." The Doctor straightened and 52 THE HARD ROCK MAN became official at once. "It is indeed. But we can't do that now, Mr. Morton, the hours are from eight until five." Tom was perplexed. The Doctor saw his disappointment. He had seen the incident of the station platform where Tom had faced Kennedy and he had heard the Outside Boss tell of the domination of the five Slavs by this raw hand. And among other things The Doctor admired a fighter; it was almost awe some, this admiration, born of love for boxing matches. Already he had regarded Tom as a possibility in this line. For this reason he resolved to extend small favors. "You see," he explained, "that is the law, and if I were to let down the bars I would get into trouble." He smiled at Tom across the counter; "But in your case," he said impres sively, "I don't mind making an exception." While he showed Tom how to make out the application, he looked at the big arms and body, and imagined them stripped. "My word!" he muttered, "My word! What beef! And a good eye, a good, steady eye!" "There we are," he said aloud and handed over the blue paper slip. "Keep that, Mr. Morton, and when you want your money you THE HARD ROCK MAN 53 can cash it here. A wise thing; you won't find many doing it. What part of Ireland are you from?" "From Galway, Sor," said Tom. "Ah, Galway," said The Doctor, "a beauti ful county. I was in Galway twenty years ago." He talked of the green hills rolling back from the Shannon and Tom's heart warmed. "Good avenin' Sor," he said, depart ing. "Good evening, Mr. Morton," Hade The Doctor. "That money order, a wise move. You'll be rich some day. My word!" Tom caught the twinkle in his eye and grinned. " 'Tis jokin' ye are!" he cried, and they both laughed together. He was cheerful with the whole world to night. This talk of home And his savings were in his pocket, the blue slip, the concrete realization of many dreams. It was a good country, this strange land, for all its frown ing mountains, a place where he could earn and save, where others had risen to mastery of men. Passing the saloons he gazed curiously into their wide-open doors. The long interiors blazed with light; they were alive with men. 54 THE HARD ROCK MAN Rough faces were upturned toward the flaring lamps, some of them faces he had seen around the bunk-house stove. Rough voices arose in laughter or loud anger. The places roared tumult. He stared at it all. And once he stood rooted before a doorway where a bare headed woman in a loose red gown screamed a song at the cold, clean stars. He picked his way across the dump and up the hill to the boarding camp. The bunk- house was silent; the benches around the stove were empty. As he entered, the heading fore man came from his office and went on out into the night. In their corner, close together, heads bent to a common center, sat the five Slavs. They were talking in their own tongue. Immediately upon his entrance they raised their eyes and stopped talking. Then the outer door slammed shut behind the head ing foreman and there was silence. Tom went to his bunk. He sat down on the edge. A laugh made him look around. It came from the five Slavs in the corner. As he looked one of the group said a low word. They laughed again. The leader arose and came toward him. CHAPTER VI As the slant-eyed leader came toward Tom's bunk the other four Slavs rose from their seats. Tom sprang to his feet. In the instant that he sprang his nostrils caught the smell of iodoform, a common odor in the camp where someone was always hurt; and afterwards whenever the smell came to him it brought a picture. It was as though his eyes at this time took a photograph which this particular touch upon his senses invariably reproduced, a photograph in poise: Five men, one man ahead, four men a pace behind. The five were bareheaded, in their shirt sleeves, their shirts open on their chests. The leader was stooping slightly forward in the act of stepping. His thin shirt fluttered with an indrawn breath and as the chest rose behind it the heavy mat of hair thrust beyond the parted cloth; then it fell away again. His arms hung ahead of his short, thick body, to a little beyond his bowed knees, slightly bent. 55 56 THE HARD ROCK MAN The knotted fists were clenched. The slanting eyes glittered and the lips twisted away before the crooked yellow teeth a warped man with arms too long and a forehead like an animal's. The four men behind were half -crouching like their leader, their arms hanging down by their knees. One of them, a black haired man whose frame was slightest, was a little to one side. Tom remembered afterward that of all, his attitude was least eager, most sure. The incandescent lamp by the stove was swinging slowly, shifting shadows and high lights upon them. Their faces caught the high lights and stood out, big-boned, beneath the gleaming eyes. Then the shadow obscured them and the long arms showed, hanging low, crooked. Tom stood erect, his head and shoulders loomed above the upper bunk beside him. His head was bare and his thick brown hair was in some disorder of half -curls. His coat hung loose; he was fumbling with one hand at the lower button. His eyes were almost half closed; and they were steady; the shifting light played upon them, glinting from them as from metal. Thus they stood, the one man and the five, ten feet between them. THE HARD ROCK MAN 57 The instant passed; the Slav leader swung his foot and bent forward into a quickened stride, a half leap. Tom caught the button of his coat to place. At once his arms flew up, fists forward, elbows out from his sides. He sprang across the interval between him and the slant-eyed leader. It was sudden, without warning of attitude, from erectness of posture to half -double ; from stillness to a leap an instantaneous change. He charged and the advantage of offensive passed to him. He spanned the ten feet in two strides. As Tom sprang the Slav realized the change. Instinctively he faltered, a brief hesitation. His body straightened and his two fists raised toward his head. It was a posture almost of defense. And while he was in the act of tak ing it, Tom was upon him. Tom's fist shot forward while the Slav was again collecting himself for deliverance of a blow. It struck him fairly upon the snarling mouth. The man left his feet, his body hurtled through the air, and he crashed upon the floor. Like their leader the four Slavs had faltered 58 THE HARD ROCK MAN as Tom sprang. For an instant they too, had stood half -irresolutely. As Tom struck they had recovered, and the blow had hardly been delivered before three of them sprang upon him. They caught him with his arms still ex tended from his body. One grasped him round the waist; Tom shook him off and the man fell still gripping his legs. The two others flew at his throat. One of them struck wildly out as he came, the other ran in, head down, his fingers clutching desperately. Tom wres tled trying to tear them away. The leader was struggling to rise from the floor now; his breath sobbed in his open mouth. The black- haired man remained apart, half crouching, watching them in silence. Then there began a struggle that shook the building. The two Slavs clung to Tom and their feet swung clear from the bunk-house floor as he tried to toss them from him. The warped fingers of one were twisting at his throat; the other hung to his right arm snarl ing in the effort to climb inward. Tom shook his shoulders like a huge bull and raised his arm to fling its incubus away. lAjs he did so the man at his legs tugged with all the strength THE HARD ROCK MAN 59 that was in him and Tom tottered almost fall ing. Recovering his balance he freed one foot from the embrace; then swung it back and kicked with all his force. The booted sole istruck full on the Slav's jaw; he fell back limp. Unhampered now, Tom sprang backward and swept his arms apart. The two strug gling men went back with them. He brought his arms together with the two men in them and one of them dropped heavily at his feet. The leader who had risen, watched it, then sprang at Tom's waist, head forward. Be fore the momentum of this charge Tom went down carrying with him this new assailant and the man who still hung to his throat. The three crashed among the benches by the stove. They rolled over, a struggling heap, carrying two of the benches with them and suddenly Tom felt the thick fingers slipping from his throat. He broke from the embrace of the arms around his waist and started to rise. As he was gaining his feet he saw the two Slavs crawl away from him; they ran toward the bunk-house door. Then he saw the black- haired man coming toward him. 60 THE HARD ROCK MAN The black-haired Slav was coming slowly, stooping forward; his right arm was out stretched almost full length. Something gleaned in the hand, something metallic. From it came a long, red spit of fire. There was a loud crash and then the smell of burning powder. Smoke rose in a thick cloud. In the instant Tom realized that he had seen the weapon and that the shot had missed. Beside him lay one of the overturned benches, upended across another. He bent down swiftly, seized the bench in both hands, and, raising it over his head he hurled it at the dim shape in the midst of the smoke-cloud. The bench hurtled through the wreathing smoke, and as the wreaths parted, eddying round it, Tom saw the black-haired man stoop and let it pass. Then the Slav straightened, and his arm thrust forward again in deadly motion, like a striking snake. The revolver barrel gleamed, swinging in a half circle; it became fixed and the warped finger crooked around the trigger. Tom felt a mighty blow upon his chest. He knew that he was falling with the roar of the report in his ears. CHAPTER VII THE OLD MAN and Jack Tarpy, The Walk er, were standing on "D" quarters' steps dis cussing Tarpy's one failing. The Old Man was talking, "I'll have ye know," said he, "that what drinkin's done, I'll do. Down to Leaven- worth there is a priest, and there we go, ye and me, and ye'll take the pledge. That's " They both stiffened, "Where the hell was that?" cried The Walker. "In the bunk- houses," Ryan shouted. "I'll twist the head from the ruffian did ut!" They ran together down the steps and up the hiU. The Old Man forged ahead. With agility out of all keeping with his weight he kept his lead climbing the narrow path. The Walker panted at his heels. The crack of a second shot came to them as they ran. "B quarters," Tarpy shouted. Ryan barked an oath over his shoulder and increased his stride. He reached the bunk-house steps, 61 62 THE HARD ROCK MAN leaped to their top, and without wasting time to turn the knob, burst in the door. ,The room was hazed with smoke. In the fog, dim figures moved, bent low. Ryan rushed toward the thickest of the hanging wreaths where he made out something in a huddle on the floor. A man brushed by him gliding toward the door; Ryan caught the gleam of a pistol barrel, "Stop him, Jack!" he shouted, and Tarpy entering, seized the black-haired Slav by the throat and right wrist, twisting the arm until he heard it crack. The weapon dropped heavily on the boards. "Not so fast," he grunted, and hurled the man from him, among the benches. "We'll see what's here first." He stooped and picked up the revolver. "Now!" he called, "stand fast!" He circled the room with its muzzle and began collecting the five Slavs in a group as a high wayman lines up his victims. Ryan was dragging Tom toward a bunk. "What is this?" he demanded. The door swung open as he was asking the question and half a dozen of the drill runners who had been drawn to the place by the noise of the shots, entered. Tarpy called to them ; "Here Jerry," THE HARD ROCK MAN 63 he ordered, "you an' Gunner, come and lend a hand. Get these five into the corner there and hold them." The drill runners crowded round the Slavs growling at them like savage dogs, and Tarpy ran to Ryan who was bending over Tom, "Hell's fire!" he said, "it is that big Mick." "The man is shot," said Ryan, "in the front of him." He pointed to a round hole in the breast of Tom's heavy coat. At the same mo ment Tom opened his eyes and struggled. "Aisy," panted Ryan, "aisy, we'll not hurt ye." Tom stared at him with wide eyes and relaxed. "I'm alright, Sor," he said, quietly. "Rip them clothes from him," said Ryan, "here help me." The two of them tore off the heavy coat, then a cardigan jacket and the woolen shirt. As the last garment came over Tom's head, something hit the floor, dully. Ryan bent and picked up a flat disk of lead. "The bullet!" he cried, and looked at it cu riously. Tom rose to his feet and shook him self. On the white expanse of his chest a blue mart showed, tinged with red. "Lord!" said Tarpy, "what are ye annyhow?" Two or three drill runners crowding close 64 THE HARD ROCK MAN behind him muttered oaths of wonder. "Right again the breast of him/' muttered one, "he's iron chisted." "Iron chisted nawthin'," growled Ryan. " 'Tis the clothes of him done ut. Wool stops a ball better than steel sometimes. That car digan done ut." "Good Irish wool!" cried another and there was a laugh. Ryan whirled on them blustering, "Shut up," he ordered. "Get out of here!" Over in the corner where Jerry and The Gunner had superintended the gathering of the battered Slavs came ugly mutterings now. Ryan heard them, and looked around. "Take them over to T)' quarters to yer office, Jack," said he, "and kape them there till I come." When the crowd had moved away he turned again to Tom. "Now, what was this?" he demanded. Tom told him what had happened. He was dizzy and his chest was sore, but otherwise he was unhurt; and his head, for all its ringing, was clear. When the story was done The Old Man called for the Outside Boss and The Cartender. And when he had heard them, he cursed the former fluently. "Do ye think THE HARD ROCK MAN 65 this camp is a Dutch picnic, that ye shtand by and watch a fight brew?" he demanded. "Let that be fer town; I'll have no more of ut here." He glared at Tom. "And you," he said. "Who are you to be bossin' a gang? Ye'll be wantin' to handle my job next!" He scowled round at the men who had come now from all parts of the camp and even from the town, drawn by the swift tidings. He swore at them and stormed out of the room. On the steps he met the heading foreman and gave him a dressing down for allowing trouble to foment in his bunk-house. He found Tarpy in "D" quarters, glowering over the prisoners. "Get them scum down to the train," he ordered. "Take a dozen men to see that they get there, and tell them never to set fut here again or I'll have them hanged. And say, Jack," he added in a lower tone; "that lad licked the five of them single-handed. I'd give me mont's wages to of seen ut." The Walker grinned. "Did ye see the body of him?" he asked. "He's big as a skinned horse," said Ryan; "and he has the nerve behind ut. Ye shud have him inside, helpin' on a machine; he's 66 THE HARD ROCK MAN too good to waste on a muck-pile." He turned, about to go, then stopped and laughed. "I remember him now," he said. "He is the lad wore the Tipperary hat." When The Cartender had helped Tom wash and dress his slight wound at the sink, and they had with the help of voluble explana tions from the men who crowded round made up their minds how the cloth had checked the small caliber bullet's progress, Tom shook his head at half a dozen proffers of whiskey and went to his bunk. He sat down on the edge; The Cartender stood beside him. "Ye're sick a bit?" the latter asked. Tom shook his head. "I think I'll lave," he said. The Cartender stared at him. "Did ye hear phwat The Ould Man said?" demanded Tom. The Cartender laughed. "Oh, Gun- nysack," said he. "That is his way. 'Tis when he likes ye best he hands ye a lick wit the rough edge of his tongue. Don't mind him." The heading boss came from his office and wanted to hear the story. The crowd who had followed the Slavs and their escort to the THE HARD ROCK MAN 67 depot began to filter in during the recital. They jammed round, listening. Jerry Mor- ley and The Gunner were there, and Kennedy, The Dynamiter, with his hard face seamed with lines of violence. "Wan man against the five," said the lit tle Gunner, squinting round at the circle which pressed behind him. "That was fightin', Byes." They growled their admiration and swore. Then they gathered in knots, discussing the shooting and the Slavs. Some of the Coeur d'Aleners began to advocate driving the Polish element out of camp, lynching one or two for luck. The heading boss heard the talk. He went to the door and placed his back against it. "Now," he ordered, "get to yer bunks, and them that does not belong here get out. There'll be no more trouble in this place." He stopped one or two of his own drill run ners trying to leave. "No downtown goes to night," said he. "If ye try ut, 111 send fer The Old Man." They grumbled at first, and some of the Coeur d'Aleners began talking loudly of their rights. This got on the nerves 68 THE HARD ROCK MAN of Jerry Morley and a few of the older hard rock men. "Who are you?" they demanded; "to be tryin to run this camp? Wait till ye're warm in yer jobs first." When the janitor was turning out the lights, the heading boss returned to Tom's bunk. "Are ye goin' to work in the marnin'?" he asked. Tom nodded. "I'm alright," he said. "Come inside," said the heading boss; "I'll put ye to helpin' ; we're short av men." Jerry Morley and The Gunner heard it, as they were passing by. "Give him to me," said the latter. "My helper's drunk and I shud be able to larn this wan somethin'." "Ye're in luck," said The Cartender, when they had gone. "The Gunner is the best run ner on the job." In his cottage on the hill, The Old Man told the story to his wife. They were in the lace- curtained little parlor, a room resplendent with a brussels carpet, velvet-upholstered furniture and oleograph pictures. Mrs. Ryan listened to it, and Nora, hearkening in the doorway, recognized from her father's description the uncouth Irishman in the queer high hat, whose THE HARD ROCK MAN 69 angry eyes had affronted her at the depot. In Ryan's tale of one man against five the one in peril of his life there was something that made her catch her breath. CHAPTER VIII AT a quarter before eight the next morn ing the shift gathered on the blacksmith shop platform by the tunnel portal. [The heading boss looked them over thoughtfully and felt good-natured as he realized that the majority of them were there. They crowded the plat form, big-framed men, in black oilskins, black squam hats and rubber boots. Behind them the blacksmith pulled his bellows, and the red light of his forge flared out through the wide doors on their rough faces. In front of them, across the narrow-gauge track, the power house hummed droningly and the big dynamos spat blue glare through the many-paned win dows. It spread over them weirdly. In these flickering lights they stood, somber-garmented, gigantic. Hard by the tunnel's black mouth yawned. Most of them were muckers, heavy-footed, heavy-faced. Standing apart from this som ber majority, the drill runners gathered by 70 THE HARD ROCK MAN 71 the shop door. In stature they were the largest of the crowd; their faces were alight with recklessness. As they talked, some of them puffed at short-stemmed briar pipes; others bit deeply into plugs of black tobacco and spat wantonly. Their laughter boomed. At intervals one raised his head to curse, and the oath hurtled from his lips like a missile. They talked apart from the crowd, like aris tocracy. Only their helpers mingled with them. They jested roughly. .The muck train emerged from the moun tain and stopped for the unloading of dull steel. A nipper boy threw the muddy drills to the platform. The short lengths clanged on the planks. He busied himself with the longer pieces and began raising a fourteen- foot drill slowly in his hands, upending it. The uppermost tip touched the trolley wire and the heavy current struck him like a giant's fist. He fell back, clear of the car, upon the platform. The drill-runners roared laughter. They slapped their heavy thighs and clapped one another's backs in terrific mirth. The boy picked himself up slowly and rubbed his body thoughtfully with his hands; then limped back 72 THE HARD ROCK MAN to his work, cursing them over his shoulder. Four of the Coeur d'Aleners were in the group of drill runners. They hung together, their mace-like chuck wrenches in their hands, talking loudly, more wantonly than any of the others. The Dynamiter was one of them. In his black oilskins, Kennedy loomed big; beneath his squam hat, his seamed face showed, with the perpetual frown between the bleared, gray eyes. Jerry Morley and The Gunner stood near him. At The Gunner's heels walked Tom, bigger than any of those about save Kennedy. He was listening eagerly to the talk, looking at the faces. And with the instinctive reaching out for first impressions which a man does among new surroundings, he noted that the Coeur d'Aleners showed sav age among these reckless men; almost sinister. The Gunner gave him a long-handled monkey wrench. "Hang onto this," he or dered, "and don't let anywan get ut from ye when ye're not lookinV "Got a new helper, Gunner?" It was Ken nedy. Looking into the bleared eyes, Tom saw the scowl between them deepen as The Dynamiter tried to smile. "Were ye lookin' THE HARD ROCK MAN 73 fer the greenest ye could get?" he continued. The Gunner ignored him. Already rivalry had arisen between the older runners of Snow- slide, the men of the public works, and these new comers from the mines, who had shown at once ability to handle the rock and prone- ness toward making trouble. He turned to Tom. "Come wit me to the machine shop," he said. "I want to show ye somethin'." In the machine shop the little man took a hurley drill, sent out for repairs, and bent over it. "This," he said, "is a slugger; what we use in the heading." He pointed out the dif ferent parts and named them. He made Tom repeat every name after him. "Now, mind," he ordered, "what I've showed ye. Some day we'll come here and I'll take wan to pieces and show ye the innards of her." Outside, the shift boss was ordering them aboard the train. "Ye're green, Lad," said The Gunner, squinting upward into Tom's face, as they went to join the others. "But ye'll larn. Pay no heed to them about ye, but listen to what I tell ye." They climbed into a car, and as the train lurched forward, Big Jerry bent toward Tom, 74 THE HARD ROCK MAN His voice boomed above the roaring of the wheels. He jerked his thumb toward The Gunner. "Mind what that little divil tells ye," he cried. "He's the best runner on the work." Abruptly, so that it obliterated him in the midst of a gesture, the tunnel's black ness closed around them. They were in complete 'darkness, roaring through a damp cavern, whose walls gave back hollow echoings; whose air swept by them, touching their cheeks, dank like the air of a cellar. Drops from the roof fell upon them. When they had ridden thus for a few moments, Tom saw points of light ahead. An incan descent glowed from the roof; then others, and he watched the plumb-posts on the side of the tunnel, a swift procession of shadowed col umns, passing endlessly toward the portal. The train stopped with a jerk and they climbed out. They were in 'front of a huge framework of heavy timbers. From the top of this, and from beneath it, a crowd of men came toward them, the shift whose places they were to take. They jostled by; their faces were black with oil and muck; their oilskins gleamed in the THE HARD ROCK MAN 75 lamplight. One of them called to The Gun ner; and while the two stood talking, the others went on, leaving Tom listening. There was an interval of heavy silence; then from ahead came a series of thunderous sounds, which swelled and blended in a reverberating chorus. The attack on the mountain had been resumed; the drills were at their work. The Gunner finished his conference with the drill runner whose machine he was to take, and beckoned Tom to follow him. They climbed up a ladder to the top of the timbered platform. It was half way between the floor and the roof of the tunnel. The Gunner placed his mouth near Tom's ear. "This," he shouted, and the words came faint, diminished by the noises about them, "is the jumbo." Tom looked around. Ahead of them a ledge of rock rose from the floor of the tun nel to the same level as that on which they stood. From the jumbo to the top of this ledge stretched a heavy gang plank; it was now crowded with a line of men wheeling muck in barrows. As these men gained the jumbo, they dumped the rock through chutes into cars that stood beneath. The Gunner 76 THE HARD ROCK MAN pointed to the ledge. At its foot muckers toiled; on its summit six tripod drills, swaying and trembling as their steel beat in the rock beneath them, united their iron voices in ter rific volley, like a battery of rapid-fire guns. On each tripod stood a black-clad runner, his right hand on the crank, his left hand on the valve key. Beneath, among the tripods' legs, the helpers bent their backs in toil. The Gun ner turned his face upward, as though to im part a secret. "The bench," he shouted. Ahead of the bench the place stretched fifty feet. The timbers ceased a little way beyond the jumbo and this end of the tunnel was a cavern, rock-walled, rock-roofed. On the roof, hung by its projections and by wooden pegs, a string of incandescent lamps gave yel low light. Beneath them now the line of wheelbarrows was passing toward the heading. They stopped at a heap of broken rock that rose within a few feet of the ceiling and shut out view of all beyond. From behind it came a mighty roar, deep, pulsating. It rose above the noises of the bench machines and over whelmed them. It made the air shudder, and THE HARD ROCK MAN 77 the very rock seemed to shake before it. It was the beat of the sluggers upon the heading's breast. To this place The Gunner hastened, Tom behind him. Passing between the drills on the summit of the bench, Tom saw the nearest runner on his rocking tripod, wreathed with mist of spent air from the exhaust, his huge body shaking with the jarring of the iron beneath him. The machine was running unevenly, bucking like a fractious horse. The man's face was placid, absorbed, as though he were listening to the noises. A helper hurried by, dragging a wire-bound air-hose. The coils caught on a rock; the man's mouth opened and his lips writhed, shap ing curses ; the cords of his neck swelled before the vocal effort; the oaths died soundless as they left his teeth. The line of muckers was passing down the gangway again, with their laden barrows. Always the crowd of laborers was sweating at the foot of the bench, shoveling away its broken rock. Everywhere men were crowd ing motion into small space and steel was !T8 THE HARD ROCK MAN smiting stone. Above it all came that deep thunder from behind the rock heap, forty feet away. They reached the place. At the base of the muck-heap men toiled with short-handled shovels; over its summit black air-hose wound like snakes. From behind it came the slug gers' pulsing roar. They^ clambered to the top. Ten feet ahead of them the tunnel ended. The interval was a narrow chamber, rock- floored, rock-roofed; on three sides walls of rock, on the fourth the muckheap. In this small space four iron columns stood side by side; on each column were two great air drills. They were horizontal, like cannon, eight thun dering engines bombarding the heading's breast the sluggers. The columns were four feet apart; between the upper and lower machines were three-feet intervals. They jammed the narrow space. In short, swift strokes, the drills plunged for ward and receded ceaselessly, always turning. The air valves spat cold, gray fog. It hung in a thick cloud. In the mist Tom saw the THE HARD ROCK MAN 79 helpers bend and crouch among the whirling chucks, that touched their fluttering garments, while the muck spouted on them from the driven holes and the valves spat black oil and ice fragments into their sweating faces. And he saw the runners, one at each slugger's crank, his face intent, as though he were listen ing to catch the harmonies of the titanic iron chorus, his eyes set forward, like the eyes of a gunner directing a rapid-fire cannon. On the low roof, among the column-tops, a cluster of incandescent lamps glowed through the fog, casting shadows and high lights upon the whole. Crouching on the top of the muck-pile, Tom felt the touch of The Gunner's elbow and saw the little man upraise his puckered face. He bent his head. "Phwat I want I sign fer wit me hands ; watch there, now." Following the gesture, Tom saw Big Jerry at the crank of an inside machine, move his free hand, as though he were pulling a lever. Immediately, the helper handed him a chuck wrench. Tom nodded comprehendingly. The Gunner brought his right hand before Tom's 80 THE HARD ROCK MAN face and twirled his fingers, as though he were turning a screw. "Monkey wrench," he screamed. They descended into the shuddering cham ber. The Gunner took the crank of the ma chine that hung beneath Big Jerry's. On the next column to the right, Tom saw The Dyna miter frowning ahead into the reek of fog and spatter of wet muck, his reckless face stern, as though he were in the thick of a battle. The Gunner whirled his crank until the drill sank to the bottom of the hole, whirled it back a few strokes, and twisted the valve key. The iron engine shook and the piston plunged slowly. The little man moved the valve key again and the piston slid more swiftly. He jerked it wide open and his slugger joined its thunder with the salvos of the others. He crouched, bent-backed, his legs half doubled Three feet above him, Big Jerry's air drill trembled with its efforts. Twisting his head, he listened to the medley of crashing noises, picking from among them those of his nra- chine, segregating these to see that each rang true. Tom knelt at The Gunner's back. A storm THE HARD ROCK MAN 81 of sound waves beat upon his ears. Men touched him, leaping to heavy toil; a few feet from him they were beating steel on steel. He was in the center of a tempest of strivings, in the vortex of a maelstrom of tremendous effort. He half shrank. Gradually the feeling went from him. The sounds ceased to oppress. He began to dis tinguish some of their components, and to see purpose in the swift movements about him. As this came, he began to desire to move him self, to take some part in this reckless labor. The Gunner twitched his air valve shut and crawled in beside his machine. Tom watched him as he freed the run-out steel and substi tuted a new one; then, at the little man's sign, he threw the old drill back over the muck-heap. After that he was idle again, occasionally do ing some slight service ; during the long inter vals watching and listening. When they were on the ten-foot steel, The Gunner bade him take the crank. He did so, and he felt all the forces trembling beneath his hand; he twirled it forward or checked its ad vance as the Gunner told him. Before he had done he had gotten some idea of the feeling 82 THE HARD ROCK MAN that tells how fast to feed the drill. Later in the day, he crawled between the working ma chines and extricated steel. He was fasci nated now by the heavy excitements; he had forgotten that there was any danger. In the afternoon they finished the round, and he helped The Gunner tear down the ma chine. He watched the other runners and their helpers loading their sluggers into wheel barrows, or bearing them laboriously away, one man at the crank, the other at the chuck. When theirs was ready, he signed The Gun ner to stand off, and he took the mass of iron on his shoulder. He strode down the narrow gangway to the jumbo, erect, moving easily. Men stared at him as he passed. " Strong as a mule," Big Jerry shouted, when he returned to the heading. The others laughed, save Kennedy, whose lip ends drooped downward in something like a sneer. "What's wrong wit him?" Tom asked The Cartender that night. "He knows The Gunner an' Big Jerry has no time fer him an' his gang," said The Car- tender. "Like as not ut's made him sore at ye." CHAPTER IX "YE'RE gettin' tough," The Cartender said one evening, a few weeks later. Tom grinned; he rather liked the accusa tion. He was working on "graveyard" now, the shift that goes on at midnight and does not come out until morning, and Tom had fallen into the habit of loafing for an hour or two in the white sunlight before he went to sleep, often walking down on the dump to talk with his broad-faced friend. He had done so this morning, and while they talked he had bitten into a plug of black tobacco, provoking the remark. He had learned the habit from the men about him eagerly as he had learned many other things. For they were to him ideals these hard-faced men, who toiled recklessly; where the sluggers thundered in the forefront of the advance against the mountain. Every day, as they went to work, he stood near their little circle on the blacksmith shop platform 83 84 THE HARD ROCK MAN and listened to their talk. And in the hours of leisure he often hung around the bunk- house stove, hearkening to them while they "drove tunnel," absorbing their stories of toil and death and wild debauch. The desire to learn, instinctive within him, born of the larger instincts that made him hungry to be of the men and of the place, reached out these days to seize new things. He metamorphosed rapidly. The manner of his speaking was first to change. The tongue of the men of Snowslide was of mongrel origin, for the most part Irish- American. It was rich in oaths ; slang born of the work lent it vigor. Fundamentally, it was a language of terse expression. Tom acquired it quickly; he picked up its idioms, its oaths. He learned to swear and his voice took on depth. Gradually, his bearing was changing with his speech. The eagerness born of newness was leaving him, to be replaced by recklessness. The work was the biggest factor in this change. The tunnel was a place of huge, rapid action. They drove the hole into the mountain with utter lack of deliberation, work- THE HARD ROCK MAN 85 ing swiftly for progress. When the most eager miners would have stopped to wait for timbers, they went on ahead and dared the shaking roof to crash down upon them. The drill runners drove their machines to finish each round of holes as soon as possible, racing to see who should get done first. The nar row space between the muck-pile and the head ing's breast teemed with multiplied and heavy excitements; in it the simplest task was preg nant with possibilities of danger ; performance of ordinary duties demanded absence of all reflection. In this place Tom learned to worm his way between the plunging chucks, with the frozen breath of the exhausts coughing against his cheeks, and he liked it. He liked the chaos of sound that shook the rock about him. He handled steel and saw it crush the granite, and when they shot he carried giant powder to Big Jerry and The Gunner and helped them whittle it for the insertion of exploders. After the shot had pulled he was always at The Gunner's heels, among the first to enter the heading, reeking now with nitro gases that made the blood pound madly through his veins. 86 THE HARD ROCK MAN Gradually he was acquiring knowledge. Watching the men about him and listening to The Gunner's counselings, he came to know the sounds that rang true and the sounds that spelled trouble; to know by the crank's feeling what was going on in the hidden depths of the granite, where his plunging steel was biting its way. With the knowledge was coming greater daring. The race on his shift was a grim one. The Coeur d'Aleners and the hard rock men made up equal proportions of the men in the heading; each element had one side of the chamber. Every day they toiled desperately to see which side should finish first. Big Jerry and The Gunner were by far the ablest runners on their side. Kennedy was most skilful of his men. Thus thrown into the thick of the striving for prestige, Tom became imbued with the spirit of the place, a spirit which demands lack of any recking. And so he grew to rather seeking than avoiding danger. His mind was always on the tunnel, on rock and steel and rending dyna mite, until learning them better, it had gotten something of their hardness and violence. He THE HARD ROCK MAN 87 swaggered slowly as he walked; he looked men boldly in the eyes. Another month passed and they went on afternoon shift. He had his mornings to him self. But he did not spend so much time as he had planned with The Cartender. He had found new friends. Big Jerry and The Gun ner were closest of these. With these two, he sometimes visited the town, the row of flimsy board buildings, whose flamboyant signs were always fluttering in the wind. He drank across the unpainted bars and watched the others drinking, no longer wondering at what he saw, looking at it with steady eyes. Pay day night he was on his way to the dance halls, when he met The Cartender, who looked at him curiously and repeated his com ment of a few weeks before. "Ye're gettin' tough," The Cartender said dispassionately. "The hell I am," said Tom. "They tell me," said The Cartender, "Ye rowed wit Big Kennedy in the headin' to-day an' told the boss to go to hell when he stopped ye." : 'Twas Kennedy told him that," said Tom; "not me. And 'twas no row. He'd tuk me 88 THE HARD ROCK MAN chuck wrench and whin I got lit back he wanted throuble." "Your chuck wrench," said The Cartender. "Humph! Annywan wud think ye had a ma chine av yer own." "So I have," said Tom. "The boss give me wan to-day. Come on; we'll have a drink on the strenth av ut." The Cartender grinned. "I said ye was gettin' tough," he reiterated. Tom swag gered slowly beside him down the dump. When they reached the first saloon he slapped his money on the bar top and called Big Jerry and The Gunner to join him. They clapped him on the back and swore at his good luck. They told him he could run a machine with any of them. They bade him drink with them. It was an hour later when The Cartender got him to leave. " 'Tis not the dhrink," Tom remonstrated. "I want to see thot Dynamiter, Kinnedy, He's been sayin' he is the betther man av us." "Never mind Kennedy," said The Car- tender. "Leave that be fer the headin'. He may show ye things there yet. Come wit me now; I want to go to the post-office." CHAPTER X DOCTOR"' was a tall man, dark-eyed, with a good figure and rather handsome face. The face was marked by a bottle-nose. This distinguishing feature had been slowly and carefully developed by its owner, who was rather proud of it than otherwise. To him it suggested associations like an honorable scar. It was a perpetual reminder of past victories. For The Doctor cherished the tradition that a gentleman must be a man of hard head "A good drinking man," was the way he put it. During the years he had spent in following the railroad's progress this idea had strengthened, until he had come to a point where he used an alcoholic test on his acquaintances and abided by its result in determining their proper posi tion in life. He carefully scanned every man who roused his interest; then tried him out with Scotch whiskey of a special brand, which he imported by; the case. After the candidate 89 90 THE HARD ROCK MAN for friendship had undergone this process he was always spoken of by The Doctor with a varying degree of warmth as: merely, "A drinking man," "A good drinking man," or this last in rare instances, and always pro nounced admiringly "An excellent drinking man." A very few, whose talents or accom plishments in other lines of life made up for their shortcomings over the bottle, he retained, but always shook his head a little sadly when he mentioned their names. The tests were always conducted in The Doctor's little parlor, back of the store. Like initiations to certain secret fraternities, they were always carried out as the result of invita tions from the initiator. The novice was never apprised of the ordeal's approach. He found himself some day asked to sit down and have a chat; and then he saw the bottle and the glasses placed before him. After that it was a case of temperament and physical endurance. As soon as he showed the first symptoms of suc cumbing he found himself dismissed most courteously; the test had been completed; he was listed in his category. He departed, The Doctor bidding him hospitable farewell and at THE HARD ROCK MAN 91 the same time making the new mental entry in his classified blue book. In this manner many men had drunk be neath The Doctor's watchful eye, he keeping pace religiously beside them, glass for glass, He was almost as democratic as the bestow- ers of the Victoria Cross. One or two bench and heading bosses had high places on his roll. On the other hand, the resident engineer, who had left the drug store a little uncertainly one evening, remained thenceforth among those who were never again invited into the sanctum; and this in spite of the fact that he was the one man on the work to whose word the superintendent had to give heed. It was whis pered that there were men now high in the gen eral offices in St. Paul who still boasted of the manner in which, during days of the road's construction, they had emerged from The Doctor's sitting room. The payday on which Tom got his first machine remained memorable with several people. On that day The Old Man under went initiation. Ryan had been in Snowslide more than a year and he had never been in vited to the test before. The importance of 92 THE HARD ROCK MAN his position and the aggressiveness of his per sonality had made The Doctor slow to act. This thing was too grave to undertake in any hasty spirit. He had waited, and waiting he had come to close acquaintance with The Old Man, who had visited the post office nearly every day of his life. With anyone else this acquaintance would have long since become friendship, but The Doctor had reserve. He studied Ryan, almost gloating in the anticipa tion of what was to come. This afternoon he decided that the time was auspicious. It was raining, outside, a mountain rain, fit ful wet gusts with intervals of quiet clearness. The Old Man carried his umbrella; it was a silk umbrella with an ornate gold handle whose heavy knob was known by almost everyone in camp. Ryan stood it in a corner when The Doctor conducted him into the little parlor. He sat down and watched the bringing forth of the bottle and the glasses. "Hell," he said in a dismayed tone, "my wife's lukkin' fer me back in the half hour." The Doctor smiled there was something inexorable in the smile he had heard similar protests before. The Old Man read the look THE HARD ROCK MAN 93 and knew what lay ahead of him. He rose and removed his overcoat; he laid it carefully over the back of a chair ; sat down and sighed heavily. The Doctor raised his eyes. "There's some things," explained The Old Man, "ye don't want to take wit a run and a jump. Best go to this serious, like a man does a day's work takin' his dinner bucket along." The Doctor smiled at the tribute and filled the glasses. "I just come from The Headmaster's pri vate car," said Ryan tentatively. "He was up on the sidin'. We had a few bottles av beer together. I misdoubt but " "A good drinkin' man," said The Doctor impressively, "never lets a little thing like beer disturb his mind." He raised his glass. There was a glint of fire in The Old Man's eye as he raised his own. "Here's how!" he said. It was more than two hours later when Ryan and The Doctor rose from their chairs. "Me elbow," said the former, "is lame wit crookin' ut." The Doctor gazed at him admiringly and shook his head. "You are a wonder, Mr. Ryan," he said slowly. 94 THE HARD ROCK MAN iThe Old Man struggled into his overcoat and picked up his hat. Of a sudden he changed color. "My wife," he said, "I'd clean f ergot; I must be goin'." Half way up the dump it occurred to him that he had forgotten his umbrella. He halted to retrace his steps; then changed his mind. "I'd best be gettin' home now," he muttered, "and have a bite av supper." He hurried to the house and found it empty. In the little parlor The Doctor rubbed his hands and thought of Ryan. "My word," he said, "what a head!" His own head rang a little ; it was the first time in many years. The more he thought of it the more his admiration grew. His eye lit on the umbrella by the door. He chuckled; that was the only sign of weak ness he had discovered. He took the umbrella and placed it on the counter determining to send it to The Old Man by the first drill runner who might come in. Then he busied himself sorting the mail for the eastbound train. As he worked he hummed a song that he had heard in a music hall twenty years before. It was a catchy song not too polite. He smiled frequently to himself never had THE HARD ROCK MAN 95 tHere been a test like this. He grew enthu siastic thinking of it. He was in a mellow mood ; a wave of good feeling toward mankind in general, had come over him; and details were of small importance. Outside the rain came on again. It whipped the windows angrily. The door opened and Snowslide Ann came in. Like The Doctor, Snowslide Ann had fol lowed the railroad many years. She had worked in every dance hall from the days of McCarthyville, when they were driving the tunnel through the summit of the Rockies. She had always been a good customer and the tradesman part of The Doctor liked her. The two had an impersonal acquaintance that had grown close with time. He looked around the little barrier of lock-boxes and saw her. "Helloa Ann," he said. "My word, you're wet!" She shook the rain from her flimsy gown. "Lend me this umbrella, Doc?" she asked. "Certainly," he said and waved his hand, "with pleasure." Gesture and words were at once courtly and savoring of comradeship. She giggled. "Thanks, awfully," said she. 96 THE HARD ROCK MAN "Don't mention it, Ann," replied the Doc tor, "and, I say, see that I get it back as soon as possible, will you, please?" He went on sorting the mail, humming the impolite song as she departed. Outside the door Snowslide Ann raised the umbrella. Her eyes fell on the ornate handle. "Gee!" she said, "that's swell." Carefully she grasped the handle well up so that the gold knob would be sure to show in all its splendor. She held it against the red gown and her eyes dwelt upon the combination of the two colors as she walked proudly past the restaurant and the grocery store. Looking thus with ad miration fixed and pride swelling within her, she did not see the red-faced, broad-shouldered woman whose gaze was hardening on the big knob. The two of them would have collided had not Mrs. Ryan somewhat elaborately drawn aside, holding her skirts close to her. When she had passed Snowslide Ann, Mrs. Ryan turned and stared at woman and um brella. Then she spoke to the girl beside her. "Come Nora," she said through tightened lips, "we'll be going home. If your father's not there now, we'll wait for him." THE HARD ROCK MAN 97 An hour later when Snowslide Ann sent the umbrella back to the postoffice, The Doc tor was talking to Tom and The Cartender, who had just come in. He looked up a trifle disturbed, as he took it and turned to Tom, "Mr. Morton," he said, "would you mind do ing me a favor?" "I will that," said Tom. The Doctor handed him the umbrella. "Just take this to Ryan's house," said he, "and give it to him with my compliments." When Tom had gone he sighed relief. "I'm glad he didn't come back after it while she was gone with it," he reflected. On the front porch of Ryan's cottage Tom stood for a brief moment, waiting for the an swer to his knock, The Cartender beside him. Nora opened the door and her eyes lit upon the umbrella handle in Tom's grasp. They went to Tom and her face grew very cold. Tom caught the look. His hand had gone to his squam hat; it lingered there awkwardly while he began to deliver the message. "I brought ut," he was saying, "fer ." A heavier foot than Nora's sounded in the door way and Mrs. Ryan pushed her daughter 98 THE HARD ROCK MAN aside. She said nothing; her face was very red. She reached out and snatched the um brella from Tom's hand. iThen she slammed the door. For a moment Tom stood staring at the closed door. He turned to The Cartender and saw him staring too, open mouthed. He wheeled and walked away, The Cartender at his heels. The latter was first to speak. "I wonder," he said slowly, "what was wrong?" "Wrong," growled Tom, "there's nawthin' wrong. They think they're too good fer the loikes av us; that's all." CHAPTER XI IN the murky heading the runners cranked the roaring sluggers, elbow to elbow, knee to knee, as jockeys ride the last stretch of a close- run race. As jockeys urge their horses to a final bursting effort, they crowded the steel to its uttermost into the ringing granite. For the first man down was the best. Always there was this rivalry, with prestige for the swift, and for him who fell behind too often, relegation to the tripods of the bench. And prestige spelt mastery as plainly in Snowslide as in other places. Until the advent of the Coeur d'Aleners, Big Jerry and The Gunner had always held the lead and the others had always looked up to them. Now that there were the two factions, the hard rock men and these exiled miners led by Ken nedy, the race had come to be between The Dynamiter's machine and The Gunner's. Tom had keenly felt the spirit of this race. 99 100 THE HARD ROCK MAN He had bent his back eight hours a day doing his part to help win it. And watching it he had studied each man's method. Toiling at The Gunner's beck, hearkening to his instruc tions, Tom had learned many things from the little one-eyed man. With his eyes on Ken nedy he had seen also the deliberation of method, the absolute certainty before going ahead that characterizes the men of the mines. Like The Gunner, The Dynamiter had a knowledge of the rock that was almost un canny, that made his fingers, as they touched the jarring crank, see for him into the granite where the hidden steel was plunging. Some of these methods of judgment Tom had got ten from him. It was only from the sides of his eyes that he had gotten them. For the rivalry between the factions was stern and often when Kennedy withdrew his steel from a clean hole, Tom saw his fierce eyes alight with quiet triumph glancing at The Gunner still busy on a twelve-foot length. They had no speech together, only these sidelong looks of triumph or contempt. The morning after payday Tom entered the heading to find a change. The Gunner THE HARD ROCK MAN 101 and Jerry were not there. Tarrying down town with them in the dance halls were the two other runners on their side. Taking the place of these, Tom saw men from the bench, unaccustomed to the sterner conditions of the heading and its heavier machines. The shift was finishing the setting up, and there was no tumult of sound to drown their words. Kennedy in the midst of his Coeur d'Aleners was able to make himself heard plainly as he growled, "It's up to us to do what runnin's done, byes." He looked at Tom as he said it and smiled unpleasantly. For all the anger that flared within him, Tom felt as a boy feels, learning to swim, when the hand beneath his body has been sud denly withdrawn, and he finds himself floun dering alone. As he busied himself bolting up his machine, then pointing it, he realized how easy working at another's command had been; how heavy was decision. He realized it many times that day with a raw helper al ways looking to him for orders, often failing to comprehend them. And he had a hopeless feeling long before Kennedy ran down his last steel grinning at him in open derision. 102 THE HARD ROCK MAN It was a full half hour later when he finished his. The Coeur d'Aleners loaded the round when ever that duty fell to the day shift now. Usu ally they began it while one or two of the hard rock contingent were still sweating to tear down their machines. There was no racing now. The month went on; Big Jerry and The Gunner did not come back. The former drifted to another shift, the latter took the place of the bench boss who had been injured by a falling rock, and Tom saw him only go ing out or coming in to work. The heading limped along unevenly. The Walker fell to coming in to hasten matters; he would stand behind the slower runners frowning at them between heavy brows, occasionally roaring curses that carried through the thunder of the sluggers. The thing became known through the camp; off the work men from other gangs gibed Tom and his companions. Tom said nothing to them, though the discrepancy be tween his machine and Kennedy's was greater than that between any other two. But he talked to The Gunner about it almost every evening, listening carefully to what the little THE HARD ROCK MAN 103 man told him. And he talked to his helper. Sometimes he stopped his drill to do it in the midst of the work. Toward the end of the month a change be gan to come. The bench men had learned their business now and were crowding their steel along until they ran a close race with the Coeur d'Aleners. But Tom still lagged behind The Dynamiter and seemed content to let Kennedy win easily. The heading boss came to scowling as he looked at them. Then the month ended and they went on "grave yard." The first night as they gathered in the shad ows on the blacksmith shop platform, black- clad giants in the sombre place, Tom drew his helper aside, and whispered at length into his ear. The helper listened and at intervals he nodded earnestly. He had learned his bus iness now. Kennedy saw it and laughed a sneering laugh. But when he reached the heading he lost no time in hurrying to the machine. And the others seemed to feel it for they watched the two men as they pre pared to start. It was shaky rock, full of slips and faults, 104 THE HARD ROCK MAN seams where the granite had rotted, streaming water. This is the hardest of running; it re quires most careful judgment. Overhead the roof hung precariously. For two days huge masses had been peeling away, crashing down in spite of blocking. A half a dozen men had suffered injuries and several had leaped aside from the path of annihilation. In spite of the hour The Old Man was inside with The Walker looking at the timbering above the bench. The two of them stayed while the heading machines were starting. They came to the muckpile and sat upon its summit watch ing them. There were only four machines running in the heading this night. Tom and The Dyna miter stood at the two inside ones, four feet apart. Each of them was at his hole's be ginning. They stood, two broad-backed gi ants, the big shoulders of each bent slightly forward as he watched his helper, while the two helpers sprang upon the chucknuts and grunted, bending their bodies to the long- handled wrenches. Standing thus, one big hand on the idle crank, one on the valve key, the face of each was motionless, intent upon THE HARD ROCK MAN 105 the helper. Each held his lips tight shut, his head thrust slightly forward upon the corded neck. About them the other sluggers beat huge diapasons. Thick drops fell on them from the sweating roof. The fog of the spent air mantled their black-clad bodies. Oil black ened their faces; it gleamed beneath the in- candescents upon their cheeks. The two helpers sprang back. The two arms whirled the easing cranks. The hands twitched at the valve keys. The sluggers muttered sullenly like ugly animals of iron and beat the granite in slow strokes. The hands upon the valve keys twitched again. The mutter loudened and the blows increased. Again the twitching of the big hands and the drills roared, tearing their way into the head ing's breast. "It seems to me I know the face of him," The Old Man cried into Tarpy's ear. "Who is that Mick, Jack?" "Gunner Flynn's old helper," shouted The Walker. "The wan that licked them Polacks." The Old Man nodded and shifted his eyes to the roof. At once he nudged The Walker with his elbow and pointed upward. A mass 106 THE HARD ROCK MAN of rock had loosened; the seam showed where it hung, a suspended menace. It might fall the next minute; it might endure for hours. Tarpy saw and called the heading boss. Tom and Kennedy were on their four-foot steel when the heading boss stepped between them and touched each of them on the shoulder. With him were two laborers who bore a huge, thick post. Both runners followed the fore man's gesture and glanced at the roof. The suspended rock was fair above them. Whether it would fall if it fell between them or upon them both, was an open question. Their eyes lingered briefly upon it and grew scornful. They turned to the heading boss and The Old Man saw them arguing; The Dynamiter clenched his fist and shook it in the foreman's face. "What's this?" Ryan shouted. The heading boss came over to The Walker. "They will not stop," he cried, and the thunder of the two machines, starting in unison, drowned the rest of his sentence. He raised his voice: "They're afther seein' who is best man," he shouted. "Oho," cried Ryan. "Go to it then, ye div- THE HARD ROCK MAN 107 ils!" he yelled at the two broad backs. "Let's stay and watch ut," he called in Tarpy's ear. The Walker laughed. "A merry race," he cried, and jerked his thumb at the impending roof. "Let the best win." Tom nor Kennedy looked around. Their eyes were straight ahead. They were running neck and neck; and a moment later both help ers ducked in together to withdraw the four- foot drills and clamp the six-foot steel in the resting chucks. Together they slipped back and the two sluggers again began their crash ing song. Half way down this length Ken nedy withdrew his drill and slipped an iron nut into the hole. In- this manner a runner makes his steel bite into the face of the rock where it is parted by a seam. The interrup tion gave Tom a marked advantage. He was well down toward the end of the six foot when Kennedy began again. But a moment later he stopped his machine and did as The Dyna miter had done. "Hell," shouted Ryan, "the rock is stayin' even wit them." He whipped a look at the roof and the exultation faded from his face; it became very grave. The hanging mass had 108 THE HARD ROCK MAN separated a hair's breadth from the rock that held it, a barely perceptible interval had begun to show. Even as he looked it seemed to widen a little. He nudged Tarpy. "Lave them be," The Walker called back; "they'd fight the man that touched either av them; lave them run ut out or go to hell as they please." Ryan shook his head but he made no answer. After that he watched the patch of shaky roof as much as he did the two men beneath it as though the mass of rock were a third contestant in the race. On the eight-foot length Kennedy forged ahead. He was running in even hard rock and he cranked her down as fast as the steel would bite its way. Tom's drill, hampered by some soft ground, was progressing haltingly and he lost precious time nursing it along. On the ten-foot The Dynamiter struck a small fault which Tom did not find and they drew together again. The Old Man bent to Tarpy's ear. "If that Mick don't beat this here mine wrecker," he cried, "I'll throw him aff the end of the dump in the marnin'." His face was aflame with excitement. Then he cast his eyes over- THE HARD ROCK MAN 109 head and became silent; he frowned uneasily. Neither Tom nor Kennedy had looked any where save into the murk before them. They were holding their idle cranks now while the helpers clamped the twelve-foot steel and The Dynamiter for the first time let his eyes wander. He saw The Old Man staring at the ceiling. He laughed and spat; then touched Tom on the shoulder and pointed to the loosened rock. It hung as it had hung for some time begin ning to peel away, ready to rend free at any moment and crash down upon them. Tom glanced at it then looked at The Dynamiter's face, cleft deep with scowling lines, black with oil, derisive. His eyes narrowed and without any other change of expression he turned to his machine. A moment later they were pounding down the twelve-foot steel. Both machines were running fair and free to all appearances, sway ing slowly, regularly from side to side with their even play when Tom shut off his air. His drill slowed in a midstroke and stopped. He touched his helper on the shoulder and gestured briefly with his right hand. The man crawled in beside the slugger Kennedy's 110 THE HARD ROCK MAN chuck touched his loose oilskin coat as it tore its whirling way and began loosening the nuts that held the drill. "Green!" The Old Man shouted,