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, <c thinkin' 
 of slips when there is none. He's beat now." 
 
 "Wait a bit," The Walker told him, "Gun 
 ner Flynn says the lad knows all he does. Be 
 aisy." 
 
 Tom was holding the drill by its flaring 
 end, looking at the bit. He nodded to his 
 helper; while the man got a fresh steel from 
 the pile behind them Tom fumbled in his 
 pocket and took out an iron nut. He crept 
 forward and rammed this into the driven hole. 
 The helper slipped in the new drill after it. 
 Tom half -opened the air valve and let this 
 one pound slowly against the piece of metal. 
 He looked across at Kennedy and smiled. 
 The Dynamiter was withdrawing his steel, run 
 now to its full length. He met the slow, sure 
 smile with a sneer. 
 
 A shower of loose particles fell from the 
 hanging rock; it rattled down between them. 
 Neither noticed it; or if they noticed, neither 
 heeded. 
 
 While Kennedy was feeding the fourteen- 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 111 
 
 foot steel, Tom looked again. His own 
 machine was running full speed on the last of 
 the twelve. The Dynamiter's air valve had 
 begun coughing irregularly. As Tom looked, 
 the helper sprang forward, crouching, a bar of 
 iron in his hand, and began beating upon the 
 binding drill. 
 
 The Walker nudged Ryan, "What did I 
 tell ye?" he cried, "he's struck that slip." 
 
 "Struck ut," growled Ryan to himself, "I 
 think he's been on ut this five minutes witout 
 knowin' ut. 'Tis that that hurry does." 
 
 "Stuck fast," he muttered a moment later. 
 
 Kennedy's machine was still. The Dyna 
 miter was wrestling alongside his helper to 
 free the drill from the hole in whose recesses 
 it had wedged itself. 
 
 While the two men were still striving, Tom's 
 helper tossed the last drill back over the muck- 
 heap. And when Tom came back from the 
 jumbo where he had borne his inert slugger, 
 The Dynamiter closed his air valve for the 
 releasing of the fourteen-foot length. He 
 stepped aside just as the mass of granite 
 crashed down where he had been. 
 
 "That," said Ryan to Tarpy on their way to 
 
112 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 the portal, "is the last bit of foolishness I'll 
 stand for. If ever ye see or hear of anny fool 
 doing the likes again and don't fire him on 
 the spot, I'll fire ye." 
 
 The Walker listened gravely, " 'Twas wort' 
 the watchin' annyhow," he said, "even if ut did 
 keep us up till daylight." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THAT was the winter for which Snowslide is 
 best remembered. Old-time drill runners, 
 "driving tunnel" around stoves of far-off 
 camps still tell of it; the winter of the forty- 
 foot drifts at the summit, of the pneumonia 
 epidemic, the falling rock and the big free 
 fight. 
 
 Gray clouds hung low among the hidden 
 peaks and the air was heavy with flakes for 
 days at a time. Trains stuck in foothill cuts 
 and the camp was out of the world for long in 
 tervals. Chinook winds swept lazily inland 
 and ate the snow in a night. Right after them 
 came zero weather; and the damp air, suddenly 
 congealed to sharpness, left sickness in the 
 bunk-houses. It was the winter of which they 
 tell when the carelessly buried dead appeared in 
 the camp's little graveyard among the hem 
 locks on the mountain side at every thaw. 
 Shaking rock masses peeled away from the 
 113 
 
114 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 heading roof three times that winter, crushing 
 men as they fell. A heading runner, muck 
 ing out after a shot, thrust his pickpoint into 
 a stick of unexploded dynamite and vanished 
 utterly taking half a dozen others with him. 
 A sombre gray winter of fatalities, and there 
 was no sun. 
 
 It was a winter of restlessness and disor 
 ganization. Men growled over the quality of 
 the food and quit good jobs for no tangible 
 reason. The lust for moving on the curse 
 of the hard rock men, the necessary affliction 
 that made them ready to go anywhere where 
 progress called for labor descended upon 
 many. Twenty drill runners disappeared one 
 payday and it was three months before the 
 first of them came drifting back. By bunk- 
 house stoves these prodigals told of work in 
 sunny California, of work in Alaska, where 
 wages ran to eight and ten dollars a day, and 
 of work at Galveston where gulf breezes had 
 fanned their cheeks. The tales made their au 
 ditors restless. Rumors of other jobs were 
 spreading constantly and getting serious dis 
 cussion; jobs in far places, inviting because 
 the distance was great; jobs with fabulous 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 115 
 
 wages magnified by those who discoursed upon 
 them. 
 
 Tom heard the talk; he listened to it many; 
 evenings. It made something stir within him, 
 something which he did not understand, a 
 vague blood movement that kept him restless 
 nights and roused dissatisfaction when he was 
 at work. He wanted to go somewhere else ; he 
 had been here too long. Twice when he drew 
 his check it was only the accident of snowbound 
 trains that held him to the camp. 
 
 That winter Jerry Morley got a shift 
 of hard-fisted, reckless runners and left the 
 job with the most of them to loaf for weeks 
 in the Gem dance hall, until they gave the 
 place so hard a name that Jack Tarpy, The 
 Walker, led a storming party to drive the rev 
 elers back to work. In Mexican deserts and 
 beneath the shadows of Alaskan glaciers they 
 sing epics of that fight to-day. It was the 
 big payday, the one that came two weeks late 
 because of delayed trains. 
 
 Other paydays stood out in Snowslide's his 
 tory; above them all the one in March of that 
 year. The hemlock forests were black below 
 the glistening summits that afternoon. In 
 
116 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 the canyon soggy drifts had grown dull gray. 
 The breeze from seaboard carried damp 
 warmth. It was heavy with that mournful 
 laziness of air that makes the blood stir in the 
 veins and brings memories of places which one 
 has never seen. In the darkening afternoon it 
 sighed among the hemlocks, and the shift 
 emerging from the tunnel's depths stared 
 vaguely off into the whispering branches above 
 the gray snow. One or two of the men halted 
 and lifted their faces, snuffing as horses smell 
 the air. 
 
 They were big men, strong with the animal 
 within them. They were close to the earth. 
 It moved them subtly ; they did not know how. 
 This first touch of spring, lowering from dark, 
 damp skies, fell over them and enwrapped 
 them like a blanket. It was the call of grasses 
 in their first stirring to uncurl beneath the 
 snow, of unborn flowers, of fair skies still un 
 cleared; the summons of the season, that had 
 always bidden their forbears, but little rougher 
 and little hairier than themselves, to pick up 
 their spears and wander. The earth called, 
 and as the call reached them they became 
 vaguely discontent. 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 117 
 
 Tom strode among them his big face to the 
 breeze, his eye set far away. He was uneasy; 
 the feeling that had come over him in the win 
 ter when he hearkened to the tales of other 
 places, was with him now; that and something 
 more. He walked in silence and suddenly he 
 caught his breath without knowing why. The 
 stirring air carried by a faint whiff of balsam. 
 High overhead came the call of wild geese 
 speeding northward. 
 
 There were sixty of the shift, walking to 
 gether to the depot where their checks awaited 
 them. And as each man left the station win 
 dow he went straight toward the town. The 
 Old Man, gossiping with The Doctor in the 
 postoffice, heard the tramp of their passing 
 feet and looked around at them. He knew 
 them as they did not know themselves. He 
 turned to The Doctor. 
 
 "There'll be hell to pay to-night," said he. 
 
 He was of their breed; his body had grown 
 big living their life. He stepped to the door 
 and the soft, warm breeze came to his nostrils. 
 He sniffed it. Looking upward suddenly, 
 "wild geese," he said. He stood there in the 
 doorway; while the men trooped by. "Hell to 
 
118 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 pay," he repeated half to himself. The heavy 
 air fanned his cheek carrying damp odors of 
 the hidden earth. He looked in at The Doc 
 tor, "I'm goin' to stay; downtown an' watch 
 ut," he muttered. 
 
 The row of flimsy wooden buildings that 
 comprised the town showed like a yellow scar 
 against the gray snow. OBef ore them the side 
 walk shook to the tramp of heavy feet. Over 
 head the cloth signs billowed lazily and 
 ragged streamers from their edges fluttered 
 carelessly. Within the wide doors, the long 
 rooms were filling. Groups of men talked 
 noisily before the unpainted pine bars. The 
 bartenders polished their glasses steadily, get 
 ting ready for the long night's work ; they were 
 beady-eyed men with hair plastered tight over 
 their low foreheads. At the green-clothed ta 
 bles the lead- faced gamblers ran their stacks of 
 chips together between their long, white fingers, 
 making a clicking noise; the sound came cease 
 lessly, suggestive of the chips that made it, 
 alluring. In the rear where the raised floors 
 extended back beneath acetylene lamps, knots 
 of dance hall women were smoking cigarettes 
 and laughing mirthlessly at nothing. 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 119 
 
 the station window the last of the wait 
 ing line was melting before the agent's swift 
 payments. He was a lean-faced man with 
 hollow cheeks and lack-lustre eyes; he had 
 nothing in common with the men whom he 
 served; his world was far apart from theirs, 
 along the message-laden wires that paralleled 
 the track. He shoved each paper check 
 through the window with an air of weary in 
 difference. As he got his slip, the laborer 
 stepped to one side, unfolded it, and departed, 
 and another took his place. It was like ma 
 chinery. Tom waited his turn among the last, 
 his helper behind him. "Kennedy is drunk," 
 the helper was saying, "he's been downtown 
 since morning." 
 
 Tom nodded vaguely; he was thinking of 
 other things. His mind was wandering to 
 places that he had never seen, of which he had 
 never heard. He felt the heaviness of his 
 blood, the surcharged life within him, the ac 
 cumulation of winter's storage of heat and 
 strength. It pulsed in every vein; it made his 
 limbs leaden like a laziness ; it made him rest 
 less, demanding that it be unloaded. Far off, 
 in the forest male animals were moving through! 
 
120 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 the damp snow, rubbing their fur against the 
 tree trunks, snuffing the heavy air, growling 
 with the desire of the season to fight one an 
 other for their mates, preparing instinctively 
 for their first wanderings. Tom felt a wave 
 of disgust for the work, its steady monotony, 
 for the black hole reverberating with noises, 
 for the camp, the cook-house where he ate 
 coarse food, the bunk-house where he slept be 
 tween heavy blankets. He yawned and 
 stretched his big arms wearily. 
 
 "Lookin' fer trouble," he heard the helper 
 say. 
 
 He took his place at the window. "Who's 
 lukkin' fer throuble?" he asked half irritably 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 "Kennedy," said the helper eagerly, "I've 
 been tellin' ye, he." 
 
 Tom turned his check in his hand. "To hell 
 wit Kennedy," he growled. "Lave him be." 
 
 He walked away alone, up the track. All 
 winter he and Kennedy had run side by side, 
 racing in the heading. Sometimes Tom had 
 won and sometimes The Dynamiter. As the 
 season had worn on the former had slowly 
 forged ahead. Most often of late it had been 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 he who had torn down his machine first. And 
 yet there remained open the question of supe 
 riority between them. The rivalry had not 
 subsided; it had grown. They still toiled side 
 by side, elbow close to elbow, never speaking, 
 the eyes of each taking sidelong note of the 
 other's progress. And there had grown in 
 evitably; born of the rivalry and the innate dif 
 ferences in these men, differences which made 
 each antagonistic to the other a deeper feel 
 ing. The men about them had seen this, and 
 because these two were the biggest men in 
 camp, the camp had come to know it. And 
 now, knowing the thing that must come from 
 it, the camp was waiting for this thing the 
 ultimate settlement of physical superiority, the 
 testing of man against man, the fight. 
 
 But Tom was not thinking of Kennedy now. 
 The camp lay ahead of him, the cluster of pine 
 buildings, the bunk-house and the cook-house. 
 He had a fixed idea of going there ; he intended 
 to put by all of this check; perhaps he might 
 see some good chance calling him elsewhere 
 this month. But the thought of these build 
 ings revolted him; he was sick of them. 
 
 From the upper air came a wild, minor note; 
 
18S THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 a male brandt leading his flock northward was 
 summoning the laggards where the widespread 
 triangle flared. Tom halted in his tracks. 
 The heavy breeze touched his cheeks in soft 
 caress. Then he heard a burst of sound and 
 he glanced whence it had come, toward the row 
 of unpainted wooden buildings. In the post- 
 office door he saw The Old Man gazing up 
 ward at the sky. He saw the crowd on the 
 board sidewalk; from a wide-open door came 
 a medley of noises, scuffing of many feet, 
 tinkle of a piano, a shout of laughter. He 
 watched the crowd before the bar staring at 
 them as a detained schoolboy stares through 
 the open window at his companions rioting on 
 the playground. And suddenly the vague 
 restlessness within him centered and became 
 a longing. He shook his wide shoulders and 
 turned his back upon the camp; he hurried 
 whither the lure drew. 
 
 The Old Man and The Doctor were stand 
 ing inside the postoffice door as he passed. 
 They were talking eagerly; their words came 
 to him. "Wait a half hour and I'll be with 
 you," The Doctor was saying. 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 123 
 
 "We c'n get Smith an' Anderson," said The 
 Old Man, "they'll be through runnin' them 
 levels by that time." 
 
 "And have a little dinner in Dolan's res 
 taurant," The Doctor said. "He can broil a 
 steak; I've some wine back here. My; wife's 
 away." 
 
 "I wisht mine was," Tom heard ,TKe Old 
 Man mutter. 
 
 The sidewalk before the dance halls was 
 lined with the men of Snowslide. Many still 
 wore the garb in which they had toiled, oil 
 skins, rubber boots and squam hats, the squam 
 hats tilted back from their lined foreheads. 
 They leaned against the sidewalk's rail, talk 
 ing in groups; their laughter boomed; their 
 faces were alight; recklessness blazed from 
 them. Now and then a knot of them swag 
 gered away together into one of the wide doors. 
 Again one came forth from a saloon striding 
 aggressively; another followed leaping, caper 
 ing heavily in his rubber boots, whooping. 
 Always from within came the babel of tongues, 
 the clicE of the chips, the metallic beat of the 
 pianos. Before the walk the gray snow was 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 littered with heaps of broken bottles ; overhead 
 the cloth signs billowed lazily; their ragged 
 edges fluttering in the languorous breeze. 
 
 The Cartender burst from the line at the 
 sidewalk's rail. He smote Tom's chest with 
 his gnarled fist. His broad face was ex 
 panded to a laugh; his big features reeked 
 with happiness. "Come on," he cried, "come 
 on an' have a drink!" He struck Tom again 
 and piled epithets upon him, endearing each 
 appellation by the word "Old." "Where you 
 been?" he demanded as though they had not 
 seen each other for months. He repeated the 
 question aggressively at intervals. They went 
 together to Riley's dance hall. It was the ren 
 dezvous for the older drill runners, the hard 
 rock men. Among them it was whispered 
 that The Old Man had an interest in the place 
 and so they clung to it. 
 
 Riley was behind the bar, at the end by the 
 safe, cashing pay checks. As he got his 
 money every man moved a few feet to one 
 side and slapped some of it down, calling for 
 a drink. Then the bartender, pushing for 
 ward the bottle, tossed the coin into the cash 
 register; and the garnering back was begun. 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 125 
 
 Giving out the money, Biley smiled constantly, 
 a non-committal smile. He was a big-waisted 
 man, shrewd-eyed, imperturbable. Always he 
 kept one eye roving between the bartender and 
 the cash register. The Cartender introduced 
 Tom to him and the three of them drank to 
 gether. Then Biley pressed cigars upon them 
 and insisted that they remain in the place. 
 "Enjoy yourselves," he told them. 
 
 The Cartender tilted his cigar upward and 
 puffed aggressively. Tom clenched his be 
 tween his teeth, so that it slanted downward, 
 and looked about the room. Already the 
 heaviness was leaving his limbs ; the vague un 
 easiness was departing before a fierce warmth. 
 The liquor was beginning to work. He thrust 
 his big hand into his pocket. "Let's have 
 another," he said. 
 
 About them the hard-faced men of Snow- 
 slide were moving restlessly, like milling cattle, 
 shouting, muttering, exploding oaths; the 
 gamblers were droning their ceaseless invita 
 tion in sing-song monotone, clicking their cel 
 luloid chips in long accompaniment; on the 
 raised dance floor the women were smoking, 
 laughing drearily. He watched them, puff- 
 
126 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 ing slowly at his cigar, listening gravely to 
 The Cartender, now grown enthusiastic over 
 small things. 
 
 "Kennedy's down to The Gem," said The 
 Cartender finally. "He says he's goin' to 
 hammer hell out o' ye." 
 
 Tom scowled. " 'Tis aisy 'fer Kennedy to 
 talk," he growled. "Lave him blow if he likes 
 ut; I ain't huntin' throuble." 
 
 As they roamed around the room, many 
 spoke to Tom; he seemed to be a center of at 
 traction. Men with whom he had never had 
 words hunted him out, and every one of them 
 had something to say of The Dynamiter, some 
 repetition of threats, for the most part wildly 
 exaggerated. Although he responded to them 
 lightly or not at all, Tom felt his anger rise, 
 and he felt more definitely the grim antag 
 onism that had grown during the winter. 
 Finally, after an hour, he turned away irri 
 tably from two drill runners, who were harping 
 on the subject. "Let's go eat," he said. to The 
 Cartender; "I'm hungry." 
 
 "Coming back?" Biley called to them, as 
 they passed toward the door. They nodded 
 and he resumed his placid demeanor, watching 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 the bartender's treatment of the cash register 
 from the tail of his eye. 
 
 In the door they collided with Jack Tarpy. 
 The Walker was hurrying in, as though he had 
 been called on business. His face was set with 
 determination. "Come an' watch me," he 
 said; "I'm goin' to bust that crap game. I'll 
 get back what ut's got from me. Come on!" 
 They shook their heads. ".We're aff to eat," 
 said The Cartender. 
 
 "Come in when ye're tru," called Tarpy 
 after them. "Ye'll find me here, gettin' that 
 tinhorn's roll." 
 
 At Dolan's, Jerry Morley and The Gunner 
 hailed them joyfully. "We lukked fer ye at 
 The Gem," grinned Jerry. "Yer friend, The 
 Dynamiter's there." The four of them sat 
 together, midway down the room. In the rear 
 they saw The Old Man and The Doctor, din 
 ing with two of the civil engineers. The table 
 was resplendent with white linen and silver 
 knives and forks. At its head The Doctor sat, 
 white-collared, his loud-patterned tweeds neatly 
 pressed; his manner was punctilious. The 
 engineers were badgering him about some es- 
 
128 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 capade in Spokane which they had invented. 
 He smiled, half liking it. "Really now, gen 
 tlemen," he said. "My word! What rot! 
 Absurd!" 
 
 The Old Man drank his wine at a gulp and 
 joined in the chaffing. His wit set them all 
 into a roar of laughter. 
 
 "The Quid Divil," said Jerry. "He's billed 
 fer a jamboree to-night. I know the signs." 
 
 The Gunner looked at Tom quizzically as 
 they went out. "Want to go to The Gem?" 
 he asked. Tom shook his head. "I'll hunt no 
 throuble," he asserted. They followed him to 
 Riley's. 
 
 The place was full now. Men stood in a 
 long line before the bar; they danced on 
 the raised platform with listless women, who 
 smoked cigarettes as they; waltzed; they 
 moved restlessly about the middle of the 
 room, hunting companions, hunting enemies, 
 jostling one another, laughing, cursing. 
 The pianos were thumping staccatto; the 
 gamblers were droning their ceaseless sing 
 song invitations, clicking their stacks of chips. 
 Through the wide doors the sounds went forth 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 129 
 
 where the flare of the acetylene lamps 'fell on 
 the gray snow, hardening now to crispness in 
 the clean, cold air of night. 
 
 Riley greeted them with his non-committal 
 smile. They drank with him, and while they 
 were raising their glasses, a man shouldered 
 his way roughly among them, throwing a yel 
 low-backed bill upon the bar. It was Jack 
 Tarpy. His face was grim; hard lines cre- 
 vassed it. He did not look at them. "Your 
 dice is crooked," he cried to Riley. "I'll beat 
 them yet." He burst into curses. 
 
 "Have a drink," said Riley calmly. The 
 Walker gulped down the whiskey and stamped 
 back to the crap table. They saw him there 
 a half an hour later, bending over it as he 
 threw the dice, watching them as they rolled, 
 swearing at them, talking to them, as though 
 they were alive and would obey him. 
 
 Late in the evening, The Old Man and The 
 Doctor came, with them the two civil engineers. 
 Riley gave them chairs behind the bar and 
 they sat watching the crowd. The eyes of 
 many went toward them. Then a nipper boy 
 rushed in and shouted something excitedly. 
 The Gunner turned to Tom. They were 
 
130 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 standing at the bar's edge. "Kennedy; is 
 comin',' ' He said. 
 
 Outside sounded the heavy tramp of booted 
 feet, and a dozen of the Coeur Sd'Aleners 
 trooped in. The Dynamiter was among them; 
 he loomed above them all. His deep-lined face 
 was aflame with ferocity; his bleared eyes 
 glinted beneath his frowning brows. The 
 noises of the long room died. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE Coeur d'Aleners advanced straight to 
 the bar. The tramp of their booted feet was 
 the only sound in the place. Rough voices 
 stopped in mid-syllables; the piano halted on 
 a high note; the women ceased dancing and 
 stood, abandoned by their partners. Even the 
 lead-faced gamblers dropped their shuffling 
 chips. Every eye was on the invaders. They 
 gained the bar and stood, backs to it, their 
 faces toward the room. Twelve men, they 
 held their places as though this were to be a 
 stand against the crowd. 
 
 They were not popular. Good drill run 
 ners, each and all, they were of a strange breed; 
 miners among hard rock men. Pariahs in the 
 mountains whence they had come, black-listed 
 by employers, feared by many of the working- 
 men whose cause their violence had hurt, they 
 had wandered here to find sidelong looks and 
 rivalry. And they Had met both boldly. Al 
 ways thejr had hung together, a minor faction. 
 
 131 
 
132 (THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 As the^ stood, shoulder to shoulder, their reck 
 less eyes swept the silent room. Their lined 
 faces, deeper lined this night from drink, chal 
 lenged those on whom they looked. Then 
 Kennedy moved toward Tom and the silence 
 passed. 
 
 The crowd surged forward. Its center now, 
 the point toward which its members were press 
 ing, was the spot where these two giants stood 
 side by side. Each of them was facing the 
 bar; the elbow of each was touching the elbow 
 of the other. And neither yielded ground. 
 Kennedy slammed down a coin. "Give us a 
 drink," he shouted. Behind their white ob 
 scuration his eyes shot fire. 
 
 Though The Dynamiter was pressing hard 
 against him, Tom did not move. He was ig 
 noring Kennedy elaborately too elaborately; 
 this could not last. The situation was preg 
 nant; the fight was there, about to burst. It 
 needed but one slight movement from either 
 man, a single word of direct address. Ken 
 nedy prepared to speak that word. He tossed 
 his liquor down his thick, corded throat and 
 turned toward Tom, a sneer upon his lips. At 
 the same moment The Doctor leaped to his 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 133 
 
 chair top. Standing on this eminence, he 
 raised a thin, white hand. "Gentlemen!" he 
 cried. 
 
 The eyes in the room went toward him. 
 Tom and Kennedy raised their faces to stare 
 at him. He stood straight, tall, high-collared, 
 immaculate in his loud-patterned tweeds, his 
 hand upraised. His voice was elaborately 
 formal, as though this rough crowd were a 
 polite audience. He paused a moment in this 
 attitude and then: 
 
 "Gentlemen," he repeated, "in behalf of 
 my friends, Mr. Ryan and Mr. Eiley, I have 
 a few words to say to you." Those who were 
 near heard a muttered oath from The Old Man 
 and saw The Doctor's hand sweep toward him 
 in a silencing gesture as he continued in im 
 pressive tones. "In the first place, I have an 
 invitation to deliver. I ask you, each and all, 
 to take your places quietly at the bar and have 
 a drink on me. And while you drink, gentle 
 men, I would ask Mr. Morton and Mr. Ken 
 nedy to step behind the bar. ,We have a word 
 to say to them." 
 
 He paused. A babel rose, voices raised in 
 exultation at the invitation; voices raised in 
 
134 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 anger, outcries of disappointment. These last 
 rose above the others. He heard them and 
 raised his hand. "Just a moment," he cried 
 loudly, and the silence fell again. "There will 
 be a fight," he shouted. A whoop of joy rose 
 from the room's four corners and the crowd 
 shoved forward en masse upon the bar. 
 
 The Doctor bent down and whispered a word 
 in Ryan's ear. The Old Man looked up in 
 astonishment, then admiration, and then he 
 beckoned imperiously to Tom and Kennedy. 
 As they came he turned again to The Doctor. 
 "Ye saved a merry free-fer-all," he said, "and 
 nawthin' else wud." The Doctor's eyes were 
 upon the two approaching giants. "Look at 
 them!" he said. "My word! Think of the 
 fight this will be !" He rubbed his hands. 
 
 The Old Man turned to Tom and Kennedy. 
 
 "Now," said he; "listen here, ye two to what 
 I'm tellin' ye. Ye want to fight; there's no 
 need to talk of that. And, annyhow, ye've 
 got to fight. We're goin' to let ye do ut right, 
 understand? We'll have no rough-house here. 
 It's ye two fer ut. See? Stand up and knock 
 down. I'll see fair play meself ; and who fouls 
 has me to deal wit. Get back now to yer 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 135 
 
 friends and shtrrip. We'll call ye when we 
 want ye." 
 
 Big Jerry and The Gunner met Tom as he 
 came from behind the bar. With them was 
 The Cartender. His face was no longer wide 
 with mirth; he looked anxious. "Doc. told 
 us," said Big Jerry, " 'tis London prize ring. 
 Fine business!" 
 
 "Come on," ordered The Gunner, squinting 
 abstractedly, as though he were thinking of 
 many details, "back to the dance floor. Ken 
 nedy is sthrrippin' by the shtove. Ye c'n lick 
 him to a frazzle." The Cartender followed 
 them in silence as they went, his grave eyes 
 fixed on Tom. 
 
 "Now," said The Gunner, as he unbuttoned 
 Tom's shirt, "get to his shoes, Jerry. Listen 
 to me, Lad. Ye're two av a build, but ye shud 
 tear his block off, bein as the whiskey's got 
 him years ago, and his wind has gone. All he 
 has over ye is the science. This is London 
 prize ring. That means stand up and fight 
 fair; no bitin', gougin' or foulin'. When ye 
 knock him down ye get a rest and not until. 
 And ye cannot hit him when he's down. .Un 
 derstand?" 
 
136 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 Tom nodded absently. He looked at Ken 
 nedy stripping by the stove, surrounded by his 
 fellows, laughing with them; and then he saw 
 The Cartender staring at him and he smiled. 
 The Cartender smiled faintly back. "Stay 
 wit ut," he said, as cheerfully as he knew how. 
 
 Down in the center of the room, The Old 
 Man looked up from superintendence of half 
 a dozen drill runners, who were roping off the 
 ring. "Where's Jack Tarpy?" he cried. 
 There was no answer. He repeated it and 
 someone pointed to the crap table, deserted now 
 by all save The Walker and the dealer. Ryan 
 made the distance in two strides and returned, 
 his hand in Tarpy 's coat collar. "I thought 
 I had yer promise that ye'd stay on the work 
 this day," he was saying slowly. "Now, Mr. 
 Tarpy; in the marnin' we make that trip to 
 Leavenworth on the freight, me and ye, and 
 ye sign the pledge fer wan year. Mind that. 
 Here, get a half a dozen men at the ropes and 
 keep back the crowd!" 
 
 A moment later The Gunner, hustling Tom 
 into the ring, whispered into his ear. "Re 
 member this," he said; "he's full of whiskey 
 and has not the wind. Keep yer eye on his 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 137 
 
 eye always, and make him move round." 
 Looking up he saw The Doctor, a gold watch 
 in one hand, signal to Ryan with the other that 
 the time was up. He bent his head close to 
 Tom's again for the final word. "He's been 
 tellin' all over town how he'll hammer hell out 
 o' ye." 
 
 "Stand up," The Old Man's voice came 
 sharply. Tom rose and saw The Dynamiter 
 coming toward the center of the ring. He 
 felt the push of The Gunner's hand and went 
 to meet him. Ryan stepped between them. 
 "Shake hands," he ordered. Their big palms 
 met; their eyes were on the ground; it seemed 
 as though they could not look into each other's 
 faces and refrain from striking. The Old 
 Man stood back; Tom found himself facing 
 Kennedy. And then it came over him that 
 he did not know how to fight. 
 
 It appalled him for an instant; the realiza 
 tion overwhelmed; all other things became as 
 nothing. He could not fight! This was no 
 rough and tumble melee in a bunk-house, this 
 cold-blooded arrangement, where he must fight 
 by rule. It made him feel uncertain. He 
 stood, his big hands clenched at his sides, and 
 
138 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 his eyes went to Kennedy. The Dynamiter 
 was leaping toward him, swinging his huge 
 fists. Tom raised his hands and Kennedy's 
 fists shot forward, the left and then the right. 
 The floor seemed to rise and strike him heavily. 
 
 He was up in an instant. He did not hear 
 the roar from the crowd. He did not feel The 
 Gunner's arms about his waist; the push of 
 The Old Man's fist against his chest. He only 
 felt the sting of a blow that had come full and 
 fair upon his mouth, and the warm trickle of 
 blood upon his lower lip. He was mad with it. 
 They dragged him, struggling, to his seat. 
 
 "Aisy now, aisy aisy," he heard The Gun 
 ner saying finally. "Ye young fool, aisy and 
 listen to me. Do ye hear me now?" Tom 
 nodded and stopped struggling. He saw The 
 Gunner's puckered face close to his, Big Jerry 
 clinging to his legs, The Cartender gazing at 
 him anxiously. He nodded again and turned 
 to The Gunner. "How soon do I get at him?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Soon enough," growled the little man. 
 "Listen, now, to me. Ye must kape yer head 
 and watch him. Kape yer eye on his; right 
 on his. Then ye see when he is going to hit. 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 139 
 
 Never take ut off. When he leads when he 
 strikes at ye dodge ut wit yer head. Never 
 mind yer belly; yer arms will take care av that. 
 Kape clost to him; and, remember, hit him 
 whenever ye can. That's what ye're there f er 
 to hit him. Do ut like ut was a day's work 
 like ye had to " 
 
 "Time," The Doctor called. 
 
 The Dynamiter was coming toward him, on 
 the balls of his stockinged feet. He was 
 poised, half crouching, stepping lightly, 
 springing with bent knees, coming closer. 
 His shoulders bent forward, ahead of his waist. 
 His huge, knotted fists were moving constantly, 
 rhythmically, swinging to and fro in front of 
 him, advancing now, now retreating. And the 
 great cabled muscles were slipping and writh 
 ing beneath his white skin like thick snakes. 
 His face was set, deep-lined, ugly; the white- 
 filmed eyes gleamed. 
 
 Instinctively, Tom raised his fists. A roar 
 came from the crowd the Cceur d'Aleners 
 made its bulk a roar of derision. Tom did 
 not hear it; he was looking into Kennedy's 
 eyes. They met, foot to foot, and at once he 
 saw the eyes flash a message, the message of a 
 
140 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 coming blow. Then he struck out with all the 
 mad anger that was in him. 
 
 The movement brought a mighty change. 
 His mind centered upon it, upon the fact that 
 he was striking to reach a mark. And he be 
 came confident. He hardly felt the blow that 
 crashed against his ribs. His own fist went 
 wild, glancing from The Dynamiter's shoulder. 
 He struck again, and again he failed to feel 
 the punishment that he was getting. He only 
 knew that he had hit. 
 
 The crowd was bellowing now, a deep- 
 throated roar, the savage cry of savage men 
 watching two fellows fight. The roar deep 
 ened, it swelled, the eyes of the room hardened 
 and remained fixed upon these two, standing 
 foot to foot, striking blow on blow, giving and 
 taking; taking eagerly for the pleasure to give. 
 
 Thus they stood a full three minutes, raining 
 blows. The sound of the bare, hard knuckles, 
 striking naked flesh, came in regular, sharp 
 punctuations of the roar about them. Their 
 huge, bare bodies touched. Tom felt the 
 sweating flesh of The Dynamiter's chest press 
 his. He heard the gasp of its indrawn breath. 
 And he struck. Suddenly he felt the shock 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 141 
 
 of Kennedy's fist against his cheek and he knew 
 that he was falling. The Old Man was stand 
 ing over him counting when his dazed senses 
 came back. He saw the hand upraised above 
 him and he scrambled to his feet. His head 
 rang as he walked to his chair. 
 
 "That was fighting!" he heard someone say. 
 
 Big Jerry was throwing water on his body, 
 rubbing him. The Gunner bent his head. 
 "Ye're sure to win," he said. "He's out of 
 wind already. Lad, can ye wrastle?" Tom 
 nodded. "Sure," he said. "When ye get in 
 clost," whispered The Gunner, "grip him 
 round the waist; grip him, but do not use yer 
 legs to trip; trow him wit yer arms. And if 
 ye cannot grip keep clost in and rough ut as 
 ye did that time. Take all he gives ye f er the 
 fun av givin'." 
 
 "Time!" The Doctor's face was very 
 happy as he looked up from his watch. 
 
 This time Tom leaped to his feet. Kennedy 
 was rushing toward him, a straight rush, with 
 swinging fists. As The Dynamiter came close 
 the great fists hurtled out. Tom ducked his 
 head and they flew past. He closed beneath 
 them and gripped the naked waist with both his 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 arms. For an instant the two men struggled 
 desperately, locked in the embrace. Then 
 Tom raised his arms with a mighty heave, and 
 Kennedy swept through the air and crashed 
 down on the floor. 
 
 The Dynamiter was breathing a little thickly 
 when they approached each other at the begin 
 ning of the next round. He did not seem 
 eager for the meeting. t Tom ran in. As he 
 closed, The Dynamiter stepped warily to one 
 side; then whirled and struck with all his force. 
 The blow went past Tom's face; he felt the 
 breath of it. Catching himself in the middle 
 of a stride, he turned and struck back viciously. 
 Recovering his balance from the shock of 
 Tom's fist, Kennedy drew in his arms. The 
 two giants stood, again, foot to foot, their big 
 fists swinging regularly. Suddenly Tom's 
 arms flew out; they locked and Kennedy went 
 down. 
 
 "Ye have him, now; ye have him," The Gun 
 ner whispered. "Kape ut up an' wear him 
 down. Hit him whenever ye can an' niver 
 lave him rest." 
 
 But Kennedy did not want rest now. He 
 came into the center of the ring like an angered 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 143 
 
 bull. His scowling face was evil with rage ; his 
 heavy jaw was set. As he rushed, his fists 
 swung out; and Tom, wise in the knowledge 
 that he had gained, ducked beneath them, whirl 
 ing round to strike back as they shot past. 
 Kennedy caught himself as Tom's blow went 
 home, and charged again. Again Tom avoided 
 the rush, stepping to one side. He was cool 
 now; his eyes were steady; and he fought as 
 The Gunner had bade him, as though it were a 
 day's work. He saw The Dynamiter's chest 
 heave laboredly as he made a third onslaught; 
 and suddenly, while Kennedy's arms were still 
 outstretched, he leaped, driving his fist before 
 him, down and inward, where the bare waist 
 showed. The big body crumpled as the fist 
 shot home and Tom struck again, a swinging 
 blow, that met the jaw. Kennedy fell limply 
 to the boards. The Old Man strode beside him 
 and counted slowly. When he said "Ten," the 
 roar of the crowd drowned everything. 
 
 Jerry and The Gunner fell upon Tom's 
 shoulders. "Good boy," the little man cried. 
 "Iknewye'ddout." 
 
 "Ye hammered hell out of him," shouted 
 Jerry. "He's not come to yet." They; 
 
144 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 dragged him through the jamming crowd and 
 helped him don his clothes. As he was button 
 ing his shirt, he saw The Cartender standing 
 before him. The Cartender's face was broad, 
 radiant, reeking good nature. He was him 
 self again. 
 
 The Doctor came and shook Tom by the 
 hand. "My word !" he cried. "It was a fight ; 
 the best I ever saw, I think. A little more 
 science, Mr. Morton, and you'll be a wonder." 
 He looked at Tom's bulk. "What beef!" he 
 murmured. "And the eye back of it! My 
 word!" 
 
 The Old Man had delayed to catch The 
 Walker. He came now with one hand twisted 
 in Tarpy's sleeve. " 'Twas a stem-winder," he 
 said. "Jeffries himself couldn't of done bet 
 ter. We'll have a drink on ut now." 
 
 At the bar Jack Tarpy muttered something 
 in Ryan's ear. The Old Man looked at him 
 steadily. "Not you," he growled. "Ye get 
 soda pop. Understand?" 
 
CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 IT was six hours later when Tom left 
 Riley's. In the wan light of the mountain- 
 shadowed morning, he picked his way among 
 the piles of broken bottles and slowly climbed 
 the dump. He was weary with loss of sleep. 
 His head rang with unaccustomed drinking. 
 The earth was none too secure beneath his feet. 
 But he was satisfied. 
 
 It was the satiation of change, the rest which 
 comes from spent energies. He had had his 
 playtime. Men of other environment demand 
 books or chess or trout-fishing or the seeking 
 of famous old paintings. The aesthetic sense 
 of the men of Snowslide called for cruder 
 excitations, and their big bodies demanded a 
 major share of dissipation's amusements. 
 Tom strode across the gray dump, toward the 
 tunnel-mouth, relieved of the oppression that 
 had weighed upon him the day before. He 
 was eager to go to work. 
 
 On his way he saw two figures walking to- 
 145 
 
146 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 ward the depot a large man and a small man, 
 the small man in the grasp of his companion. 
 It was Ryan and Jack Tarpy. The Old Man 
 had kept his word; they were hurrying to catch 
 the freight for Leavenworth, where The 
 Walker would sign the pledge before the 
 priest. Tom looked at them and smiled. It 
 was the smile of a man at a child; of strength 
 on weakness tolerant. He had no appetites. 
 And his youth made him confident of moral 
 strength where temptation had never attacked. 
 
 He had a feeling of security, of sureness in 
 himself. For he had grown ; he had developed 
 in a night. As he walked his head rang; but 
 it was back. His eyes ached; but they looked 
 straight before him, masterfully. He knew he 
 was a leader with a following. Bully of the 
 camp, they called him. It meant that the 
 camp was at his heels. He had prestige. 
 
 From this day he toiled in the heading a 
 little apart from the men about him. He 
 walked to and from the work among the shift, 
 a figure of distinction. In the evenings, when 
 he went downtown, men asked him to drink 
 with them, and he knew that they had pride 
 when he accepted the invitations. Heading 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 147 
 
 i 
 
 bosses nodded familiarly to him now, and called 
 him by his first name. Men asked him to arbi 
 trate small disputes; his word had weight in 
 the bunk-houses. Once or twice, off the work, 
 The Old Man questioned him tersely regard 
 ing the rock in the heading. 
 
 He answered the questions with wisdom. 
 For he was learning many things still, as he 
 had learned them under The Gunner's tutelage. 
 He was absorbing what others had to give him, 
 watching always what they did. Even when 
 he loafed about the machine shop and timber 
 sheds he was picking up knowledge while he 
 gossipped with the mechanics. 
 
 When Jack Tarpy gave him the bench gang, 
 three months after the fight, none were sur 
 prised. He took it proudly, with a leap of joy 
 in his heart, but he took it as his due. 
 
 Kennedy got a similar position at about the 
 same time. His shift preceded Tom's. When 
 they met at the change of shifts, they had to 
 consult regarding details of the work. Re 
 sponsibility had not taken anything from The 
 Dynamiter's recklessness. But it had made a 
 change; it was as though there had been a tem 
 pering process and the absolute wantonness 
 
148 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 was lacking now. Meeting him on the jumbo 
 every day, Tom learned to respect this man 
 whom he had fought. The two of them had 
 found a new rivalry, a rivalry of emulation, 
 each of them trying to make his gang do all 
 that there was in them. And, although this 
 competition was a big thing with them, they 
 found themselves dealing with fairness in their 
 conferences, generously giving to each other 
 every necessary bit of information. They had 
 grown bigger with their positions. 
 
 Tom stood, these days, near the edge of the 
 fourteen-foot shelf of rock, with the reeling 
 tripods thundering about him, and beneath his 
 feet the crew of sweating muckers shoveling 
 the broken rock. He supervised it all. Oc 
 casionally he gave an order, shouting it, deep- 
 toned, from his chest. And as he shouted, he 
 saw men leap to obey him. His assertiveness 
 grew and with it his self-sureness. There de 
 veloped, also with the knowledge that what 
 these men did would be charged to his account 
 a tendency to make up his mind upon sure 
 premises, and a gravity. He was boss; but 
 there was no wantonness in his autocracy. 
 
 Fall came and the concrete gangs. Far in 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 149 
 
 the wake of the roaring heading, they lined the 
 tunnel with a thick coating of crushed rock and 
 cement. There were more than one hundred 
 of these men, wandering craftsmen, members 
 of the same great army of floaters to which the 
 hard rock men belonged. They had something 
 of the recklessness that belonged to the drill 
 runners, the lack of care of homeless men. 
 They rioted on pay days, and among them were 
 fighters. Rivalries sprang up between them 
 and the tunnel workers; fights followed. 
 Twice Big Jerry and Kennedy came back to 
 the bunk-houses bruised and battered by a new 
 champion, an unknown fighter. The fame of 
 this man grew and his name became a byword. 
 The camp began to mention it along with 
 Tom's; to compare them, speculating on what 
 would be the outcome of a battle between them. 
 Finally, drawn by public opinion, the encounter 
 came, and Tom went back to the camp with 
 additional prestige. 
 
 That winter they made him heading boss and 
 some of the best runners in the camp, the older 
 men, who had worked in every corner of the 
 continent where there was rock to rend, came 
 to him a hard-faced, big-limbed crew. Dur- 
 
150 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 ing the montH they bent their energies to toil 
 beneath his hard, gray eyes; and they loved the 
 mastery that the eyes spoke. On pay; days 
 they were ruffians. 
 
 "They'd go to hell fer him," Jack Tarpy 
 told The Old Man one afternoon. 
 
 The Old Man growled. "They'll go to hell 
 wit him some day, if they don't mind," he said. 
 "Eiley tells me they tore his new pianny up by 
 the roots and throwed ut through the dure the 
 other night and he was wit them." 
 
 ' 'Twas one av them canned music piannys," 
 explained The Walker, "and 'twould not play 
 "The Wearin' av the Green.' They can pull 
 the rock, though. They do more than the two 
 other shifts put together." 
 
 During that winter Tom came to a belief in 
 hard men and giant powder. Handling them 
 both, coming in contact with them daily, he 
 looked upon their sort of strength as all there 
 was of might. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE fell with yuletide softness 
 upon that portion of Snowslide across the can 
 yon from the boarding camp, the little space 
 occupied by the cottages, where the families of 
 The Old Man and some of the more responsible 
 mechanics lived. Here there was talk of the 
 season, happiness of anticipation and mystery 
 of hidden presents. 
 
 In "B" bunk-house, Christmas Eve was a 
 little more than three weeks ahead of one pay 
 day and one week behind the next. It was a 
 quiet night and cold. The men were in their 
 bunks or round the heater stove, "driving tun 
 nel," and if any of them thought of the date, 
 they spoke of it in rough jest, as being the 
 easiest way to pass a subject not belonging to 
 their world. The growl of their heavy voices 
 went through the door into the foreman's office, 
 where Tom sat. 
 
 He did not hear them; He was going over his 
 time book. His thick fingers were busy with 
 
 151 
 
152 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 a stub pencil. Now he raised it to wet it be 
 tween his lips; then went on writing awkardly, 
 breathing heavily with the excess of mental 
 effort, scowling into the book. It was a large 
 room; its floor was bare. On the board walls 
 hung half a dozen pictures from a sporting 
 paper, portraits of prizefighters, crouching, 
 with their gloved fists upraised before them, 
 and of full-limbed women, clad in tights ; they 
 were on pink paper. There was a photograph 
 of two men standing side by side, a table be 
 tween them, on the table a bottle and glasses ; 
 the two men held cigars in their mouths. Some 
 previous occupant had left it; dust covered it, 
 and it hung askew. In the corner was a bed 
 stead, made from undressed lumber ; the blank 
 ets lay in a knot upon it; the pillow hung 
 limply, half over the side. Under the bed 
 showed a corner of the wooden chest, where Tom 
 still kept his father's hat and coat. There were 
 two chairs; the back of one was broken; Tom 
 sat on the other, before the pigeon-holed desk, 
 made from two goods boxes. On the walls, his 
 oilskins and squam hat Lung from nails. He 
 was shirt-sleeved, in his stockinged feet. His 
 hair was in uncombed riot. Occasionally as he 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 153 
 
 labored over the time book he ran his left hand 
 through it. 
 
 There was a knock on the door. "Come in !" 
 he cried and turned to face the man. It was 
 The Cartender. Tom swore in astonishment; 
 The Cartender was dressed up. He wore a 
 round rimmed hat of black felt, flat crowned, 
 stiff as it had come from the bandbox, un 
 dented. It was tilted back from his forehead, 
 that one carefully combed lock of hair might 
 show. His clothes were black; the sack coat 
 showed deep creases from long packing in a 
 trunk. He wore a glistening celluloid collar 
 and a pattern-tied four-in-hand of lilac tint 
 thrust itself outward beneath his bronzed 
 throat; the strap had slipped up over the collar 
 in the rear. His square-toed shoes glistened 
 with polish. His big brown hands hung 
 straight down as though they were trying to 
 escape the relentless pursuit of a pair of cel 
 luloid cuffs. He stood in the doorway, all his 
 teeth showing in a self-conscious smile. 
 "Merry Christmas!" he said. 
 
 Tom swore again. "That's so," he said. 
 "How did ye raymimber?" 
 
 The Cartender came in and seated himself 
 
154? THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 with some care upon the edge of a broken chair. 
 "Morans is to have a party," said he, "I was 
 told to give ye a bid." 
 
 "Soho," said Tom, "that's it?" He scanned 
 The Cartender criticaUy. "That's the raison," 
 he continued. 
 
 The Cartender grinned. "How'd you like 
 'em?" he demanded aggressively. 
 
 "Ye're hot shtuff," said Tom. "A dude, ye 
 are. Best be diggin' out befure some of the 
 byes gets a luk at ye. Have a drink?" He 
 reached beneath his desk and brought out a 
 quart bottle. The Cartender shook his head. 
 
 "I've cut ut out," said he, "I'm tendin' to 
 business now. Murphy's goin' over to the 
 other portal New Years an' I'm to be motor- 
 
 man." 
 
 "Motorman! Ye'll ditch the thrrain first 
 trip!" Tom's face relaxed. "How'd ye do 
 ut?" 
 
 "I've been larnin' all winter," said The Car- 
 tender, "gettin' what I could from Murphy 
 an' takin' correspondence school avenin's. 'Tis 
 a fine chanst I have at Moran's." 
 
 "Morans must have a hot dump to let the 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 155 
 
 likes of ye and Murphy board there," said Tom 
 irrelevantly. 
 
 "Ye shud see ut wance," cried The Car- 
 tender. "Grub! Man, ye never get the like 
 of ut in that there hash foundry" he waved 
 his hand toward the cook-house "and 'tis like 
 comin' home of a night. The Old Woman lets 
 us have the parlor; and we get to see the others 
 on the hill. There's two girls lives over there 
 now besides Ryan's Nora. Man, uts civilized! 
 Ye shud see the room I have; It's nate as a 
 pin." He looked around him comprehen 
 sively, "Ye could bring a gang of them muck 
 ers in here wit their number two shovels and 
 do this hole no harm," he said. 
 
 "So," said Tom. " 'Tis the girls." 
 "The girls nothin'," said The Cartender, 
 "they don't trouble me. I'm too busy wit the 
 electrical engineerin' course to bother me head 
 wit girls. Some day I'll be drawin' me easy 
 salary while ye're poundin' tarriers on the backs 
 or runnin' a slugger again in the headin*. But 
 'tis good to see them; and that's what I come 
 f er. There's to be a few friends there to-night 
 f er Christmas eve. Ryan's Old Woman will be 
 
156 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 over and Nora and one or two others. Come 
 
 on." 
 
 Tom flushed. "I'm not made fer yer high 
 society," he growled. "I'm no saft-talkin' 
 dude. Go get some av thim engineers; 'tis 
 thim ye want." 
 
 "Come on!" The Cartender insisted, "none 
 of them girls is goin' to bite ye. Why shud 
 ye stick in this hole when there's the chanst fer 
 a good time and dacent folk to talk wit?" 
 
 Tom frowned heavily. "Not me," he said. 
 
 "But," The Cartender was beginning- -he 
 had secured the privilege of inviting Tom by 
 asking Mrs. Moran and he held it too dear to 
 give up easily "But, man, ye ." 
 
 Tom rose. "Listen here," he said sternly. 
 "Raymimber the night I wore me father's hat 
 to the depot, knowin' no betther? There was 
 some av yer fine folk there that night and they 
 laughed in me face because I was too grane 
 fer thim. Raymimber the night I tuk that 
 umbrelly to Ryan's house? And who was ut 
 at the dure, slammed ut in me face? Answer 
 me that! Go there! I'll see thim in hell 
 first!" 
 
 "They meant no harm," said The Cartender, 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 157 
 
 "that night. It was The Old Woman. She 
 was sore at Ryan, not you. I got the straight 
 of ut some time ago." 
 
 Tom silenced him with a gesture. "Well," 
 The Cartender rose, "I wisht ye wud come." 
 He looked about him at the room, reeking of 
 disorder, uncouth like the men of the tunnel. 
 "Ye shud see where I live," he said. 
 
 " 'Tis alright," said Tom, "alright fer ye 
 but not fer me. I'm glad ye've quit the camp. 
 'Tis good to be wit women folk nearby, and the 
 larnin' is a fine thing. I wisht I had more av 
 ut. Luk at that." He held the time book 
 before The Cartender. "Chicken thracks, but 
 'tis all that's naded, and I have no time fer 
 more. The min kape me busy; thim an' the 
 rock. I don't know which is worst. But I 
 can handle thim both; dhrrive the wan an' pull 
 the other. And that's phwat I'm here fer, 
 phwat I like. I know me place; 'tis not wit 
 yer fine folk on the hill." 
 
 "I wisht ye wud come," repeated The Car- 
 tender. "Annyhow, some day ye will. Merry; 
 Christmas!" He departed walking stiffly in 
 his square-toed, polished shoes, the strap of the 
 lilac tie high on the back of his celluloid collar. 
 
158 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 iTom sat alone over the time book. After an 
 hour he went to the outside door. It was snow 
 ing heavily. He shook his head. "Half an 
 hour lost in the marnin'," he muttered, "help- 
 in' the outside gang shovel things out." He 
 went back to the room. 
 
 Before he turned out the light he looked 
 about him at the rough, unfinished walls with 
 the gaudy pictures of the women and the prize 
 fighters, the floor with dirt heaped in the cor 
 ners, the riot of disorder, the muddy oilskins 
 hanging from nails. He thought of what 
 The Cartender had said of his room. "Nate 
 as a pin," he muttered. He remembered what 
 that meant, snowy linen and a floor that was 
 immaculate. The memory took him far back. 
 
 And then he reached beneath his rough bed 
 and brought forth the chest. He opened it 
 and he took out the coat with the two narrow 
 tails and the row of large buttons. He held 
 it in the crook of his arm for a moment grop 
 ing with the other hand for the hat. He found 
 it and he brushed his cheek against the high 
 crown. It seemed to him as though he could 
 smell the peat smoke. He replaced them both 
 and turned out the light. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 CHRISTMAS morning saw the contour of the 
 whole place changed. It had snowed all night, 
 and the wind, sighing up the canyon, had 
 drifted heaps where paths had been. Going 
 to breakfast the shift waded to their waists. 
 On the blacksmith shop platform Tom com 
 manded them to fall to work with the outside 
 gangs where speedy clearance of the way was 
 demanded. He took thirty of them to the 
 dump and set them to uncovering the main 
 artery of travel by the timber sheds. 
 
 They were strung out in a long line; their 
 black oilskins in startling relief against the 
 white snow. It was sport for them, this brief 
 half hour in the open; this handling of feath 
 ery flakes. Tossing the snow from their 
 shovels they shouted laughter. They capered 
 roughly in the drifts and threw great handf uls 
 down one another's necks or wrestled trying 
 to wash one another's faces, like schoolboys. 
 
 159 
 
160 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 iTheir voices boomed among the muffling flakes 
 as they; indulged in the rude horse-play. Tom 
 stood at the rear of the line watching them. 
 And suddenly their laughter died and they 
 were silent. 
 
 At the other end of the line Nora Ryan was 
 standing in the pathway facing them. She 
 was standing still, puzzled; and the drill run 
 ner at the head of the line was standing with 
 his shovel thrust into the snow beside him, 
 puzzled, as herself. She had waded this far, 
 fighting her way through the soft snow, en 
 joying it. Rounding a corner she had come 
 upon this place on one side the timber shed, 
 on the other a ten-foot drift; between (a two- 
 foot interval at most) the path, filled now by 
 the men. There was no space for her to pass 
 them. 
 
 She faced the drill runner it was Big 
 Jerry relegated again to toil among the slug 
 gers and she saw the long line of giants be 
 hind him, staring at them. Her cheeks grew 
 redder. Jerry broke the silence under the spell 
 of an inspiration, "Merry Christmas to ye," 
 he said. 
 
 She laughed happily, "Merry Christmas!" 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 161 
 
 she replied. "I 'don't see how I'm going to 
 get through." 
 
 Jerry scratched his cropped head tilting his 
 squam hat forward. He had memories of the 
 day when her mother had sweated between the 
 boarding-house stove and the long table where 
 he and other crop-haired giants ate. It seemed 
 like only yesterday, when he had seen Ryan 
 wheeling the baby carriage on a Sunday after 
 noon. "Ah yes," he said, "to get by. Ye 
 were afther goin' to the commissary?" She 
 nodded; he looked back over the line. 
 
 From his place Tom watched these two 
 facing each other and the others staring at 
 them. Usually quick in an emergency he was 
 at a loss to solve the dilemma, and he was still 
 trying to make up his mind when he saw Big 
 Jerry begin to act. The giant was stretching 
 out his arms; he lifted the girl as though she 
 were a feather; then passed her to the man be 
 hind. And this man passed her to the next. 
 Tom watched them, lifting her gently, man 
 to man, across the interval toward him. He 
 saw her coming closer and he frowned uneasily 
 and then she arrived. 
 
 He took her from the last man. He was 
 
162 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 waist deep in snow. She lay in his arms, 
 briefly, a light burden. He felt the softness 
 of her, the quick, half -startled breathing; it 
 came against his cheek with a brush of auburn 
 hair. It had a strange effect upon him. It 
 made everthing else go from him and he did 
 not really know that he was wading heavily 
 the few feet that separated them from the 
 timber shed platform; that he was setting her 
 down upon the planking. He only felt the 
 softness of her, the presence of her close to 
 him the sacred presence of a young girl. A 
 wave of diffidence surged over him. Then, 
 through it, came the knowledge that she was 
 smiling down upon him from where she stood, 
 thanking him. He raised his big hand to his 
 squam hat. It lingered there and he removed 
 the hat a little clumsily. She smiled again 
 brightly. 
 
 "Merry Christmas!" she cried. 
 
 He smiled back, holding his squam hat in 
 his hand, "Merry Christmas to ye, Miss," he 
 answered gravely and she departed. 
 
 The memory of that incident used to bother 
 Tom. Often, when he was alone in his rough 
 room or standing by himself in the roaring 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 163 
 
 heading watching the sluggers, he thought of 
 it. Sometimes he coupled it with what he had 
 said the night before, talking to The Car- 
 tender, "I'll see thim in hell." [And then he 
 grew hot with shame. Sometimes it brought a 
 little wistfulness. 
 
 'But the wistfulness did not endure for long. 
 It was like the memories when occasionally he 
 opened his wooden chest and touched the old 
 coat and the hat; memories of another world 
 than that in which he lived, a gentler, softer 
 world, with soft hands and faces alight with 
 love. 
 
 He lingered briefly over these things. His 
 world was hard; and the hands that strove 
 against its ringing rock were gnarled and 
 rough. It was a world of mighty muscles and 
 reckless deeds. Living in it he loved it. 
 
 His life was full during the months that fol 
 lowed, months that stretched on into another 
 year. It was full of action. He drove his 
 hard-faced men and driving them grew harder. 
 Sternness came upon him. But there was one 
 thing that had stopped growing, the respon 
 sibility. It had developed for all the calls 
 there were upon it. 
 
164 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 He drove the men. But he lived their life. 
 He ate in the bare-walled dining hall. He 
 slept in his rough room. He captained the as 
 sault upon the heading's breast in the rever 
 berating tunnel, where they beat the living rock 
 with steel and tore it with dynamite. And off 
 the work sometimes he played as the men 
 played. He caroused and he fought those who 
 crossed him. Always he was on hand for duty 
 when morning dawned after paynight. But 
 there was no gentleness to temper his actions 
 His world was hard. 
 
CHARTER XVII 
 
 ON matters of railroad policy The Doctor 
 was the oracle of Snowslide. In his day he had 
 tried out as candidates and had passed to 
 friendship many men who had, since the ordeal, 
 risen to places of importance. Occasionally 
 one of them, sidetracking his private car or 
 alighting from the steps of a Pullman, stopped 
 off at Snowslide to pay a call at the post- 
 office. As a consequence those who gossipped 
 with The Doctor got the latest news from the 
 inside, news of changes in the engineering de 
 partment, of new rolling stock, regrades, pro 
 jected steel bridges, and of the president's im 
 pending visit. 
 
 The tunnel was the president's pet project 
 and, although it had been in process of con 
 struction for three years now, he had never 
 inspected it. He was a peculiar type, a relic 
 of a disappearing class the master who per 
 sonally supervises his men. He had never 
 been a stock manipulator but had built his road 
 
 165 
 
166 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 by helping develop the country through which 
 it passed until it had become a transcontinen 
 tal line with steamship connections at both ends 
 and had begun to absorb other systems. No 
 task in commercial upbuilding was too large 
 for him, no detail in any wise relating to the 
 work too small. Wherever men talked of the 
 railroad, in great cities' roaring hearts, on 
 prairie wheatfields wide beneath the sun, on 
 the tops of swaying box cars cinder swept, 
 they spoke in the same breath of him, praising 
 or cursing. 
 
 Sooner or later he would visit the tunnel; 
 would look it over with his sharp, black eyes, 
 then depart and he would send back the word 
 that would bring dismay or joy. When was 
 he going to come? The Old Man often asked 
 The Doctor that question and The Doctor only 
 shook his head. Until, one night when the 
 two of them were sitting at the table in the 
 little back parlor with the bottle of Scotch 
 whiskey and the glasses between them, the sta 
 tion agent brought a telegram. 
 
 The Doctor read it swiftly, "I have news," 
 he said, "Uncle Jimmy is to be with us in the 
 morning." 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 167 
 
 Ryan bounded from his chair. "What's 
 that?" he shouted. 
 
 "It's true," said The Doctor. "He stole a 
 march to Spokane on the Overland and he's 
 commandeered the division superintendent's 
 private car." He held the yellow slip toward 
 Ryan, but the latter was making toward the 
 door. 
 
 That night an extra gang worked straight 
 ening things outside the portal and lights 
 burned late in the engineer's quarters. When 
 the president swung from the steps of his 
 special and hurried to "D" quarters, he found 
 Ryan there to meet him. The two of them 
 spent more than an hour looking at the 
 concrete plant and the power house; then they 
 went inside. By that time a party was hang 
 ing at their heels. 
 
 There was Weed, the resident engineer, 
 high-collared, clean-shaven, wearing high 
 laced boots. With him walked two men from 
 the private car, stenographers by calling. 
 They, too* wore high collars and their faces 
 were white with the pallor that comes from 
 indoor work. They talked with Weed about 
 the city, telling him of cotillions and card par- 
 
168 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 ties; tKey commented audibly on the things 
 they saw, staring at the men whom they re 
 garded as hoboes. In front of them between 
 them and the two leaders walked the pres 
 ident's son. He was a young man, in his thir 
 ties. His eyes were dark like his father's but 
 they lacked the lines of keenness about the 
 older man's; and they were large, the eyes of 
 a student. He had wiped engines in a round 
 house after his graduation from college; and 
 had gone from that into the machine shops. 
 He was still learning, studying the road, ac 
 quiring knowledge of details which would fit 
 him for carrying on his father's work. He 
 listened to the president and Ryan, looking 
 carefully at the things about him, saying noth 
 ing, paying no heed to the chatter of the trio 
 behind him. 
 
 When the party arrived at the heading, the 
 muckheap there was all but gone. Before 
 them the four columns loomed. On each 
 column two thundering machines ; at each ma 
 chine, the runner, big-bodied, his hard face 
 calm, intent upon the work. iAmong the 
 plunging chucks, leaping between them, 
 crouching as they toiled, the helpers, their 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 169 
 
 faces spattered with grit, blackened by oil, 
 gleaming through the fog of the exhausts. 
 Behind all these stood Tom. 
 
 He was watching the work. In the roaring 
 rock-bound chamber he stood, his hands folded 
 behind his back, his broad shoulders bending a 
 little forward, motionless like a great black 
 statue. 
 
 Ryan touched him on the arm. He turned 
 and saw the bearded president whose name 
 was synonym for power, whom he knew as 
 master of them all. He had heard of the im 
 pending visit and at once he knew this was 
 the man. His gray eyes were keen in scrutiny. 
 The black eyes met them, hard, shrewd, with 
 lines about their corners. The two looked 
 steadily at each other for a moment. Ryan 
 bent over and shouted in Tom's ear, "Where 
 are ye?" 
 
 "On the fourteen-foot; we'll shoot in the 
 half hour," he shouted back. 
 
 His eyes went over the group as they stood 
 watching: the president, the man who had 
 made the road; his strong, bearded face was 
 lined with energy and planning. Eeside him, 
 Ryan, legs apart, head back, now waving his 
 
170 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 hand to point, now bending to shout into his 
 neighbor's ear; sure of himself, a master too. 
 The younger man with the pointed beard, 
 studying what was there, making no move 
 ment, silent, observant. 
 
 Tom felt proud as he looked. He felt 
 pride in The Old Man standing thus beside 
 this other who was mighty; and he felt proud 
 of the fact that it was his shift which they had 
 come in to see. It was the pride of a com 
 mander whose good troops are undergoing in 
 spection during action. Suddenly his eyes 
 went to the stenographers. 
 
 One of them was staring at him. He was 
 a thin-faced man. In this artificial light his 
 white face seemed even paler than it was. He 
 was puffing a thick, Turkish cigarette. He 
 was staring at Tom as though Tom were some 
 strange animal the stare of believed superi 
 ority that has no understanding. 
 
 The odor of the cigarette came to Tom's nos 
 trils and it revolted him. He saw the look, 
 the thin body, the high, white collar, the cheeks 
 that showed anemia. His anger rose within 
 him. 
 
 It was not the man. He was a little thing. 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 171 
 
 Even his stare by itself, would have made Tom 
 smile. It was something bigger the man 
 represented an institution. And toward that 
 institution Tom was intolerant. 
 
 He had no knowledge of the gentler life 
 that others led. He had developed in this 
 place among toilers who had no homes save 
 their bunks, who made their huge muscles do 
 mighty things. He had physical superiority 
 over these men; and he had mastered them 
 through that and his ability to drive. He 
 lived in action and believed in it. And there 
 was something more, something that had come 
 into existence generations before him beside 
 peat fires class feeling. It was deep within 
 him. It gave the intolerance toward those 
 whom he believed to hold themselves above him, 
 those whom his ignorance pictured to him as 
 living useless lives. 
 
 That class feeling was the curse of his kind. 
 It had made them as out of sympathy with 
 others as others were with them. It had 
 cursed the Coeur d'Aleners, making them kill 
 and maim and destroy until now they were 
 fugitives bearing other names than their own. 
 It had cursed the hard rock men, making 
 
172 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 them proud of their roughness, half defiant 
 in a swaggering braggadocia, keeping them 
 closer to the rude. 
 
 It gripped the two men as they looked, this 
 feeling of class, this intolerance made bigger 
 by ignorance of each other's lives. The one 
 saw a huge, hard-faced brute. The other saw 
 an unhealthy pallor, a high collar and a Turk 
 ish cigarette. They both stared; but in the 
 eyes of the bigger man was a strength of con 
 tempt that made the other's drop. .Torn spat 
 and turned his back. 
 
 When the visitors departed he turned and 
 looked after them. The Old Man and the 
 president were walking shoulder to shoulder, 
 shouting into each other's ears. The stenog 
 raphers and Weed were hanging close to 
 gether, and the two pale men from the offices 
 were gazing curiously at the men, comprehend 
 ing nothing of what they saw. Between the 
 two parties, walking by himself, watching 
 everything, trying to understand it that he 
 might be better able some day to handle it as a 
 master, went the president's son. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IT was a matter of two months after his visit 
 before the president let Snowslide know what 
 he thought of the work. This time The Old 
 Man brought the news to The Doctor. They 
 smiled at the tidings in the little back parlor, 
 and drank solemnly in honor of the event. 
 
 "Two tunnels," Ryan repeated for the 
 fourth time. " 'Twill be a big job." 
 
 "The biggest tribute they could have paid 
 you," said The Doctor impressively. "The 
 largest thing the road has ever undertaken." 
 
 "Soft ground, some av ut; and some av ut 
 hard rock," The Old Man went on. "I guess 
 Uncle Jimmy was suited alright, alright, when 
 he made his little call." 
 
 The Doctor rubbed his white hands. "How 
 soon did you say they begin?" he asked. 
 
 "Next winter," said Ryan. "As soon as 
 we're done here. Do ye know, there's wan 
 thing botherin' me now that I think av ut; 
 where am I to get my superintendents?" he 
 
 173 
 
174 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 frowned and shook his head. "Two big jobs 
 and me to oversee them both, and thirty miles 
 apart. That means a different breed than 
 walkers is made of. A walker, ye see, ye can 
 watch, and kape him sober if need be. But 
 when ye are away, maybe f er weeks at a time, 
 ye need somewan ye can depend on. Tarpy 
 is not fit fer ut; he'd be on a drunk in two 
 monts. Mike Moran over on the other portal 
 could do ut; he's a mole and never stays out 
 side long enough to get into trouble. He 
 might do. But where's the other?" 
 
 "I'll tell you," said The Doctor, "a young 
 man who will make his mark some day. It's 
 that lad Morton, a fine lad." 
 
 "Morton, hell!" said The Old Man; "ye may 
 think so. But I know him and his breed. 
 'Tis his first tunnel job, this, and already he is 
 so tough he has a name fer ut. He's like all 
 the rest of them. Only the whiskey has not 
 got him yet. But get him on another job and 
 ye'll see him blossom out. The only raison he 
 hasn't jumped this job, is because work has 
 been slack fer two years back an' there's no 
 place to go. He fights an' he drinks an' he 
 has no regard fer man, God or the devil. He 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 175 
 
 will be a stiff like all of thim. No sir. He'll 
 get his shift if he goes wit me, and he'll get 
 his chance. But in tree monts he'll be on the 
 road wit his blankets rolled on his back. I 
 know him. What I am talkin' of is stiddy 
 men 'tis them I want." 
 
 "A young fellow like Morton," said The 
 Doctor, "ought to get married." 
 
 "Married!" exploded Ryan. "Who is the 
 likes of him to marry; Snowslide Ann?" He 
 looked at his watch. "I must go over the hill 
 in the half hour," he said, "the chief engineer 
 is there from St. Paul. I'll have to see Tarpy 
 before I catch that freight." 
 
 Emerging from the door he failed to see a 
 short, broad figure whip into Scotty Riley's 
 dance hall. Otherwise he would have gotten 
 his talk with Tarpy. 
 
 The Walker had seen Ryan just in time to 
 get out of sight. The dance hall was deserted. 
 Behind the bar the proprietor sat back in an 
 uptilted chair reading a day's old paper. He 
 rose as Tarpy entered, and smiled his noncom 
 mittal smile. "Have a drink?" he asked. 
 
 The Walker shook his head; he was looking 
 upward at the clock. "That's so," said Rileyj 
 
176 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 suavely, "I'd forgotten you're on the wag 
 
 on." 
 
 Tarpy did not answer; his eyes were still on 
 the clock. Its long hand was close to the half - 
 past. A moment later he lowered his eyes and 
 glanced furtively through the door. "Now," 
 he said, "I'll take ut whiskey." 
 
 Biley reached beneath the bar and brought 
 out the bottle. He shoved it forward and 
 smiled carefully as The Walker poured the 
 glass to the brim. Then Tarpy drank. 
 
 At "D" quarters The Old Man found Tom 
 scanning blue prints in The Walker's office. 
 "Where's Tarpy?" he demanded. Tom shook 
 his head. "I saw him going down the dump 
 a few minutes ago," he said. 
 
 "I was waitin' agin he comes back. When 
 we come out this marnin' there was some chan 
 ces of the timberin' goin' down wit the next 
 shot. I wanted to tell him." 
 
 "Funny I didn't meet him," mused Ryan. 
 "I wonder where he went." He took out his 
 watch and looked at it uneasily; then walked 
 up and down the room. All at once a thought 
 came over him; he growled a savage oath and 
 ran to the calendar that hung beside The Walk* 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 177 
 
 er's desk. He scanned it an instant then 
 straightened his back and turned toward Tom. 
 His face was grim. "How long since did he 
 go, ye say?" he asked. 
 
 "A matter of twinty minutes," said Tom. 
 
 "It's all off," said Ryan. Tom was staring 
 at him. He struggled with his feelings a mo 
 ment; then gave them vent. "Mr. Tarpy," 
 he said with elaborate sarcasm in his pronun 
 ciation, "is getting dhrunk. If ye will remem 
 ber, 'twas two years ago ye and Kennedy had 
 ut out in Riley's two years last night. In 
 the marnin' Mr. Tarpy signed the pledge. A 
 year from then he signed ut again. And 
 twenty minutes ago his time was up. By this 
 time he is full to the neck of Riley's whiskey." 
 
 He resumed his pacing to and fro. Now 
 and then he swore aloud. He wheeled toward 
 Tom. "Bad ground, ye said?" 
 
 "Shaky overhead," said Tom, "and tight in 
 the headin'." 
 
 A whistle from the direction of the depot 
 reached Ryan's ears. "That freight," he ex 
 claimed, "I must get over the hill. Now listen 
 here, the chief engineer is comin' perhaps this 
 afternoon. Ye will take charge. And see to 
 
178 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 lit that ye get things in good order if there's 
 anny roof comes down. I'll ." 
 
 A nipper boy slouched into the door, 
 "Where's The Walker?" he demanded. The 
 Old Man jerked his thumb toward Tom, 
 "Right there," he said. "Sag what ye have to 
 say, an' say ut quick." 
 
 The nipper stared a moment, then grinned. 
 "The last shot blowed down ten sets of tim 
 bers," he drawled, "they want ye inside." 
 
 Ryan strode toward the door. Holding it 
 open he turned toward Tom, "Who's shift is 
 this?" he asked. 
 
 "Kennedy's," said Tom. 
 
 "Alright," said Ryan. "Ye and that an 
 archist get that mess cleared up agin I get back 
 or I'll fire every man on the work." He 
 stamped out. "Drive hell out o' them," he 
 shouted over his shoulder. 
 
CHAPTER XIX - 
 
 THE empty muck train was starting into 
 the tunnel as Tom reached the blacksmith shop 
 platform. He leaped on board and in a mo 
 ment he was being rushed through the black 
 ness. Through the roar of the wheels he 
 heard a dull boom and in the rush of air upon 
 his face he felt a trembling pulsation. "The 
 side round," he muttered; "Half the ruff is 
 down wit ut now, 'tis like." 
 
 "Damned if I don't think 'twas the whole 
 mountain," a drill runner called to him as the 
 train stopped and he leaped out three hundred 
 feet before the jumbo. "The rock and timbers 
 is all over the place." 
 
 "Where's Kennedy?" Tom demanded. 
 Someone pointed to a knot of the Cceur 
 d'Aleners gathered round their heading fore 
 man. Kennedy raised his bowed head as Tom 
 pushed his way among them. "Sick as a dog," 
 he said, "the smoke is somethin' fierce. Where's 
 TarpyJ" 
 
 179 
 
180 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 "Drunk," Tom answered. "I'm in charge; 
 what's down?" 
 
 "Eight or ten sets of timbers and God 
 knows how much rock on top of thim. 'Tis 
 all over the air pipe and more .f allin' every 
 minute. We're afther eatin' a bit av smoke 
 tryin' to open the valves." He laughed and 
 jerked his thumb behind him. Tom saw, 
 stretched beside the plumb posts, three shad 
 owed forms. One of them was stirring, moan 
 ing. Kennedy clapped him on the back; 
 "How's that, Old Boy," he cried, "pretty good 
 fer wan thrip in, hey?" 
 
 The giants about him spat and laughed. 
 "The ruff," said one, "is drappin' in big 
 chunks." 
 
 "Come on, Kennedy," said Tom. Let's go 
 an take a luk at ut. You, byes, you three, 
 come wit us," 
 
 Kennedy walked beside him; at their heels 
 the three Cceur d'Aleners. Their candle 
 flames cast flickering lights upon their hard 
 eyes, and shadows crept down weirdly over their 
 reckless faces. Tom glanced at The Dynami 
 ter, thinking of the night two years before when 
 they had fought. It seemed as though they 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 181 
 
 must have been another pair, who rained blows 
 on each other while the crowd yelled. The 
 two years had brought them to an esteem that 
 was more than half liking. 
 
 "So Tarpy's drunk?" The Dynamiter was 
 asking. 
 
 "And the chief engineer due Here in the af- 
 thernoon," said Tom. " 'Tis up to us to clane 
 this mess, Kennedy. Can we do ut?" 
 
 The Dynamiter laughed and struck him on 
 the back again. "If we can't, no one can," he 
 cried. 
 
 At the summit of the bench they paused 
 and held their candles aloft to peer into the 
 darkness. By the waving light they saw a 
 heap of snarled timbers and boulders rising 
 high before them, mantled by powder smoke. 
 Above, where the roof had been, yawned an 
 abyss. From its black recesses drops of water 
 were splashing sluggishly upon the wreckage. 
 
 The successive blasts had shaken down thirty 
 feet of timbering, thick beams, four-inch 
 planks, and cordwood lagging. As this sup 
 port had given way the rock rotten here with 
 slips and faults had crashed down upon it, 
 splintering great beams, grinding planks to 
 
182 THE HARD HOCK MAN 
 
 matchwood. The whole now lay in an indis 
 criminate pile. Round it the dynamite smoke 
 hung in a thick, blue fog; over it, in the yawn 
 ing hole whence it had come, huge fragments 
 hung uncertainly. 
 
 As they stood a stone fell from the hole. 
 [A! shower of loose particles followed. Then 
 there was silence save for the dripping of the 
 water. "Lots more where that come from," 
 laughed Kennedy. 
 
 The powder smoke came to their nostrils; 
 the air was thick with its acrid fumes. The 
 poisonous gases set the blood to pounding 
 through their veins. 
 
 "We'll clear the air line," Tom's voice 
 boomed in the emptiness and went whispering 
 on upward into the mysterious recesses where 
 the roof had been. 
 
 "Come on, byes," said Kennedy. 
 
 The pipe that carried the air lay along the 
 side of the tunnel. It was covered deep with 
 broken rock and timbering. They clambered 
 to it and set to work to remove the debris from 
 the nipples the valves where the hose were 
 usually coupled. They toiled, crouching on 
 their hands and knees, wrestling with great 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 183 
 
 rocks and timbers, dragging them away slowly. 
 As they strove the powder gases entered their 
 lungs. Dizziness came over them; their heads 
 seemed swelling to bursting and they felt their 
 blood pounding against the walls of every vein 
 like hammer strokes. Their surcharged eyes 
 ached as though they would burst from the 
 sockets, and became blind. They gasped; at 
 times they reeled and almost fell. Fragments 
 of the rock crashed down about them. 
 
 "Fall, damn ye, fall," growled Kennedy. 
 "Where the hell's a monkey wrench, some- 
 wan. I've a nipple in me fingers." 
 
 Tom passed him a wrench. The Dynamiter 
 flattened himself upon his stomach, cursing 
 as he fumbled beneath him, growling impre 
 cations upon the mountain, daring it to come 
 down and overwhelm him. "I have ut now!" 
 he cried. A thin, sibilant shriek followed his 
 words; it grew louder. A cool breath smote 
 Tom's cheek. The Dynamiter groped again; 
 the whistle of another valve joined the first. 
 "Alright," he cried, and straightened his body. 
 He smiled into Tom's face. 
 
 " 'Tis done," said Kennedy. In the yellow 
 candle light Tom saw his smile. An avalanche 
 
184 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 of rock descended upon them. The smiling 
 face vanished in black darkness and Tom fell, 
 struck down by one of the boulders. 
 
 When his senses recovered, the nearest of 
 the Cceur d'Aleners was still running toward 
 him. And he began to remember with strange 
 swiftness the separate things that had hap 
 pened; Kennedy's face smiling into his; there 
 were sweat drops on the forehead, and it seemed 
 to him as though some of the ugly lines had 
 gone; then the obliteration of the light; the 
 heavy blow in the darkness. 
 
 He strove to rise. The Coeur d'Alener was 
 beside him now, holding high his candle, peer 
 ing forward. Sharp pains racked Tom's 
 body. He groaned as he raised himself 
 weakly to his knees. 
 
 "Where's Kennedy?" he asked. 
 
 The other two were there now, bending over 
 something a few feet away, struggling to lift 
 a weight. As he spoke, they rolled away a 
 huge rock. And then he saw Kennedy. 
 
 "Dead," he heard them saying. He crawled 
 closer, trailing one arm limp beside him. 
 The three Coeur d'Aleners were kneeling, hold 
 ing their candles above the crushed body. 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 185 
 
 Tom bent over it and he saw the waxen face 
 stir; the lips moved. He bent closer, though 
 the effort wrung his body with pain. The lips 
 moved again. It was a bare whisper. It 
 reached his ear. A woman's name. And then 
 the lips were still. The Dynamiter died. 
 
 Finally a Coeur d'Alener spoke. "What 
 was ut?" he asked. His voice was quiet these 
 men had worshipped Kennedy. Tom shook 
 his head. 
 
 "Had he anny folk?" he asked. 
 
 "None," they told him, one after the other. 
 
 "We must get him out," said Tom. His 
 responsibility came back to him and with it a 
 determination that took the place of strength. 
 "You, lads; take him down. Tell the others 
 to bring in the lights and call the shift." 
 
 He looked after them as they departed 
 staggering with the body of their leader, pick 
 ing their way among the broken rocks, speak 
 ing in low tones. Then he sat alone thinking. 
 His arm throbbed and his body was full of 
 stabbing hurts; they came to him now in a 
 strange, subconscious way, like punctuations 
 to his thoughts. His mind was with Kennedy. 
 
 This rough man, this dynamiter, fugitive 
 
186 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 from justice, gigantic, savage-faced; wHo had 
 sneered at him, whom he had fought, who had 
 led his followers recklessly, who was striving 
 beside him a few moments ago. The man had 
 smiled into his face; and he had died whisper 
 ing a woman's name. Somewhere back in the 
 past, back in the years that lay behind his 
 wanderings, she had lived. And, dying, he 
 had harked back to her. 
 
 The shift came with the lights. He set his 
 teeth while they helped him bind his arm in a 
 rude sling. Then he sank down on a rock, 
 and he sat there directing them while they 
 cleared away the ruin. Pain swept over his 
 being in great waves; his head swam and a 
 thin, cold sweat filmed his face. About him 
 men panted, tearing away loose rock and tim 
 bers, setting new timbers overhead. They 
 swarmed the place; the chamber rang with the 
 blows of their sledges; and through it all 
 from the nipples that Kennedy had freed 
 came the sharp, shrill whistle of the air. The 
 chasm in the roof dripped water ; now and then 
 a shower of stones fell among the toilers. 
 
 He gave them orders, in a voice that did not 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 187 
 
 seem to be his own. At times, in the stress 
 of sudden emergency, he came back to himself 
 and he shouted; and they leaped in response. 
 Then his mind went back, dully over and 
 over the catastrophe, the rush of death close 
 beside him, the mutter of the stilling lips. 
 
 He had not eaten nor drunk since morning. 
 The pain was growing to a strange lethargy, 
 a cold numbness, that seemed to creep upward 
 from his waist. He fought against it, to hold 
 himself together. 
 
 Slowly the heap of wreckage vanished; 
 slowly the timbers spanned the chasm over 
 head. Afternoon wore on to evening and 
 evening toward midnight. He sat upon the 
 rock, directing them. When they had the 
 gangway laid and the first barrow loads of 
 muck had started for the jumbo, someone 
 looked around and saw him lying in a huddle 
 across the boulder. 
 
 The Old Man, coming inward cheerful be 
 cause the chief engineer had gone to bed for 
 the night met four of the runners, bearing 
 Tom. He glanced sharply at their burden, 
 saw who it was, and stopped. 
 
188 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 "His head went back on him," one of the 
 bearers explained. "He rowled over, goin' to 
 sleep like when they done the timber in'." 
 
 "All stove in*," they answered, when he de 
 manded diagnosis. "A rock smashed down on 
 him in the marnin'." 
 
 Ryan did not fume, but came to pur 
 pose at once, and to foresight. "Take him to 
 Moran's," he said. "I'll go ahead an' see that 
 they get ready fer him. No hospital fer his; 
 I want him to be about some time before next 
 fall." 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 SEVERAL days later, Tom awoke from the 
 dreamless slumber that follows fever. He was 
 lying between smooth linen sheets; they ca 
 ressed him with a soft, cool touch. It 
 was very soothing. The morning sunlight 
 streamed across his bed and cascaded from the 
 white coverlet to the matting on the floor, a 
 clean, sweet radiance from out of doors. He 
 turned his head to see it better and the pillow 
 slip brushed his cheek, stiff with growth of 
 beard. He was weary; weakness enwrapped 
 him; he did not care to raise his head or think. 
 Somewhere in the open an insect buzzed dron 
 ingly; a clock ticked in the silence. He 
 drowsed contentedly. 
 
 He awoke again. It was a little room, with 
 a board ceiling. The walls were covered with 
 light-tinted paper, figured with small, stiff 
 clusters of flowers. On the paper someone had 
 pinned colored pictures, cut from the covers 
 of weekly magazines ; women's faces, the faces 
 
 189 
 
190 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 of young women, gentle-featured. He stared 
 at them for some time; growing more widely 
 conscious, he raised his head. It fell back 
 limply on his pillow and he groaned. The stab 
 of pain took him swiftly back from here; he 
 was in the tunnel where the rock fell round 
 him. A hand upon his forehead roused him, 
 and he opened his eyes into Nora Ryan's. 
 
 "It's cleared away," he said. "Is ut 
 cleared?'" 
 
 "Yes," she told him; "everything is alright. 
 You must lie still." 
 
 "And Kennedy?" His voice was weak, 
 high-pitched, fretful, like a child's. 
 
 "Go to sleep," she said. "There, there, go 
 to sleep." She talked as though he were a rest 
 less baby. 
 
 He tossed his limbs impatiently; then sub 
 sided weakly, moving his tongue stiffly between 
 his dry lips. "I want a drink," he said, com- 
 plainingly. 
 
 She brought a glass of water and slipped 
 a little hand behind his head. While he drank, 
 her face was close to his. Her auburn hair 
 gleamed, where it caught a ray of the morning 
 sunshine, and her brown eyes, full of the gen- 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 191 
 
 tleness that comes with caring for another 
 the solicitude of sympathetic nursing re 
 garded him softly. He accepted everything 
 the feeling in the eyes, the little sustaining 
 hand unquestioningly, as though he were a 
 child. When she bade him again to go to 
 sleep, he closed his eyes. 
 
 Later on, he opened them slowly and he 
 saw Mrs. Moran beside his bed. Her worn 
 face was relaxed and she smiled at him. He 
 gazed curiously at her, and he half -frowned, 
 uneasily. She laid her finger on her lips and 
 stole from the room. He heard her voice 
 through the door; then the rustle of skirts and 
 a quick, light step. Nora stood before him; 
 he sighed contentedly. She fed him some hot 
 broth, holding the spoon to his mouth with one 
 hand, while she raised his head with the other. 
 Her cheeks were pink and white the blood 
 came and went quickly over them, beneath the 
 transparent skin and her red lips curved with 
 sympathy. When she had done, he lay back, 
 wearied, thinking slowly. Finally : 
 
 "Kennedy is dead," he said. 
 
 "You mustn't talk, the doctor says," she told 
 him. 
 
192 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 He shook his head from side to side on the 
 pillow. "Kennedy is dead," he repeated. "I 
 raymimber." Then he lay silent again, think 
 ing; and he went to sleep. 
 
 When the company doctor came and 
 changed the bandages upon the broken rib and 
 shoulder, he looked cheerfully at the patient. 
 "You'll do," he said; "they couldn't kill you 
 with an axe." Departing, he talked briefly 
 with Mrs. Moran. "All he needs is what 
 you're giving him," he told her, "quiet and 
 rest. To-morrow you can let him talk." 
 
 That night Tom slept and wakened fitfully. 
 He felt the dull pains throb to sharpness, then 
 subside and weigh down upon him like a load 
 that would not leave. In the long, intermina 
 ble darkness, his mind went uneasily over and 
 over the thing that had happened the black 
 hole, the clouds of mantling smoke that made 
 his blood pound through his head, the water 
 dropping sluggishly, the Cceur d'Aleners 
 crouching round him, fighting to clear the air 
 line, Kennedy beside him; outstretched prone; 
 rising to his feet; The Dynamiter's smile; the 
 crashing rock; the waxen face; the lips moving 
 slowly, whispering a woman's name; then the 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 193 
 
 long struggle to endure while men toiled round 
 him. 
 
 In the morning he regarded the streaming 
 sunshine on the coverlet and the gentle faces 
 of the women on the primly papered walls. 
 When Nora brought his breakfast, he looked 
 dumb thankfulness into her eyes. Her 
 presence took the load away. She sponged 
 his hot face and then he supped the broth 
 from the spoon which she was holding to his 
 lips. 
 
 "You're feeling better," she told him. Her 
 voice was pitched low, as women modulate 
 their voices for the sick room. To his ears 
 it was wonderfully soft and her face, before 
 him now, with the sunshine on her auburn hair, 
 was comforting. It soothed. Voice and face 
 were in accord with the other things about him, 
 things that were out of his world of harsh 
 noises and heavy strife. He gazed upon her 
 slowly. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "Was I hurt bad?" 
 
 1 The doctor says it is your shoulder and a 
 rib," she told him. "They're broken. But 
 'twas the fever was the danger. You hurt 
 yourself staying inside there." 
 
194. THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 He shifted his head to one side and the pain 
 came back. "Kennedy is dead," he said. 
 
 She nodded. "Where is he?" He asked 
 the question as though it were troubling him. 
 
 "They buried him," she answered softly. 
 His look was still unsatisfied. "On the hill," 
 she added. 
 
 "Ah, yes," he said; "on the hill." 
 
 That was it; on the hillside, under the black 
 hemlocks. The little graveyard with the 
 wooden headboards, where none ever visited. 
 He shook his head slowly. "It can't be 
 helped," he said finally. He was thinking of 
 The Dynamiter's stilling lips, whispering their 
 last word in the shadows. He sighed wearily. 
 "No, it can't be helped." 
 
 She regarded him, half puzzled. 
 
 "He might av had some folk," he explained. 
 "He must av, somewhere." 
 
 That afternoon The Old Man strode into 
 the little room and filled it with his presence. 
 He stood in the middle of the floor, booted, big- 
 bodied, his diamond flashing from his tie, his 
 hat back on his head. And yet there was in 
 him now something of uncertainty, a little awk 
 wardness of bodily poise, an uneasiness of po- 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 195 
 
 sition. And his eyes went questioningly to 
 Nora, as though for orders. She held her 
 finger to her lips. "Don't talk too much," 
 she bade him, and he nodded mutely as she 
 left. 
 
 He turned to Tom a trifle diffidently, as 
 though Tom's helplessness had raised a barrier 
 which he found it hard to cross. "Well," he 
 said finally, "ye're comin' through alright." 
 Tom smiled weakly. 
 
 "In ten days," Ryan continued, seating him 
 self, "the doctor says ye c'n be about a bit." 
 He fidgeted as Tom made no answer and 
 turned his chair so that he strode it. "Is there 
 annythin' ye want?" he asked abruptly; "anny- 
 thin' I c'n do fer ye?" Tom shook his head. 
 "Some cigars?" The Old Man went on. 
 "Say," he lifted his voice a little under an in 
 spiration, "I've got some good whiskey at the 
 house; I c'n bring ye some." 
 
 "Indeed, ye can not," Nora's voice came 
 evenly from the doorway. Ryan grinned a 
 little sheepishly. "Niwer mind," he said. 
 "Ye must let the women boss ye now fer a 
 while. Pretty soon ye'll be up, an' yer own 
 masther. Lave me know if there's annythin' 
 
196 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 ye want." He looked at Tom and frowned 
 uncertainly; then he went away. 
 
 "It seems like he's lost his grip," he told 
 Mrs. Moran, on the steps. "He don't care 
 nothin'. Niwer a word from him about the 
 work." 
 
 "The work, indade!" she cried. "Lave the 
 bye get well first." 
 
 In the days that followed, this listlessness 
 hung. Tom never asked about the tunnel. 
 Even when The Cartender came to see him in 
 the evenings, sitting beside the bed for hours 
 at a time, Tom had few words for him. Some 
 thing had changed. The Cartender noted it, 
 with eyes that were full of vague trouble. 
 And when he talked with Mrs. Moran he shook 
 his head anxiously. 
 
 "He's lost his grip, I tell ye," The Old Man 
 repeated a week later, on the doorstep. "An' 
 him the wan man I was dependin' on fer 
 walker this summer. He does not care a " 
 He checked himself suddenly and glanced fur 
 tively toward Nora, who had come up behind 
 Mrs. Moran, and he went down the path to do 
 his swearing, where she could not hear. 
 
 In the little room, Tom was lying silent, 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 197 
 
 staring upward with unseeing eyes. He often 
 lay this way for hours, burdened by the thing 
 that pressed upon him now. In the night, 
 when darkness brought back the pain and long, 
 silent hours stretched on and on interminably, 
 hours when there was neither sight nor sound, 
 this thing weighed heaviest, like a bad dream 
 that would not cease. The Dynamiter, this 
 violent man of violent life, homeless ; the death 
 that had come suddenly in the middle of a 
 mountain, which reared its head among a wil 
 derness of peaks. The rock that he had bat 
 tered had smitten him down. And his mind 
 had flitted far back; while his face became 
 waxen, he had gone to other things to where 
 a woman had been. That was a lonely 
 tragedy. 
 
 Sometimes it frightened Tom. Lying here 
 helpless he had lost something. The utter dis 
 regard, the splendid wantonness that had been 
 his while strength flowed through him; it was 
 gone now. 
 
 There was a change. His mind had stopped 
 suddenly. It had stopped in the access of 
 bodily effort, at the uttermost point of physical 
 striving among crashing rock and sweating 
 
198 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 men. And then he had awakened here with 
 the memory of the tragedy among women, 
 dependent upon them, faced by the sweet ne 
 cessities of things which he had long forgotten. 
 
 With the awakening, his viewpoint had be 
 gun to change. The beliefs which he had 
 cherished, the self -nursed, swaggering beliefs, 
 had gone. It was as though, in the midst of 
 the physical, a mighty hand had taken him by 
 the shoulder, twisting him to a sudden halt, 
 facing him with a lesson a two-fold lesson, 
 death and gentle women. It had been a 
 mighty shock, and the lesson was sinking in. 
 
 "You're stronger to-day," Nora told him, 
 when she had given him a drink of water one 
 afternoon; "I'll read to you." 
 
 "Thank ye," he said, and the listlessness 
 which The Old Man had noticed was not in 
 his voice now. When she came beside him, 
 his mind was always easier; her presence drove 
 away the black obsession that had weighed 
 upon him. His eyes hung upon her; there 
 was a new light in their grayness. 
 
 She read to him from a paper-covered book. 
 It was a cheap romance ; its hero was splendid ; 
 its heroine spoke in stilted platitudes; a story 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 199 
 
 of an imaginative world, whither her fancy had 
 often wandered, getting away from the pine 
 cottages and the littered canyon bed, to dwell 
 among ideals. It was replete with artificiality, 
 full of long words and quotations from the 
 French. She mispronounced the words, and 
 stumbled haltingly through the italicized quo 
 tations. But her voice was low and full of 
 sympathy, and as she read her face lighted up 
 with feeling. He kept his eyes upon her and 
 he was very happy. 
 
 The next afternoon he asked her to read 
 again; and after that she sat beside him daily, 
 with the open book before her. And watching 
 her, he got things that were not in the pages- 
 watching her transparent cheeks, with the color 
 coming and going, her long-lashed eyes, her 
 hair, where the sunlight often lingered. 
 
 The knitting of the bones progressed, now. 
 He sat up in bed, and when The Cartender 
 came in the evenings, they talked together un 
 til late. The Old Man dropped in afternoons, 
 and once "The Doctor" called, with a handful 
 of cigars. "My word!" said he. "You look 
 fit to be about already." And Tom laughed 
 when he told a joke. After that Ryan called 
 
200 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 to tell him of the progress ; they would be ready 
 for the holing in a few months now. Tom's 
 interest was coming back. 
 
 He began to be uneasy in his bed, to long to 
 move about. He grew a little irritable with 
 Mrs. Moran. Normality was returning to 
 him. But always there remained with him 
 like a heritage from those black hours an in 
 delible impression that made him graver. It 
 was like a steadying weight. And there was 
 something more. It always came to him while 
 he listened to Nora reading or watched her 
 moving about the room, something softer than 
 anything that he had ever known. He did not 
 understand the extent of this himself until the 
 first day he walked. 
 
 "You'll not need me any more," she laughed, 
 as he staggered slowly to the porch, where Mrs. 
 Moran had fixed the blankets on his chair. He 
 settled himself slowly within the wrappings 
 and looked up at her. 
 
 "Not need ye?" he asked. Then he realized, 
 and he flushed. He saw the red sweep over her 
 cheeks as she answered. 
 
 "In a few days, now," she said lightly, 
 "you'll be about." 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 201 
 
 "That's so," he said slowly, and then, "I will 
 be gone." He looked at her for a moment, as 
 he had often looked at her while he lay helpless. 
 She dropped her eyes. They were silent for 
 some time, and he felt a sudden wave of diffi 
 dence sweeping over him. "Ye have been 
 good to me," he said finally. "How did ye 
 come to do ut?" The question had never oc 
 curred to him before. 
 
 "Why, anyone would do that," she answered 
 quickly; "any woman." 
 
 "Would they?" he asked; then, "Ah, yis, so 
 they would," 
 
 She did not answer, and some way he felt 
 that she did not like what he had said. Then, 
 "Ye have been very good to me," he repeated 
 slowly. 
 
 The next day he walked to the porch alone, 
 and it was Mrs. Moran helped him into the 
 chair. He did not ask for Nora, but he was 
 uneasy, and he glanced continually toward the 
 Ryan cottage. He had been there more than 
 a half hour before he saw her emerge from the 
 door and come along the path. Somehow her 
 brief visit was altogether different than their 
 talks had been. She read to him for a while, 
 
202 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 and even then he felt the change. And the 
 two of them spoke as though his coming of 
 strength had lessened their acquaintance, tak 
 ing away a hundred little half -intimacies ; as 
 though a common ground had gone from be 
 neath their feet. 
 
 That evening he asked The Cartender more 
 eagerly about the tunnel, and he called some 
 what feebly to The Old Man, from the porch 
 the next afternoon, to see what job was open 
 for him. 
 
 "You are well, now," Nora said, when she 
 came over. It was to see Mrs. Moran she said 
 that she had come. She regarded him with a 
 bit of something in her demeanor that was 
 neither defiance nor sauciness, but savored a 
 little of both. 
 
 "I go away "day afther tomorro'," he said. 
 "I've got to get to work." 
 
 "I heard," she said, "you are to be walker." 
 
 He had been very proud when The Old Man 
 had given the position to him, and yet "D" 
 quarters did not seem now to hold the fascina 
 tion that He had expected. Two days later, 
 when he bade good-bye to Mrs. Moran she 
 was cheerful in laughing at his thanks he 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 203 
 
 ended awkwardly and asked for Nora. And 
 when Nora came from the kitchen, he found 
 that his manner was, in spite of himself, very 
 stiff. He shook hands with her and then he 
 limped slowly down the path toward the camp. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE Walker's office was a bare-floored room, 
 with plain board walls and scanty furniture. 
 Odds and ends from the work littered it. A 
 pair of muddy jack screws lay in one corner; 
 on the pine table were an engineer's steel tape, 
 a roll of blue prints, some engine brasses, a 
 bundle of candles and a briar pipe; on the 
 walls, muddy oilskins and squam hats, the flam 
 boyant calendar of a powder company and a 
 cross-section diagram of the tunnel. It was a 
 small room; it reeked with suggestions of the 
 work. It was the nerve-center of the entire 
 job; the headquarters. 
 
 Tom sat at the desk here one evening, nearly 
 two months after he had left Moran's. His 
 broad shoulders were bent forward; he was 
 poring over the open pages of a thick book, the 
 catalogue of a Seattle mail order house. His 
 brown hair was carefully combed, parted in a 
 straight line; his neck was uneasy in the bind- 
 
 204 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 205 
 
 ing embrace of a linen collar; his back and big 
 limbs seemed ready to burst from the clothes 
 that covered them a blue serge suit, still smell 
 ing of the clothier's shelves. His feet were in 
 yellow tan shoes, and as he bent over the cata 
 logue, he occasionally shifted them uneasily, as 
 though they hurt him. 
 
 A timber boss came in from supper, to talk 
 about the lagging which the woodcutters were 
 bringing from the lower canyon. He saw the 
 clothes and grinned. Looking upward from 
 the pages he was scanning, Tom caught the 
 grin and frowned uneasily. He turned the 
 book face downward a little hurriedly, hiding 
 what he had been looking at. 
 
 A few minutes after the man had departed, 
 he laid down the catalogue again, at the sound 
 of a footstep behind him. It was Jerry Mor- 
 ley, in charge now of the evening shift. They 
 were going to slioot; should they use the old 
 powder? They argued briefly over the nature 
 of the rock and the speed of the dynamite. 
 When they had settled the matter, Jerry looked 
 Tom over with the freedom of an old acquaint 
 ance. " 'Tis a hot layout ye have," he ven 
 tured. 
 
206 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 Tom looked him in the eyes. "Annythin' 
 wrang wit ut?" he demanded. 
 
 But Jerry was slow to understand that he 
 had made a faux pas and proceeded to another. 
 He reached over Tom's shoulder and picked 
 up the catalogue. 
 
 "Going to buy a gun?" he asked. 
 
 "Lay that down," said Tom. His face was 
 red. 
 
 "Cranky as hell," Jerry muttered, as he left 
 the place. "Something's on his mind I do be 
 thinkin'." 
 
 Tom was looking at his watch, scowling. 
 "Half an hour to mail time yet," he said aloud. 
 He opened the catalogue. 
 
 "What have ye there?" he whirled, his big 
 face lowering irritably. It was The Old Man, 
 standing wide-footed in the doorway, his eyes 
 upon the suit. He, too, was frowning. "I'll 
 have ye know," he said, "that I'll not stand fer 
 ut." * 
 
 "Fer phwat?" demanded Tom. 
 
 "No sooner do ye get settled down to work," 
 Ryan went on, ignoring his question, "than 
 ye're raggin' up fer downtown. I want ye to 
 onderstand right now, that what raisin' hell is 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 207 
 
 done, I'll do meself. Humph! About to do 
 the Tarpy act already! Annywan would 
 think, to see ye, that ye was goin' out into 
 sassiety wit Weed." 
 
 "I'm goin' to shtay on the job, if that's what 
 ye mane," said Tom. "Me clothes is me own 
 affair." 
 
 The Old Man came on in, half mollified. 
 There was nothing that he liked so well, at 
 the bottom of his heart, as club-like repartee 
 and a certain measure of defiance. "Wear 
 what ye plase," he growled. "Only when a 
 man does that it luks like Seattle or a drunk 
 to me." He digressed at once to the tunnel. 
 "The engineers found center just now," he 
 said ; "right in the middle of the breast. Ye're 
 doin' fine. Kape ut up and ye'll do the holin' 
 afther all, instead of the other side gettin' ut." 
 He lit a cigar and gave Tom one; they smoked 
 together in silence for some minutes. 
 
 "I'm off fer Seattle in the marnin'," Ryan 
 said finally. "I come over to tell ye. I'll be 
 gone a week or ten days, to see about gettin' 
 ready fer the new job." 
 
 As The Old Man left, Tom looked again at 
 his watch. He snapped it shut and fidgeted 
 
208 JTHE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 in his chair ; time was going slowly. Mechan 
 ically, he turned to his desk and reopened the 
 catalogue. He stared at the page, then said 
 aloud, uncertainly: "I wonder if 'twill be al 
 right?" 
 
 His eyes were intent upon an illustration. 
 It was the picture of a toilet set the manifold 
 small articles which women strew upon dresser 
 tops, and use to adorn themselves. The 
 printed matter upon the page described it 
 minutely, going over each small piece, extolling 
 its merits. Tom had read the description 
 slowly many times. It sounded right. 
 
 It was an expensive affair. To his mind, 
 it represented daintiness and refinement. He 
 had picked upon it for this reason. And the 
 choice had not been made suddenly. It had 
 taken days and had demanded help for its mak 
 ing. For in the beginning, he had been at a 
 loss, puzzled between this and other things, 
 adrift in a strange world, where women lived. 
 At length he had confided in The Doctor. 
 Half diffidently, he had explained what he 
 wanted to do. And The Doctor had turned 
 him to this decision. "The most tasteful thing 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 209 
 
 you could get, Mr. Morton," he had said, im 
 pressively. 
 
 That had settled it. Tom had ordered the 
 toilet set. He had sent a good part of last 
 month's pay check to the Seattle house. And 
 to-night the package was due at The Doctor's, 
 where there was, besides the post-office, an ex 
 press office. It would come by this evening's 
 train. He would take it to Nora Ryan. 
 
 Since he had limped away from Mrs. 
 Moran's, he had not seen Nora, save casually. 
 Once he had called on the hill, ^intending to 
 visit her; but he had gone instead to the Moran 
 cottage. A constraint had overwhelmed him 
 at the last moment, when he stood on the rail 
 road track with the two paths up the hill lying 
 before him. That diffidence had kept him at 
 "D" quarters twice afterward. It had made 
 him imagine a hundred barriers existing be 
 tween him and this girl who had nursed him; it 
 had made him conjure up a hundred rebuffs 
 which might come to him if he presumed to 
 make the call. He had been tortured between 
 desire and this feeling, until finally he had 
 taken the bit in his teeth and made up his mind 
 
210 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 to do this thing to get a present for her which 
 would show his gratitude; to take it to the 
 house and to depart at once. But, in spite of 
 the last part of the resolution, he had, when he 
 ordered the toilet set, sent to a Seattle clothing 
 store for the blue serge suit and the yellow 
 shoes, the white shirt, and a hat like The Car- 
 tender had worn that Christmas Eve. 
 
 He took the hat now from its nail and 
 donned it carefully, so that it might not dis 
 arrange his parted hair. The whistle of the 
 evening train was sounding on the last leg of 
 the switchback. It would take some time be 
 tween the train's arrival and the sorting of the 
 mail. And until he had gotten through with 
 this, The Doctor would not be at liberty. 
 Moreover, Tom wanted to wait until everyone 
 had left the post-office. He dallied in the tim 
 ber sheds, where some of the more reckless of 
 the men grinned at his new attire. He showed 
 no sign that he noticed them, but it bothered 
 him. He felt ill at ease, and he gave his orders 
 to the foreman curtly. 
 
 He walked slowly away, down the dump. 
 The outside gang were at work the night shift 
 beside the track. There were six of them 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 shoveling the muck over the brink. They were 
 short-bodied men, thick-chested, and the eyes of 
 one or two of them slanted downward, six 
 Slavs. As he approached, they bent with sud 
 den energy to their toil, swinging their shovels 
 with accelerated speed, throwing the muck far 
 from them. He knew that the low word had 
 been spoken, the warning that he came. It 
 took his mind back three years, and his face 
 softened with sympathy for the eager, big- 
 boned boy that he had been. 
 
 He was walking slowly, with his hands be 
 hind his back. He recalled that other soft 
 evening, when his heart had been wrung by 
 homesickness and he had worn his father's coat 
 and hat; when they had laughed at him; Nora 
 had smiled mirthfully on seeing him. He 
 must have been uncouth. He flushed and the 
 constraint came over him. After all, he was a 
 rough man, of the work; and she might smile 
 now, if he came to her door. But he had 
 fought that battle too many times of late to let 
 the feeling endure. 
 
 The earth beneath his feet trembled vaguely, 
 a faint pulsation, like a labored breath within 
 its depths. He knew the feeling; they had 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 shot the heading. His mind went to the rock- 
 bound chamber, where men were already rush 
 ing in among the hanging nitro gases; where 
 he had run at The Gunner's heels; where he. 
 had raced with Kennedy. And Kennedy was 
 dead, buried on the lonely hillside. He raised 
 his head slowly; his eyes went to the mountains, 
 the walling slopes, black-green with hemlock 
 forests, snow-patched where their jagged sum 
 mits cut the evening sky. A star glowed soft 
 above them, yellow in the blue. He looked at 
 it a long time, feeling vaguely that his youth 
 was gone. 
 
 Lights were glowing on the dump now. 
 When he passed the row of flimsy wooden 
 buildings of the town, he saw their interiors 
 ablaze with the glare of the lamps. The sound 
 of many voices came through the doors, with 
 it the staccatto music of the pianos, the shrill, 
 mirthless laughter of the women, the clicking 
 of the gamblers' chips. The crowd milled on 
 the floors like bewildered cattle. He saw 
 among the moving faces many that he knew. 
 He saw Tarpy bending over a table rolling 
 the dice from his hard hand, his scarred face 
 tense with eagerness; then suddenly grown 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 black, the coarse lips writhing to curses. He 
 saw The Gunner leaning limp against the wall; 
 the man who had taught him, who knew more 
 than any of them knew about the rock and how 
 to break it; dissolving now into stupidity of 
 intoxication. Behind the bar he saw Riley, 
 smiling craftily as he cashed a check. The 
 things went past his vision like swift pictures 
 on a screen. They were like pictures of an 
 other world, a w r orld that he had known. These 
 men he looked upon them from a perspective 
 he had envied them; he had looked up to 
 them; he had toiled with them recklessly and 
 lived with them wantonly; he had mastered 
 them. Now he was master of those who drove 
 them, maker of plans for those who directed 
 them. The responsibility for their work was 
 all his. He knew it now, he felt the weight 
 of it, a potent thing that made his actions sure. 
 He had known it for some time since his 
 mind had been so much away from the 
 tunnel, wandering upon the hill. He hurried 
 past the wide-open doors toward The Doctor's. 
 The Doctor had the package in his hand 
 when Tom reached the counter. He was look 
 ing at the new clothes, smiling politely, full 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 of dignity. "A fine fit," he said, "my word, 
 they become you well." 
 
 Tom's smile had earnestness of inquiry. 
 "Do they now?" he asked. 
 
 "Indeed they do," said The Doctor. "And 
 now the package." He showed Tom where to 
 sign his name and when this had been done 
 none too quickly Tom took the package in his 
 hands. He looked at its red labels doubtfully. 
 
 "Say Doc," he said, "what am I to do ?" He 
 pointed at the wrappings, "I shuddn't be 
 packin' ut up that way shud I?" 
 
 The Doctor shook his head. "By no 
 means," said he, "bring it inside, we'll see to 
 that." 
 
 In the privacy of the little sitting room they 
 cut the cords and the green plush-covered box 
 was disclosed. It lay before them. "Stun 
 ning!" said The Doctor, "That is ripping!" 
 
 Tom said nothing. He was looking at the 
 green plush-covered box, half awed. It was 
 a splendid thing, of another world than his, 
 dainty and at once magnificent. He touched 
 it with the tips of his large fingers and the 
 catch that held the lid sprang open. He raised 
 the lid. The interior was lined with green silk; 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 215 
 
 it was filled with things which he did not know, 
 which he never seen before, silver things that 
 gleamed, glistening cut glass bottles. He 
 stared at them. Then he closed the cover, 
 dusting it with his handkerchief where his fin 
 ger ends had touched it. 
 
 He looked at The Doctor. " 'Tis the goods 
 alright," he said proudly. 
 
 "The tastiest thing you could have gotten, 
 Mr. Morton," said The Doctor. He wrapped 
 it carefully in tissue paper and narrow silk 
 ribbons. "There you are," he said finally. 
 "Have a drink?" 
 
 But Tom was on his way to the door. The 
 Doctor shook his head and smiled after him 
 wisely. 
 
 The road to Ryan's cottage lay across the 
 dump, along the railroad track and up a nar 
 row, winding path. It was not what one 
 might call a long road, nor was it very short. 
 And yet to Tom it seemed very long until 
 he had reached the path. Then it seemed to 
 him that it had been all too short. He saw a 
 bit of dust on his coat and brushed it off with 
 his handkerchief, then he flicked some more 
 dust from his yellow tan shoes. His feet 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 dragged; he shut his teeth and climbed the 
 path. He was holding the tissue paper pack 
 age in the crook of one big arm. All his con 
 straint was with him now. His tread upon the 
 porch seemed to shake the house. And when 
 he had knocked at the door he grew suddenly 
 cold with an idea that Nora might not be at 
 home. She answered his knock while he was 
 in the midst of the thought. 
 
 "Why, good evening, Mr. Morton," she 
 said. 
 
 He thrust the package toward ,vher; then 
 stopped the movement and raised his free hand 
 to the new hat. "I brought this," he was say 
 ing; and it was not what he had planned to tell 
 her at all. She took the package from him to 
 relieve him. 
 
 "Come in and sit down," she bade him, and 
 his plans for quick departure recurred to him 
 after he had somewhat awkwardly taken one 
 of the plush-covered chairs. He was here ; he 
 sat uneasily not knowing just what to say, 
 conscious mainly of the fact that his yellow 
 shoes were hurting him, shifting his feet un 
 easily. 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 "How well you're looking," she said, "as well 
 as if you'd never been hurt!" 
 
 "Yis," he said vaguely. "Yis, I'm well." 
 He looked at the package, lying on the table, 
 and he flushed; then, as he had always done in 
 difficulty, he plunged in. 
 
 "I wanted to give ye something a present 
 because ye were good to me to thank ye fer 
 ut." He was wondering at her self-possession, 
 feeling lost before it. 
 
 She turned to the package. "I'd like to 
 open it; may I?" she asked. 
 
 "Sure," he said. "Let's do ut now." He 
 was smiling eagerly. 
 
 When she had exclaimed aloud a little en 
 raptured "oh" and had followed it with more 
 exclamations, he felt easy in his mind. After 
 all he had chosen well. It was a relief. She 
 called her mother and he rose, flushing again to 
 take her hand. 
 
 "Such a pretty color," Nora was saying. 
 
 He laughed. " 'Tis a good color, me own 
 color, grane." 
 
 "Indade yis," Mrs. Ryan smiled at him. 
 "Ye may say that, a good color." 
 
218 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 Then he found that he was talking easily 
 about the work and his mended bones, talking 
 to the two of them. His smarting feet 
 brought him back to himself and to his con 
 straint; he moved them uneasily. "I must be 
 going," he told them. 
 
 It had not been so hard after all. And she 
 had not laughed at him. Indeed it had been 
 very easy and very pleasant. He went be 
 fore her to the door feeling a little too big for 
 the things about him. On the porch he stood 
 uncertainly, his hat in his two large hands. 
 "I'll be afther sayin' goodnight, I guess," he 
 said. 
 
 Mrs. Ryan came and stood beside Nora. 
 "We'd like to have ye come again, anny avenin' 
 when 'tis convanient," said she. V 
 
 He looked swiftly toward Nora's eyes. 
 They repeated the invitation, "Yes, won't you 
 come?" she asked. 
 
 "Indade," he said quickly, "I will if ye don't 
 mind." 
 
 He did not remember the things among 
 which he walked, going to "D" quarters; but 
 he knew that he walked on air. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 IT was three months later when Jerry Mor- 
 ley's shift, returning to the smoke-filled head 
 ing, found what they had hoped to see a hole 
 where there had been a granite wall, a ragged 
 interval that met the eastern bore. 
 
 " 'Twas fine," The Old Man told Tom at 
 "D" quarters. "The engineers was right to 
 a hair; and do ye know, we've holed her af- 
 ther nigh onto four years wit less throuble an' 
 less men killed than iver I see in anny wan 
 year's work before." He puffed at his cigar, 
 red-faced, his gray eyes gleaming. "I mis 
 doubted a while back," he went, on, "but what 
 the other side wud do the thrick. They had 
 all the best of ut, until ye tuk charge." He 
 stopped suddenly, pulling himself up. That 
 was the biggest compliment he had ever paid. 
 And Tom was disconcertingly silent. 
 
 " 'Twas good luck an' good min did ut fer 
 me," Tom said finally. 
 
 219 
 
220 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 "And now," said Ryan, "I'm aff again fer 
 Seattle to-morrow. 'Tis takin' more time than 
 I looked fer, gettin' ready there. I'll be away 
 a week annyhow, this trip." 
 
 He had been absent for long intervals of 
 late and this was the first talk they had been 
 able to get together for some time. They 
 made the best of it discussing details of the 
 job's winding up. 
 
 "By that time," Ryan said when they had 
 done with the last of these, "I'll be ready fer 
 ye down below." He paused and looked at 
 Tom half frowning. He was battling with an 
 impulse; and prudence finally gained the vic 
 tory. "I c'n give ye a place bossin'," he said, 
 "and chances are ye can work up to walker." 
 
 Tom thanked him absently. The Old Man 
 rose to go. 
 
 "Set down," said Tom, "if ye've a minute 
 ye c'n give me." His face was a little graver 
 than usual; it looked almost drawn. Ryan 
 looked at it curiously as he took the chair. 
 They were both silent for a moment. "Well?" 
 asked The Old Man, "what's on yer mind?" 
 
 " 'Tis this," said Tom quietly. "Ye've been 
 away a good bit av late and I've not had the 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 cHance to tell ye befure, I'm going to marry 
 Nora." 
 
 "You're going to marry Nora?" Ryan 
 leaped from his chair. His face became deep 
 crimson. "Just say that again," he asked 
 slowly. 
 
 "To marry Nora," Tom repeated quietly. 
 "She said the word a week ago." He raised 
 his hand in a silencing gesture as Ryan 
 stamped his booted foot. "I ask yer lave," 
 he went on steadily. His voice was even but 
 it had respect he was of a sudden realizing 
 that Ryan was an older man. 
 
 "Ye ask my lave," Ryan repeated, then 
 words came to him. 
 
 "Blackguard me all ye like," said Tom when 
 he had done. "A rough man I have been and 
 I know ut, none betther. But I am as good 
 as ye, and I have done what was my right. 
 'Twas yer wife asked me to the house herself." 
 
 "My wife," shouted Ryan, "I'll see about 
 this." He blustered wildly, cursing, threaten 
 ing. "I'll see me wife and I'll see what this 
 is," he said finally. "To marry Nora!" he 
 stamped out of the room. 
 
 Tom had been alone for an hour when The 
 
222 THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 Cartender came in. "Ye luk," said he, "as 
 if ye'd lost yer best friend. What's gone 
 wrong wit ye?" 
 
 "I've rowed wit Ryan," said Tom. 
 
 The Cartender looked at him sharply; then 
 he smiled expansively, "Oho," he said, "oho, 
 ye've rowed wit Ryan. That wud be over 
 Nora." 
 
 "Be quiet, man," said Tom sternly. "What 
 do ye know av Nora?" 
 
 "Only this," said The Cartender, aggres 
 sively, "only what Morans knows an' ivery 
 wan on the hill knows; that ye two will some 
 day marry. Have folk no sinse nor eyes? 
 An' so ye rowed wit Ryan. Well, don't let 
 that disturb ye. 'Tis Ryan's old woman runs 
 that house, not Ryan." He grinned and went 
 away, with a clap on Tom's shoulder. 
 
 It was nearly noon before Ryan came back 
 from talking with his wife. He sat down 
 heavily. "Got a cigar about ye?" he asked. 
 When Tom handed him one he lighted it and 
 puffed in silence for a moment. "About that 
 job," he said, "ye will take charge at the north 
 portal fer a few mont's till we get started. 
 By that time ye'll know saft ground work. 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 And ye will be ready then to run the whole 
 thing." 
 
 "Ye mane?" asked Tom, and his voice was 
 strained with eagerness. 
 
 "I mane," said Ryan, "that bein' a married 
 man ye will be settled down then and fit fer 
 superintendent." 
 
 It takes some people longer than others to 
 tell a thing. This is in part because the lan 
 guage of different persons, speaking what is 
 called the same tongue, varies widely. The 
 hard rock men used English above all other 
 purposes for quick expression. Jerry Morley 
 utilized the advantages of their speech a few 
 years later by a bunk-house stove. The circle 
 of drill runners hearkened while he raised his 
 grizzled head and removed his black pipe from 
 his lips to impart a history. Said Jerry 
 
 "White Hat Morton they call him; but niv- 
 ver to his face. 'Twas at Snowslide we first 
 seen him, a raw Mick. He was grane then 
 but his fists was hard. Wanst he licked five 
 min. He pounded his way up to headin' boss. 
 Then he got wise an' cut out whiskey an' they 
 made him walker. Afther that he married 
 
THE HARD ROCK MAN 
 
 Gunnysack Ryan's Nora. Now luk at him, 
 driver av us all!" 
 
 Only one thing did Jerry omit. His tongue 
 was not apt at handling gentler things like 
 love. 
 
 THE END 
 
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 LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, DAVIS 
 
 Book Slip-Series 458 
 
N? 850081 
 
 Bechdolt, F.R. 
 
 The hard rock man. 
 
 PS3503 
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 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
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