Thrice Armed Part 24

The man in question stood up just then. He was big and gaunt and pale, but he wore ordinary city clothes, and when he and the others had inserted the screw-jack contrivance on a strip of thick planking under the sawn-off tree, he turned to the a.s.sembly.

"There are quite a few stump-pullers, and I've struck benighted men who used the chain-tackle tripod," he said. "I'm not saying it's inefficient, for when you put sufficient pressure upon the winch and it will not pull the stump up, it will pull the tripod down upon your head.

This one pulls up all the time, and something has got to come if you work hard enough." Then he raised his hand to his two companions. "You look fit and strong. Show them you can heave."

They drew the sliding bar up to the head of the thing, and pulled it toward them several times, while their faces grew suffused and the veins rose gorged on their foreheads, for men in that country are proud of their vigor. There was a slow cracking and tearing of roots, but the great stump still stood immovable. Then the _Shasta_'s engineer inquired what they fed upon, and their comrades flung them sardonic encouragement, while as they gasped and strained their muscles the screw slid slowly, turn by turn, through its socket. At last there was a sharp rending and a little murmur of applause as the big stump tilted and fell over on its side. Then the big rancher stood up on the veranda.

"It's smart work, but Dave and Charley are two of the smartest men round this settlement, and we want to test the thing in every way," he said.

"There's another stump yonder, and I guess Mr. Fleming will put up a bottle of whisky for any three men who will knock five minutes off the record. We'll put Mr. Barbison and Jasper in to show what men who don't grub stumps can do."

There was a little laughter, for if Jasper, who slowly took off his jacket, was not accustomed to stump-grubbing, he was at least a man of splendid physique, and Barbison felt uneasy when he laid a great hand on his shoulder.

"Come right along," he said; "we've got to get that whisky."

Barbison's protests were not listened to, and, seeing no help for it, he also flung off his jacket, when the big rancher firmly led him down the stairway. Then they gave him a shovel, and his two companions saw that he used it while they plied the grub-hoe. There are, however, probably very few men reared in the city who could work with the tireless axemen of the Pacific Slope, and in ten minutes Barbison was visibly distressed. The perspiration dripped from his flushed face, and he gasped for breath, while his comrades inquired with ironical solicitude whether he were getting sleepy. When he had excavated enough to satisfy them, they made him crawl into the hole and claw out soil from among the roots with shortened shovel, most of the contents of which fell all over him. They kept him at it mercilessly for over half an hour, and when he crept out his hands were raw and he was aching in every limb. Even then there was no respite, for the rest insisted on his partic.i.p.ating in their labors at the lever, and contrived to allow him to do considerably more than his share. At last, however, the great stump rose and tilted, and he was escorted back to the hotel amidst acclamation.

"Well," said the big rancher, "if you can work like that, why in the name of thunder do you want to be a fruit-tree peddler? It's quite hard to believe you are one. You don't look like it, anyway."

Barbison certainly did not, for he had burst a seam of one of his garments during his efforts, while the red soil that had smeared them freely was on his dripping face and in his ruffled hair. He flung a swift glance at the man as he realized that his observation was apposite. There was, however, nothing suspicious in the rancher's att.i.tude, and the others laughed in the soft fashion peculiar to the bushman.

"Anyway, he deserves the whisky," said one of them.

It was duly brought, and, though those ranchers are for the most part abstemious men, other bottles made their appearance in turn, and Barbison braced himself for an effort to maintain his credit as one of The Boys. He had not found this very difficult in the city saloons, but the bushman who lives with Spartan simplicity and toils amidst the life-giving fragrance of the pines twelve hours every day usually possesses a nerve and const.i.tution that will withstand almost anything.

Besides, there was only one Barbison and a good many of them. It was therefore not altogether astonishing that by and by the drummer's observations grew a trifle incoherent, until at last his companions grinned at one another when with a visible effort he raised himself shakily to his feet.

"Something wrong with that whisky, boys; I can't quite talk the way I want. Guess I'll go to sleep," he said. "Anyway, you stand by Merril.

He'll carry your freight for nothing, and run the _Shasta_ men to----"

After that he said nothing further, but lowered himself carefully into his chair, and collapsed with his arms flung out before him across the table. Then the rest proceeded to hold a court-martial over him.

"Seems to me he knows a blame sight more about Mr. Merril and the _Shasta_ than he does about fruit-trees," said the big rancher. "Boys, you cut those plums--hard--and always put wax on the string. Oh, yes, you're innocent bushmen being played for suckers by a smart city man!

Guess one would wonder when they took the long clothes off him. If that last advice he gave you wasn't quite enough, I see a book in his pocket with a silver-headed pencil strapped to it."

One of them promptly took it out, and flicking over the pages, read, "'Six fathoms right up to the old sawmill wharf. Worth while to tow the schooner in and leave her to load. Nothing to be had at Trevor. Siwash deck pa.s.sengers at Tyler's. Sprotson men have odds and ends, but seem stuck on the _Shasta_.'"

He closed the book with a sharp snap, and grinned at the rest. "Well,"

he said reflectively, "that's 'bout enough for me. I'm stuck on the _Shasta_, too. Seems to me the men who run her mean to do the straight thing by us."

The rest concurred with this, and several of them instanced cases where carriers had in due time put the screw upon producers who had been supinely content to pocket a big rebate until there was no longer any compet.i.tion. The rancher with the notebook smiled at them.

"Then we've no use round here for a man like Mr. Barbison," he said.

"The one question is--what we're going to do with him before we start him back to the blame philanthropist who sent him?"

They made ingenious suggestions, which varied from painting him with red-lead to teaching him to swim; but it was the one offered by Fleming of the _Shasta_ that most pleased them.

"What he wants is exercise, and if you will bring him off to the steamer I'll see he gets it," he said. "I've quite a few tons of coal to trim, and there's a pile of old grease he could clean out of her bilges."

"The blame insect will offer to pay his pa.s.sage when he comes round,"

said one of the company.

"That is easily fixed," said another, who had been rummaging Barbison's pockets. "See this wallet, Jake? Well, you're going in to the railroad, and you'll express it to Mr. Merril, care of the fruit agency, with a line to say the gentleman was sick and left it behind him. That strike you all as workable? Then all we have to do is to decorate him."

They did it as well as they were able, and four of them afterward carried him to a Siwash canoe. They had some difficulty in doing it, and fell down once or twice on the way; but just before the _Shasta_ went to sea Barbison was put aboard her, with his face rouged with red-lead and a garland of cedar sprays about his head. It was almost dark then.

Wheelock was on his bridge, the deck-hands were busy stowing the anchor, and as the two ranchers who brought the drummer laid him beneath a boat where he tranquilly resumed his sleep, some little time had pa.s.sed before anybody concerned himself about him. Then a grinning seaman brought Jimmy down from his bridge, and held up a lantern while he gazed in blank astonishment at his prostrate pa.s.senger.

"Tell Mr. Fleming I want him. He was ash.o.r.e," he said.

The engineer came, and smiled when Jimmy turned to him.

"If you can tell me what the meaning of this is, I should be obliged,"

he said.

"Well," said Fleming reflectively, "there are maybe two or three. For one thing, I'm thinking it's a hint that the boys ash.o.r.e are standing by you. There's a note they sent off in your room."

Jimmy told the seaman to bring it, and, while the latter turned the light upon the strip of paper, read: "Hasn't a dollar on him, and belongs to a man called Merril, who's on your trail. We recommend a course of shoveling coal. All you have to do is to play a straight game with the boys, and they'll stand behind you all the time."

Then he turned to Fleming. "I fancy you could give me an explanation, and I'd like to have it."

Fleming told him as much as it appeared desirable that he should know, and Jimmy smiled grimly.

"Wake him up," he said. "There's a bucket yonder."

The seaman made a vigorous use of it, and Barbison raised himself on one elbow, drenched and spluttering.

"Throw any more water, and I'll kill somebody! I'm dangerous when I'm mad," he said.

"Get up!" said Jimmy sharply. "What are you doing here?"

Barbison, who endeavored unsuccessfully to get up, did not seem to know, and apparently abandoned the attempt to think it out. His scattered senses, however, came back to him after the application of more cold water.

"How much you want--take me to Victoria?" he gasped.

"One hundred dollars," said Jimmy dryly.

The pa.s.senger expostulated in a half-coherent fashion, and then, apparently realizing that it was useless, fumbled for his wallet. He clenched his fist when he could not find it.

"Stole it--and my tin case," he said. "Ate up all my samples--must have ate the case, too, the--hungry hogs."

"Then you'll have to work your pa.s.sage;" and Jimmy turned to Fleming.

"You'll take care he earns it. Don't quite kill the man."

Barbison, who seemed to understand this, at last got on his feet and unloosed a flood of invective which had no effect on any of his listeners. Several deck-hands were, however, needed before he was conveyed into the stokehold and left in front of a bunker with a shovel in his hand. He a.s.sured Fleming that nothing would induce him to work, and the engineer only grinned, because it was a long way to Victoria, and the _Shasta_ had several calls to make. Barbison seemed to fancy that his firmness had proved sufficient, and, coiling himself up amidst the coal, once more went to sleep. He awakened hungry, and Fleming smiled again when he demanded food.

"If you'll lift those floor-plates you'll see the s.p.a.ces between her frames choked with coal-grit and grease," he said. "It's possible you'll get some breakfast when you've sc.r.a.ped them clean. Then it will depend on how much coal you trim out of that bunker whether you get any dinner."

Barbison looked hard at the man, and saw he meant what he said. Then he pulled up a floor-plate and looked at the filthy ma.s.s of coagulated grease that had drained from the engine-room.

"And how'm I to get it out?" he asked.