Whispering Smith Page 3

  CHAPTER II

  AT SMOKY CREEK

  Karg, Sinclair's crew foreman, came running over to him from a pile ofmerchandise that had been set off the right of way on the wagon-roadfor loot. "That's the superintendent's car coming, ain't it, Murray?"he cried, looking across the creek at the approaching train.

  "What of it?" returned Sinclair.

  "Why, we're just loading the team."

  The incoming train, an engine with a way car, two flats, and the BearDance derrick, slowed up at one end of the wreck while Sinclair andhis foreman talked. Three men could be seen getting out of the waycar--McCloud and Reed Young, the Scotch roadmaster, and Bill Dancing.A gang of trackmen filed slowly out after them.

  The leaders of the party made their way down the curve, and Sinclair,with Karg, met them at the point. McCloud asked questions about thewreck and the chances of getting the track clear, and while theytalked Sinclair sent Karg to get the new derrick into action. Sinclairthen asked McCloud to walk with him up the track to see where thecars had left the rail. The two men showed in contrast as they steppedalong the ties. McCloud was not alone younger and below Sinclair'sheight: his broad Stetson hat flattened him somewhat. His movement wasdeliberate beside Sinclair's litheness, and his face, though burned bysun and wind, was boyish, while Sinclair's was strongly lined.

  "Just a moment," suggested McCloud mildly, as Sinclair hastened pastthe goods piled in the wagon-road. "Whose team is that, Sinclair?" Theroad followed the right of way where they stood, and a four-horse teamof heavy mules was pulling a loaded ranch-wagon up the grade whenMcCloud spoke.

  Sinclair answered cordially. "That's my team from over on theFrenchman. I picked them up at Denver. Nice mules, McCloud, ain'tthey? Give me mules every time for heavy work. If I had just a hundredmore of 'em the company could have my job--what?"

  "Yes. What's that stuff they are hauling?"

  "That's a little stuff mashed up in the merchandise car; there's sometobacco there and a little wine, I guess. The cases are all smashed."

  "Let's look at it."

  "Oh, there's nothing there that's any good, McCloud."

  "Let's look at it."

  As Bill Dancing and Young walked behind the two men toward the wagon,Dancing made extraordinary efforts to wink at the roadmaster. "That'sa good story about the mules coming from Denver, ain't it?" hemuttered. Young, unwilling to commit himself, stopped to light hispipe. When he and Dancing joined Sinclair and McCloud the talk betweenthe superintendent and the wrecking boss had become animated.

  "I always do something for my men out of a wreck when I can; that'sthe way I get the work out of them," Sinclair was saying. "A littlestuff like this," he added, nodding toward the wagon, "comes handy forpresents, and the company wouldn't get any salvage out of it, anyway.I get the value a dozen times over in quick work. Look there!"Sinclair pointed to where the naked men heaved and wrenched in thesun. "Where could you get white men to work like that if you didn'tjolly them along once in a while? What? You haven't been here long,McCloud," smiled Sinclair, laying a hand with heavy affection on theyoung man's shoulder. "Ask any man on the division who gets the workout of his men--who gets the wrecks cleaned up and the track cleared.Ain't that what you want?"

  "Certainly, Sinclair; no man that ever saw you handle a wreck wouldundertake to do it better."

  "Then what's all this fuss about?"

  "We've been over all this matter before, as you know. The claimdepartment won't stand for this looting; that's the whole story. Hereare ten or twelve cases of champagne on your wagon--soiled a little,but worth a lot of money."

  "That was a mistake loading that up; I admit it; it was Karg'scarelessness."

  "Here is one whole case of cigars and part of another," continuedMcCloud, climbing from one wheel to another of the wagon. "There is athousand dollars in this load! I know you've got good men, Sinclair.If they are not getting paid as they should be, give them time and ahalf or double time, but put it in the pay checks. The freight lossand damage account increased two hundred per cent. last year. Norailroad company can keep that rate up and last, Sinclair."

  "Hang the company! The claim agents are a pack of thieves," criedSinclair. "Look here, McCloud, what's a pay check to a man that'ssick, compared with a bottle of good wine?"

  "When one of your men is sick and needs wine, let me know," returnedMcCloud; "I'll see that he gets it. Your men don't wear silk dresses,do they?" he asked, pointing to another case of goods under thedriver's seat. "Have that stuff all hauled back and loaded into a boxcar on track."

  "Not by a damned sight!" exclaimed Sinclair. He turned to his ranchdriver, Barney Rebstock. "You haul that stuff where you were told tohaul it, Barney." Then, "you and I may as well have an understandingright here," he said, as McCloud walked to the head of the mules.

  "By all means, and I'll begin by countermanding that order right now.Take your load straight back to that car," directed McCloud, pointingup the track. Barney, a ranch hand with a cigarette face lookedsurlily at McCloud.

  Sinclair raised a finger at the boy. "You drive straight ahead where Itold you to drive. I don't propose to have my affairs interfered withby you or anybody else, Mr. McCloud. You and I can settle this thingourselves," he added, walking straight toward the superintendent.

  "Get away from those mules!" yelled Barney at the same moment,cracking his whip.

  McCloud's dull eyes hardly lightened as he looked at the driver."Don't swing your whip this way, my boy," he said, laying hold quietlyof the near bridle.

  "Drop that bridle!" roared Sinclair.

  "I'll drop your mules in their tracks if they move one foot forward.Dancing, unhook those traces," said McCloud peremptorily. "Dump thewine out of that wagon-box, Young." Then he turned to Sinclair andpointed to the wreck. "Get back to your work."

  The sun marked the five men rooted for an instant on the hillside.Dancing jumped at the traces, Reed Young clambered over the wheel, andSinclair, livid, faced McCloud. With a bitter denunciation ofinterlopers, claim agents, and "fresh" railroad men generally,Sinclair swore he would not go back to work, and a case of winecrashing to the ground infuriated him. He turned on his heel andstarted for the wreck. "Call off the men!" he yelled to Karg at thederrick. The foreman passed the word. The derrickmen, dropping theirhooks and chains in some surprise, moved out of the wreckage. Theaxemen and laborers gathered around the foreman and followed himtoward Sinclair.

  "Boys," cried Sinclair, "we've got a new superintendent, a collegeguy. You know what they are; the company has tried 'em before. Theydraw the salaries and we do the work. This one down here now is makinghis little kick about the few pickings we get out of our jobs. You cango back to your work or you can stand right here with me till we getour rights. What?"

  Half a dozen men began talking at once. The derrickman from below, ahatchet-faced wiper, with the visor of a greasy cap cocked over hisear, stuck his head between the uprights and called out shrilly,"What's er matter, Murray?" and a few men laughed. Barney had desertedthe mules. Dancing and Young, with small regard for loss or damage,were emptying the wagon like deckhands, for in a fight such as nowappeared imminent, possession of the goods even on the ground seemedvital to prestige. McCloud waited only long enough to assure theemptying of the wagon, and then followed Sinclair to where he hadassembled his men. "Sinclair, put your men back to work."

  "Not till we know just how we stand," Sinclair answered insolently. Hecontinued to speak, but McCloud turned to the men. "Boys, go back toyour work. Your boss and I can settle our own differences. I'll seethat you lose nothing by working hard."

  "And you'll see we make nothing, won't you?" suggested Karg.

  "I'll see that every man in the crew gets twice what is coming tohim--all except you, Karg. I discharge you now. Sinclair, will you goback to work?"

  "No!"

  "Then take your time. Any men that want to go back to work may stepover to the switch," added McCloud.

  Not a man moved. Sinclair and Karg smiled a
t each other, and with noapparent embarrassment McCloud himself smiled. "I like to see menloyal to their bosses," he said good-naturedly. "I wouldn't give muchfor a man that wouldn't stick to his boss if he thought him right. Buta question has come up here, boys, that must be settled once for all.This wreck-looting on the mountain division is going to stop--righthere--at this particular wreck. On that point there is no room fordiscussion. Now, any man that agrees with me on that matter may stepover here and I'll discuss with him any other grievance. If what I sayabout looting is a grievance, it can't be discussed. Is there any manthat wants to come over?" No man stirred.

  "Sinclair, you've got good men," continued McCloud, unmoved. "You areleading them into pretty deep water. There's a chance yet for you toget them out of serious trouble if you think as much of them as theydo of you. Will you advise them to go back to work--all except Karg?"

  Sinclair glared in high humor. "Oh, I couldn't do that! I'mdischarged!" he protested, bowing low.

  "I don't want to be over-hasty," returned McCloud. "This is a seriousbusiness, as you know better than they do, and there will never be asgood a time to fix it up as now. There is a chance for you, I say,Sinclair, to take hold if you want to now."

  "Why, I'll take hold if you'll take your nose out of my business andagree to keep it out."

  "Is there _any_ man here that wants to go back to work for thecompany?" continued McCloud evenly. It was one man against thirty;McCloud saw there was not the shadow of a chance to win the strikersover. "This lets all of you out, you understand, boys," he added; "andyou can never work again for the company on this division if you don'ttake hold now."

  "Boys," exclaimed Sinclair, better-humored every moment, "I'llguarantee you work on this division when all the fresh superintendentsare run out of the country, and I'll lay this matter before Buckshimself, and don't you forget it!"

  "You will have a chilly job of it," interposed McCloud.

  "So will you, my hearty, before you get trains running past here,"retorted the wrecking boss. "Come on, boys."

  The disaffected men drew off. The emptied wagon, its load scattered onthe ground, stood deserted on the hillside, and the mules drooped inthe heat. Bill Dancing, a giant and a dangerous one, stood lone guardover the loot, and Young had been called over by McCloud. "How manymen have you got with you, Reed?"

  "Eleven."

  "How long will it take them to clean up this mess with what help wecan run in this afternoon?"

  Young studied the prospect before replying. "They're green at thissort of thing, of course; they might be fussing here till to-morrownoon, I'm afraid; perhaps till to-morrow night, Mr. McCloud."

  "That won't do!" The two men stood for a moment in a study. "Themerchandise is all unloaded, isn't it?" said McCloud reflectively."Get your men here and bring a water-bucket with you."

  McCloud walked down to the engine of the wrecking train and gaveorders to the train and engine crews. The best of the refrigeratorcars had been rerailed, and they were pulled to a safe distance fromthe wreck. Young brought the bucket, and McCloud pointed to thecaskful of brandy. "Throw that brandy over the wreckage, Reed."

  The roadmaster started. "Burn the whole thing up, eh?"

  "Everything on the track."

  "Bully! It's a shame to waste the liquor, but it's Sinclair's fault.Here, boys, scatter this stuff where it will catch good, and touch heroff. Everything goes--the whole pile. Burn up everything; that'sorders. If you can get a few rails here, now, I'll give you a track bysundown, Mr. McCloud, in spite of Sinclair and the devil."

  The remains of many cars lay in heaps along the curve, and thetrackmen like firebugs ran in and out of them. A tongue of flameleaped from the middle of a pile of stock cars. In five minutes thewreck was burning; in ten minutes the flames were crackling fiercely;then in another instant the wreck burst into a conflagration that rosehissing and seething a hundred feet straight up in the air.

  From where they stood, Sinclair's men looked on. They were nonplussed,but their boss had not lost his nerve. He walked back to McCloud."You're going to send us back to Medicine Bend with the car, Isuppose?"

  McCloud spoke amiably. "Not on your life. Take your personal stuff outof the car and tell your men to take theirs; then get off the trainand off the right of way."

  "Going to turn us loose on Red Desert, are you?" asked Sinclairsteadily.

  "You've turned yourselves loose."

  "Wouldn't give a man a tie-pass, would you?"

  "Come to my office in Medicine Bend and I'll talk to you about it,"returned McCloud impassively.

  "Well, boys," roared Sinclair, going back to his followers, "we can'tride on this road now! But I want to tell you there's something to eatfor every one of you over at my place on the Crawling Stone, and aplace to sleep--and something to drink," he added, cursing McCloudonce more.

  The superintendent eyed him, but made no response. Sinclair led hismen to the wagon, and they piled into it till the box was filled.Barney Rebstock had the reins again, and the mules groaned as the whipcracked. Those that could not climb into the wagon as it moved offstraggled along behind, and the air was filled with cheers andcurses.

  The wreck burned furiously, and the column of black smoke shotstraight up. Sinclair, as his cavalcade moved over the hill, followedon foot, grimly. He was the last to cross the divide that shut thescene on the track away from the striking wreckers, and as he reachedthe crest he paused and looked back, standing for a moment like astatue outlined in the vivid sunshine. For all his bravado, somethingtold him he should never handle another wreck on the mountaindivision--that he stood a king dethroned. Uninviting enough to manymen, this had been his kingdom, and he loved the power it gave him. Hehad run it like many a reckless potentate, but no one could say he hadnot been royal in his work as well as in his looting. It wasimpossible not to admire the man, his tremendous capacity, hisextraordinary power as a leader; and no one liked his better traitsmore than McCloud himself. But Sinclair never loved McCloud. Longafterward he told Whispering Smith that he made his first mistake in along and desperate game in not killing McCloud when he laid his handthat morning on the bridle of the mules; it would have been easy then.Sinclair might have been thinking of it even as he stood looking back.But he stood only for a moment, then turned and passed over the hill.