Under Handicap Page 17

  CHAPTER XVII

  At noon Mr. Crawford told the men gathered at the long tables that inthe future they were to look to Conniston for all orders, that he wasempowered to act as he saw fit in any crisis, that he would haveabsolute command over every part of the reclamation work, here orelsewhere. And then he gripped Conniston's hand warmly, gave him anaddress in Denver where a telegram would find him, and drove awaytoward Crawfordsville, promising to telephone to Brayley to report tothe Valley immediately.

  Before he was out of sight the new superintendent called his fouroverseers aside.

  "What wages are you fellows drawing down?" he asked, bluntly.

  "Three bones," the Lark told him.

  "Now, look here. Do you fellows know that we have got to get thiswhole job done by the first of October? That's a lot of work, andmaybe you boys know it. It is up to you four fellows as much as it isup to anybody to see that the work is done. You've got to get everyinch done every day that you can. You've got to drive your men allthey'll stand for. You know what will happen if you make a mistake andtry to get too much out of them?"

  "Dead easy, Mr. Conniston," grinned the Lark. "They'll quit. They saythere is lots of easy graft up in the mountains with a guy namedSwinnerton."

  "Then," went on Conniston, quietly, "you've got to be careful not todrive them too hard. Keep your men good-natured. If you see any signsof balking let me know. I haven't any kick to make about the way youhave been working, but I want you to work harder! Get me? And I amgoing to pay you four dollars a day instead of three. Wait. I am goingto make you another proposition: over and above your wages I'll payeach man of you for every day between the day we get water on the landand the first of October. And for that time I'll pay each man of youat the rate of twenty dollars a day!"

  "Gee!" exclaimed the Lark. "You ain't stringing us, are you?"

  "No. Understand what I mean: in case we get the work done five daysbefore the first each man of you draws down one hundred dollars abovehis wages. Drive your men as hard as you can; but don't forget whatwill happen if you try to do too much. What wages are your mengetting?"

  "Two dollars and a half."

  "Go back and offer them two-seventy-five. And tell them that for everyday between the first of October and the day we get water on the landeach and every man of them will draw down an extra five dollars. Nowget to work. I want to see what you can get done by quitting-time."

  That afternoon Conniston left everything in the hands of his foremen.He did not once go to the ditch to see what they were doing. Insteadhe took Truxton's note-book from the table in the tent--Truxton wasstill in a deep stupor--and from one o'clock until dark worked overit, seeking desperately to grasp every detail which he must knowlater and to plan for the morrow and the morrows to come.

  When he heard the men coming in from work he got his horse and saddledit, and then waited for the foremen with their daily reports.

  "I beat my record by twenty feet to-day," the Lark told him, with acheerful grin, as he handed Conniston a soiled bit of paper. "I'm hoton the trail of my bonus, take it from me."

  That evening Conniston spent with Tommy Garton. He did not even takethe time to call on Argyl. He told the little fellow what hadhappened, received a hearty grip of the hand which meant more to himthan a wordy congratulation, laid what few plans he had had time tooutline before him, and asked his advice upon them.

  "I want the plans and specifications for Dam Number One, Tommy."

  Garton took them from a drawer and passed them across the table.

  "I will look over them on the job to-morrow. And I want to know howlong you think it will take to get that dam built when once we get towork on it?"

  "I don't see how it can be done and done right," Garton answered,promptly, "in much less than thirty days. You might be able to do atemporary job of it--put in a bulwark that would do until we could getwater down here and live up to our contract--and then build the realdam after the first of October. That might be done in less time."

  "How big a shift of men were you planning on putting to work upthere?"

  "Two hundred. You couldn't use more than that. There isn't room.They'd get in one another's way."

  Conniston sat frowning moodily, his fingers tapping the roll ofblue-prints in his hands.

  "Isn't there any way," he asked suddenly, swinging upon Garton, "ofmaking a go of this without building that dam?"

  "No, Greek, there isn't. You see, there isn't any too much water up inthe mountains at best. We have to get every drop that the law allowsus."

  "Figure on it, Tommy. I want your chief work for the next few days tobe just figuring out where we can cut down, where we can save not onlymoney but men. It's men we need." He broke off suddenly and leanedforward, putting his hand on Garton's arm. "Damn it, Tommy," he said,huskily, "I want you to know that I don't enjoy giving you orders. Iwant you to know that _I_ know you ought to be doing what I am doingto-day. You are a better man than I am every day in the week, and Iknow it. If it were not--"

  "Oh, shut up, Greek!" laughed Garton, frankly. "You're an old liar,and that's what I know! And," and his voice softened as he put out hishand for a second time that night, "I love you for it. Now let's cutout the slush and get to work."

  "Then, since it's up to me, here goes: I want your advice at everyjump. I need it, Tommy, need it bad now, and the Lord knows how I'llneed it before the time is up! In about three or four days I'll cometo you or send for you. I don't know which it'll be. To-morrow morningI am going up into the mountains. Brayley will be in camp some timeto-night. He'll take my place for a few days. No, he doesn't know athing about the work, but my foremen do, and Brayley knows men as youknow your multiplication-tables. And I will take a gang of fifty menwith me. I don't like to remove them from the ditch, but I've got toget that dam started. I won't be able to sleep until I see thatcountry and get my hands on it. And, Tommy, one thing more: Mr.Crawford tells me that there will be a telephone line into Valley Cityfrom Crawfordsville within the week. He is to get five hundred men tome as soon as he can rush them through. When they are within twelvehours of us I want you to let Brayley know. That is, of course, incase I am not back here. Brayley will then double his men's pay andkeep them at work all night. Then I'll send half of the new men--halfof five hundred, I hope--to Brayley, and he'll put on a day shift anda night shift--with all the work they can stand up under. And I'llhave a day shift and a night shift slinging that dam across DeepCreek. It's up there, Tommy, that I expect you'll have to help meout."

  "Anything I can do, Conniston. And I'll get busy first thing in themorning along the line you suggest. And," he hesitated a moment, andthen finished, gravely, "I'm glad to see the way you're tying intothis. And, do you know, I'd bet a man every cent I've got that we putthe thing across!"

  Conniston stood up, thrusting his papers into his pocket.

  "If Truxton--" he began.

  "Forget Truxton. He was all right and a mighty good man. One of thebest men I ever worked with. But," and his rare smile worked about thecorners of his sensitive mouth and lighted up his eyes warmly--"but Ihave an idea that the man who made that end run for Yale back in theold days is going to score a touchdown such as Bat Truxton wouldnever have thought of. Go to it, Conniston--only let me get into theinterference!"

  Conniston's plans for the next day had been founded upon his assurancethat Brayley would arrive before morning. But Brayley did not come.And even had he arrived on time Conniston would not have dared leave.At first he had thought to remain overnight with Tommy Garton. Then,remembering that he alone was responsible for the camp, he told Gartongood night and rode out into the desert. It was late when at last hecame to the tent and found his roll of blankets behind it. And tenminutes later cares and responsibilities alike succumbed to bodilyfatigue, and he slept soundly.

  It was long after midnight, perhaps three o'clock, and still verydark, when he awoke. Two men off in the distance were talking. He paidlittle attention to them, but rolled over and went to s
leep again. Andeven as consciousness slipped away from him he was vaguely aware thatmore voices had joined the two which had awakened him. But he thoughtonly that some of the men were calling to one another from theirsleeping-places, and attached no further importance to the matter.

  It was an hour or two later when he again awoke. There were alreadyfaint streaks of dawn lying low, close to the face of the desert. Hisfirst connected impression was that he had overslept and that the menwere already going to work. For he saw a long line, fifty men at theleast count, filing out toward the spot where the water-barrels stoodin the long-bodied wagons, while other crowds of men were groupedabout one of the wagons. And then suddenly he sat bolt upright,strangely uneasy. It was still long before day--and something waswrong.

  He pulled on his boots and, without stopping to lace them, hurriedtoward the wagons. And before he had gone twenty paces he knew what itwas that had happened. The men had been talking in hushed voices, soas not to wake him; but, now that two or three made out who he was, ashout rose sharply into the morning stillness, a shout at once ofwarning and of derision. And it was clearly the shout of drunkenness.It was taken up by fifty throats, a hundred throats, clamorous,exultant, jeering.

  As the men moved back and forth, many of them staggered perceptibly.Conniston saw one of them pitch forward and lie helpless. A man passedby him, swaying and lurching, and in the pale light there wassomething fiendish in the fellow's leering face, his open mouth, hiswide, staring eyes. Off yonder he heard two men quarreling, theirvoices raised in windy gusts of snapping oaths; saw one of them lifthis hand and strike, not as a man strikes with his bare fist, but as aman strikes with a knife; saw the other man fling out his arms, heardhis gurgling, choking cry above the sudden clamorous tumult; saw himsettle quietly to the ground as though every bone in his body hadjellied. His eyes accustomed to the half-light, his ears free of thewax of sleep, it seemed to Conniston that he was peering into a scenewhich could be no part of earth, but which must be some frenziedcorner of hell.

  As he ran forward, brushing past tottering forms which cursed himthickly, he saw yet another group of men beyond the wagons; saw thatthere, too, the spirit of alcohol was rampant; heard a man's voice,high-raised and raspingly shrill, in a monotonous song. And as he ranmen did not fall back, but glared at him belligerently, many acoarse-featured countenance distorted hideously, while the men aboutthe wagon bunched up close together threateningly.

  He stopped suddenly, trying to think. A mighty laugh greeted hishesitation. He saw a big fellow thrust a tin cup down into one of thebarrels, the head of which had been knocked in, lift his cup highabove his head, laughing, and then put it to his lips. Then heunderstood while he did not understand: one of the barrels whichshould have contained water was nearly full of raw whisky!

  Conniston did not believe that there were a dozen sober men in camp.He had recognized the big man standing at the barrel. It was Ben theEnglishman. Mundy and Peters, obviously drunk, stood close to him. Thelittle San-Franciscan was standing in the body of the wagon, trying toput his two short arms about the barrel. He had the grotesque look ofa dwarf embracing a fat wife.

  He could look to no one for help. These two hundred men--men whosehard, brutish natures had known nothing of the excitation of alcoholfor weeks, perhaps months, whose brains were now inflamed with it,whose reckless spirits were unchained by it--would listen to wordsfrom him, from any man in the world, as much as they would listen tothe sighing of the breeze which was beginning to stir the scantydesert vegetation. And above all other considerations, above even thehalf-formed wonder, "How came it there?" rose the knowledge whichwould not down, _he and he alone was responsible for what these mendid_.

  He turned away with white, wretched face, and strode back toward thetent. He must get away from them for a little, he must try to think,he must find something to do. And as he turned a yell of derisivetriumph from two hundred throats went booming and thundering outacross the desert.

  Until now he had been merely grief-stricken that such chaos shouldhave sprung into being under his hand where there should be only orderand efficiency. Now there surged into his heart a flaming, scorchingrage. The whiteness left his face, and it went a dull, burning red. Heprayed dumbly for the might of a Nero that he might wreck thevengeance of a Nero. No words came, but he cursed them in his heart.He saw their blackened fingers choking the life out of the last hopeof success of the Great Work, and he longed with an infinite longingto have those yelling throats in the grip of his own two hands that hemight tear at them.

  He stalked on blindly, his back turned upon them, his ears filled withlaughter and shouting, cursing and discordant singing, his brain soteeming with a score of broken thoughts that no single thoughtremained clear. He told himself that this thing was a nightmare, thatit could not be, that it was impossible, ludicrously impossible! Hetried to ask himself what it would mean. He tried to answer--and couldnot. It would mean that there could be no work done to-day! Andto-morrow? Would the men be fit to work to-morrow? And the next day?How long would the stuff last?--how long the effects of it when it wasgone?

  He thought suddenly of the revolver which Lonesome Pete had given him,and which struck against his hip as he walked; and he stopped dead inhis tracks at the thought of it. And then he laughed at himself for afool and strode on. Half of the men were armed. True, they were drunk,but what of that? They were two hundred against one, and they werenot cowards. And in the end he would not have helped the Great Work;he would only have done a fool's part and lost his own life. No, therewas no chance--

  One thought suggests another. He had not gone on a dozen steps beforehe stopped again, a light of hope and of determination creeping slowlyinto his eyes. A moment he hesitated. And then, flinging allhesitation from him, seeing clearly his one desperate hope, cryingaloud, "I'll do it!" he broke into a run toward the tent. Yesterdaythey had taken Bat Truxton to Valley City. But they had forgotten BatTruxton's rifle.