The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1934-12-21
" EMILE LORING
"Who saws so?n

"Who says so?"
Gerard recognized the burly brute
who lurched forward as one of the
two men who had deserted to Gallo
way. Had he driven and dumped
the truck?
always merry and bright, aren't
you, Kusciko? Keep back You're
not in this I'll talk with my own
men,"
"Sez he! He's givin' you the razz-
berry. You guys back there goin' to
be told what you can do when you're
not on the job?"
The men surged forward. Their
muttering was an angry undertone to
the bedlam in the bunk-house. Gerard
counted. Eleven of them against
three. Armstrong and Schuyler had
closed in behind him. Why didn't
they stay out of it? This was his fight.
His and Calloway's. That last name
steeled his muscles. Somewhere Len
was gloating over the situation, might
even now be looking on. He stepped
forward. The shouting and singing
inside the bunk-house ceased sudden
ly. The world was weirdly quiet; he
could hear the hiss of meteor over
head.
"Quit this fool business and go back,
men. If you don't you'll lose your jobs
tomorrow"
yeah! Listen, you guys" Kus-
ciko swayed forward and leered into
Gerards face who'll this fella you
call the Big Boss get to finish the job
if he gives you your time? Let's teach
this white-collar gent to keep out of
other guys business when the days
works done. What's he here for"
Gerard caught the braggart by the
collar of his plaid shirt, dragged him
from his feet, and with stupendous
effort flung him among the men.
"Thats what I'm here for!" The
words gritted between clamped teeth.
Anyone else want to know?"
For an instant the crowd hesitated,
then with concerted growl 1t lunged
forward Gerard's blood chilled. Ugly
faces. Cruel faces. What would it
| feel like to be torn to pieces. A man
died but once. He wasn't man If he
| let lot Of dirty DRINKS tell him
where to get off. His eyes narrowed.
Which head would he punch first?
He doubled his fist. He'd begin on
| that chinless mug and make it nose
| less.
Boy! What a crack He got his
man. Northwest Mounted stuff. Why
didn't Jim keep out of this?
Look out y
Someone yanked him aside, someone
struck something that glittered out of
Kusciko's hand. 1t lay, long and keen
and cruel, on the trampled snow.
keep out of this, Rodney" David
Schuyler pulled him back. "Quit
pounding that man, Jim. This is my
| job now
He walked toward the silent men
who, jaws dropped, stared at him with
bleared eyes.
"Your little joke has gone far
| enough, boys" He clamped his foot
down on the glittering knife. His
voice was steel in a velvet sheath.
| Nothing doing, Kuscikow
The man, who had crawled forward
| glared at him from his knees and
snatched back his dirty hand.
Spiritual force against brute force
| l seem to remember that as a noble
experiment in far-off country"
painted Jim Armstrong at Gerards
| shoulder.
Rodney nodded without moving his
eyes from the group ahead. Every
muscle was tense, he was ready to
| spring if a hand were laid on David
Schuyler. The cool voice went on.
"McGowen, roll Kusciko in the
snow. Cool him off. Better all of you
| play Polar Bear. YOU"
"Hi there!" yelled a man on the
steps of the bunk-house. Bring along
| that"
Shouts behind him drowned his
words. The sounds of scuffling fol-
lowed, then crash. Ominous silence
for a second. Then yells of fright
One voice pierced the tumult:
Look out! The stove Fire Fire !"
"I'll take care of the snooper hiding
in here!"
At Calloway's harsh threat Pru-
dence flung herself flat on the dirty
floor behind the wood pile.
A light on the wall How soon
would Galloway grab her? 1t was
coming her wayl Had she better crawl
out and appear nonchalant? Nearer!
Nearer-a door banging
The lean-to went pitch-black.
"Tried to walk out on me. have you,
| Walt? You-Milly! What are you
doing here?" 1t was Calloway's voice,
shaken, ugly.
you tell me-"
you'll tell me. Where's Walt Ger
ard?'
In his surprise the snooper in the
lean-to had been forgotten. Prudence
tiptoed to the door. 1t was like look