XXI
TOY
Bruce paused in the blithesome task of packing six by eights to look atthe machinery which lay like a pile of junk on the river bank. Each timehe passed he looked at it and always he felt the same hot impatience andburning sense of irritation.
The days, the weeks, months were going by and nothing moved.
Two months Jennings had named as the maximum of time required to set upthe machines and have the plant in working order. "We'll be throwin'dirt by the middle of July," he had said, confidently, and it was nowclose to the middle of September. The lost machinery was no longer anexcuse, as every piece had been recovered by grappling and diving, andlanded safely at the diggin's.
Twice the whole crew save Jennings had dragged a heavy barge fifteenmiles up the river, advancing only a pull at a time against the strongcurrent, windlassing over the rapids with big John Johnson poling likemad to keep the boat off the rocks; sleeping at night in wet clothing,waking stiff and jaded as stage horses to go at it again. Six days theyhad been getting up, and a little over an hour coming down, while twotrips had been necessary owing to the low stage of the water, which nowmade the running of a deeply loaded boat impossible. It had been asevere test of endurance and loyalty in which none had fallen short andno one among them had worked with more tireless energy than Smaltz, orhis erstwhile friend but present enemy, Porcupine Jim.
There was amazingly little damage done to the submerged machinery, andwhen the last bit of iron was unloaded on the bank, the years which hadcome upon Bruce in the weeks of strain and tension seemed to roll away.Unless some fresh calamity happened, by September, surely, they would be"throwing dirt."
Now, as Bruce changed the lumber from the raw spot on his right shoulderto the raw spot on his left shoulder he was wondering how much more of achance was due Jennings, how much longer he could hold his tongue. Amore extended acquaintance with his "practical man" had taught him howeasily a virtue may become a fault.
In his insistence upon solidity and exactitude he went beyond the pointof careful workmanship and became a putterer. He was the King ofPutterers. He could out-putter a plumber. And when he had finished itwas usually some unimportant piece of work that any man who handledtools could have done as well in half the time.
Bruce had a favorite bush, thick, and a safe distance from the work,behind which it was his wont to retire at such times as the sight ofJennings puttering while the crew under him stood idle, became too muchfor Bruce's nerves:
"He'd break the Bank of England!" Bruce would exclaim in a vehementwhisper behind the bush. "If he'd been on the pay-roll of Rameses II,they'd have dug up his work intact. It's fierce! As sure as shooting I'mgoing to run out of money."
Yet so long as Jennings _was_ in charge, Bruce would not listen toattacks upon him behind his back, and Jennings had succeeded inantagonizing almost all the crew. With the same regularity that the sunrose he and Woods, the carpenter, had their daily set-to, if overnothing more important than the mislaying of a file or saw--no doubtthey were at it now.
Bruce sighed. It seemed eons ago that he had had time to watch thekingfisher flying to his nest or the water-ousel ducking and teeteringsociably at his feet. They never came any more, neither they nor theblack bear to his service-berry bush and Old Felix had learned in onebitter lesson how his confidence in man had been misplaced. Nothing cameany more but annoyances, trouble, and thinking of trouble. Brucewondered what was the matter with Toy. He had looked as grim andforbidding at breakfast as a Chinese god of war.
But it was no time to speculate, with a load of lumber grinding into hissore shoulder, so Bruce hurried on across the slippery foot-log and up asteep pitch to see the carpenter charging through the brush brandishinga saw as if it was a sabre.
"I want my 'time,'" he shouted when he saw Bruce. "Him or me has got toquit. I won't work with that feller--I won't take orders from the likeso' him! I never saw a man from Oregon yit that was worth the powder toblow him up! Half-baked, no-account fakirs, the whole lot of 'em--allusa hirin' for somethin' they cain't do! Middle West renegades! Poor whitetrash! Oregon is the New Jersey of the Pacific coast; it's the Missouryof the West. It ought to be throwed into some other state and its namewiped off the map. That there Jennings has got the ear-marks of Oregonprinted on him like a governmint stamp. Every time I see that putterin'web-foot's tracks in the dust it makes me hot. He don't know how to putup this plant no mor'n I do and you'll find it out. If an Oregonian'd beoffered a job teachin' dead languages in a college he'd make a bluff atdoin' it if he couldn't write his own name. Why them 'web-feet'--"
"Just what in particular is the matter?" Bruce asked, as the carpenterpaused, not for want of verbal ammunition but because he was out ofbreath.
"Matter!" panted Woods, "he's got us strainin' our life out puttin' upthem green four-by-eight's when they's no need. They'd carry a oceancable, them cross-arms would. Four-by-fives is big enough for all thewire that'll be strung here. John Johnson jest fell out'n a tree aliftin' and like to broke a lung."
"Do you feel sure that four-by-five's are strong enough?"
"Try it--that's all I ask."
"You'd better come back to work."
The carpenter hesitated.
"I don't like to quit when you need me, but," he waved the rip-saw in asignificant gesture, "if that Oregonian gives me any more back-talk Iaims to cut him up in chunks."
It was the first time Bruce had countermanded one of Jennings's ordersbut now he backed Woods up. He had shared the carpenter's opinion thatfour-by-five's were strong enough but he had said nothing, supposingthat Jennings was following precedent and knew what he was about. Woods,too, had voiced a suspicion which kept rising in his mind as to whetherJennings _did_ know how to put up the machines. Was it possible that theunimportant detail work which Jennings insisted upon doing personally inorder that it might be exactly right, was only a subterfuge to put offas long as possible the day when the showdown must come? Was it in hismind to draw his generous wages as long as he safely might then inventsome plausible excuse to quit?
Bruce was not a fool but neither was he apt to be suspicious of a personhe had no good reason to mistrust. He had made every allowance forJennings' slowness, but his bank account was rapidly reaching a stagewhere, even if he would, he could no longer humor Jennings' mania forsolidity. _Something_ had to move, and, taking Jennings aside, Brucetold him so.
The look which darkened Jennings's face when his instructions to Woodswere countermanded surprised Bruce. It was more than chagrin, itwas--ugly. It prejudiced Bruce against him as all his puttering hadfailed to do. The correctness or incorrectness of his contentionconcerning the cross-arm seemed of less importance than the fact thatBruce's interference had impaired his dignity--belittled him in the eyesof the crew.
"Am I the constructin' ingineer, or ain't I? If I am, I'm entitled tosome respect." More than ever Jennings looked like a bear pouting in atrap.
"What's your dignity got to do with it?" Bruce demanded. "I'm GeneralManager, when it comes to that, and I've been packing cross-arms like amule. This is no time to talk about what's due you--_get results_. Thispay-roll can't go on forever, Jennings. There's an end. At this rateit'll come quick. You know what the success of this proposition means tome--my first, and, I beg of you don't putter any more; get busy and putup those machines. You say that 50 horse-power motor has got to berewound--"
"One man can't work on that alone," Jennings interrupted in a surlytone. "I can't do anything on it until that other electrician comes in."
"Get Smaltz to help you."
"Smaltz! What does he know. Him holding out for them four-be-fivecross-arms shows what he knows."
"Sometimes I think he knows a good deal more than he lets on."
"Don't you think it," Jennings sneered. "He don't know _half_ as much ashe lets on. Jest one of them rovin' windjammers pickin' up a littlesmatterin' here and there. Run a power-house in the Coeur d'Alenes.Huh--what's that! This here feller that I got comin'
is a 'lectricalgenius. He's worked with me on drudgers, and I know."
Glaring at the victorious carpenter who, being human, sent back a grin,Jennings went to the power-house, mumbling to the last that"four-be-five's" would never hold.
"I think I go now I think."
"Toy!"
The old Chinaman at his elbow was dressed for travelling in a clean butunironed shirt; and his shoes had been newly hobbed. His round, blackhat was pulled down purposefully as far as his ears would permit. Allhis possessions were stuffed into his best overalls with the legs tiedaround his waist and the pair of attached suspenders worn over hisshoulders so that at first glance he presented the startling appearanceof carrying a headless corpse pick-a-back.
Bruce looked at him in astonishment. He would as soon have thought ofthus suddenly losing his right arm.
The Chinaman's yellow face was impassive, his snuff-brown eyes quiteblank.
"I go now," he repeated.
"But Toy--" There are a special set of sensations which accompany theannouncement of the departure of cooks, Bruce felt distinctly when hisheart hit his boots. To be without a cook just now was more than anannoyance--it was a tragedy--but mostly it was the Chinaman'singratitude that hurt.
"I go," was the stubborn answer.
Bruce knew the tone.
"All right--go," he answered coldly, "but first I want you to tell mewhy."
A flame of anger leaped into Toy's eyes; his whole face worked; he wasstirred to the centre of his being.
"She kick on me!" he hissed. "She say I no can cook!"
Instantly Bruce understood. Jennings's bride had been guilty of the oneunforgivable offense. His own eyes flashed.
"Tell her to keep out of the kitchen."
Toy shook his head.
"I no likee her; I no stay."
"Won't you stay if I ask you as a favor?"
The Chinaman reiterated in his stubborn monotone:
"She kick on my glub; I no likee her; I no stay."
"You're going to put me in an awful hole, Toy, if you go."
"She want my job, I think. All light--I no care."
Bruce knew him too well to argue. The Chinaman could see only one thing,and that loomed colossal. He had been insulted; his dignity would notpermit him even to breathe under the same roof with a woman who said hecould not cook. He turned away abruptly and jogged down the trail withthe overalls stuffed with his possessions bobbing ludicrously on hisback.
Heavy-hearted Bruce watched him go. If Toy had forgotten that he owedhim for his life he would not remind him, but he had thought that theChinaman's gratitude was deeper than this, although, it was true, henever had thanked him or indicated in any way that he realized orappreciated what Bruce had done. Nevertheless Bruce had believed that inhis way Toy was fond of him, that deep under his yellow skin there wasloyalty and a passive, undemonstrative affection. Obviously there wasnone. He was no different from other Chinamen, it seemed--the white manand his country were only means to an end.
Bruce would not have believed that anybody with oblique eyes and ashingled queue could have hurt him so. Of the three men he hadbefriended, two had turned the knife in him. He wondered cynically howsoon he would hear from Uncle Bill.
The Man from the Bitter Roots Page 21
