CHAPTER II.
A POINTED DISCUSSION.
Hugh O'Hara was in middle life. He was of Scotch descent, and, in hisyounger days, had received a fair education. Even now he spent muchtime over his books. He talked well, and was not without a certaingrace of manner founded, no doubt, on his knowledge of human nature,which gave him great influence with others. It was this, as much ashis skill, that made him the leading foreman at a time when a score ofothers had the right by seniority of service to the place.
But Hugh had dipped into the springs of learning just enough to havehis ideas of right and wrong turned awry and to form a distaste for hislot that made his leadership dangerous. Besides, he had met withsorrows that deepened the shadows that lay across his pathway. In thatlittle cabin he had seen a young wife close her eyes in death, and hisonly child, a sweet girl of five years, not long afterward was laidbeside her mother. Many said that Hugh buried his heart with Jennieand had not been the same man since. He was reserved, except to one ortwo intimate friends. Shaggy, beetle-browed and unshaven, his lookswere anything but pleasing to those who did not fully know him.
Tom Hansell was much the same kind of man, except that he lacked thebook education of his companion and leader. He had strong impulses,and was ready to go to an extreme length in whatever direction hestarted, but he always needed a guiding spirit, and that he found inHugh O'Hara.
The latter, after burying his child, moved into the village, sayingthat he never wanted to look again upon the cabin that had brought somuch sorrow to him. Most people believed he could not be led to gonear it, and yet on this blustery night he and Tom Hansell were seatedin the structure without any companions except the well known houndNero, and were smoking their pipes and plotting mischief.
Hugh and Tom were in their working clothes--coarse trousers, shirts,and heavy shoes, without vest or coat. Their flabby caps lay on thefloor behind them, and their tousled hair hung over their foreheadsalmost to their eyes. Tom had no side whiskers, but a heavy mustacheand chin whiskers, while the face of Hugh was covered with a spikyblack beard that stood out from his face as if each hair was chargedwith electricity.
Nero, the hound, raised his nose from between his paws and looked up atthe visitor. Then, as if satisfied, he lowered his head and resumedhis nap.
Bradley, as I have said, was angry with himself for walking into such atrap. It was not fear, but a deep dislike of the man who was the headand front of the trouble at the mills. He was the spokesman and leaderof the strikers, and he was the real cause of the stoppage of theworks. Harvey looked upon him as insolent and brutal, and he was surethat no circumstances could arise that would permit him to do a strokeof work in the Rollo Mills again.
"Good evening," said Harvey stiffly, "I did not expect to find youhere."
Hansell nodded in reply to the salutation, but Hugh simply motionedwith the hand that held the pipe toward a low stool standing near themiddle of the apartment.
"Help yourself to a seat, Mr. Bradley; the presence of Tom and myselfhere is no odder than is your own."
"I suppose not," replied Harvey with a half-laugh, as he seatedhimself; "I started out for a walk to-day and went too far--that is, sofar that I lost my way. I had about made up my mind that I would haveto sleep in the woods, when I caught the light from your window andmade for it."
The glance that passed between Hugh and Tom--sly as it was--did notelude the eye of Harvey Bradley. He saw that his explanation was notbelieved, but he did not care; there was no love between him and them,and, had it not looked as if he held them in fear, he would have turnedand walked away after stepping across the threshold. As it was, hemeant to withdraw as soon as he could do it without seeming to beafraid.
"Is this the first time you have taken a walk up this way?" asked Hugh.
"The fact that I lost my way ought to answer that question; how far isit, please, to Bardstown?"
"An even mile by the path you came."
"But I didn't come by any path, except for a short distance in front ofthis place."
"Then how did you get here?"
"Is there no way of traveling through the woods except by the road thatleads to your door?"
The conversation was between Harvey and Hugh alone. Tom was abashed inthe presence of two such persons, and nothing could have led him toopen his mouth unless appealed to by one or the other. Neither madeany allusion to the strike. After the superintendent's rebuff, Hughscorned to do so, while Harvey would have stultified himself had heinvited any discussion. The repugnance between the two men was toostrong for them calmly to debate any question. Besides Hugh and Tomwere suspicious; they did not believe that the presence of thesuperintendent was accidental; there was a sinister meaning in it whichboded ill for Hugh and his friends, and the former, therefore, was in avicious mood.
With the conditions named, a wrangle may be set down as one of thecertainties. But Harvey Bradley had defied the fury of half a hundredmen, and he meant to teach this marplot his proper place. There was athreatening gleam in his eye, but he puffed a few seconds at his pipe,and then, glaring through the rank smoke that curled upward from hisface said:
"There are a good many ways by which Hugh O'Hara's cabin can be found,but those who come on honest errands stick to the path."
"Which explains why the path is so little worn," was the reply ofHarvey.
"Aye, and your feet have done mighty little to help the wearing of thesame."
"If those who live in the cabin were honest themselves, they would nottremble every time the latch-string is pulled, nor would they be scaredif they saw a visitor stop to snuff the air in this neighborhood."
This was an ill-timed remark, and Harvey regretted the words the momentthey passed his lips. He saw Hugh and Tom glance at each other; butthe words, having been spoken, could not be recalled, nor did thesuperintendent make any attempt to modify them. Before the otherscould answer, he added:
"I have heard it said that Hugh O'Hara held this place in such strongdisfavor that nothing could lead him to spend a night here, yet hesmokes his pipe and plots mischief as if the cabin is the one place inthe world with which he is content."
These words were not soothing in their effect, nor did the speaker meanthat they should be. Hugh was insolent, and the superintendentresented it.
The only proof of the rising anger in the breast of O'Hara was thevigorous puffing of his pipe. Tom, as I have said, was too awed to sayanything at all.
"I am of age and free born," growled Hugh, looking into the glowingembers and speaking as if to himself; "where I go and what I doconcerns no one but myself."
"Not so long as you go to the proper place and do only what is right,"said Harvey, who, sitting back a few feet from the fire, looked calmlyat the fellow whose rough profile was outlined against the fierybackground behind him.
"Men interpret right according to their own ideas, and they seldomagree, but most people will pronounce that person the worst sort ofknave who robs poor men of what they earn and looks upon them as helooks upon the beasts of the field--worth only the amount of money theybring to him."
The Jungle Fugitives: A Tale of Life and Adventure in India Page 21
