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Seize that runaway, and throw him into the wangan till I get ready to attend to him!" commanded Ward. The men did not move. "Do as I tell ye!" bawled the colonel. "Twenty dollars to the men fifty dollars to the men who ketch an' tie him for me!" Several rough-looking fellows came elbowing forward, tempted by the reward. Parker raised his gun, but Connick was even quicker.
Several times Connick was obliged to force the colonel back on the deacons' seat, each time with more ferocity of mien. Then Parker came to his own ambitions to carry out the orders of his employers.
Although the bodies of his neighbors had kept the cold blast from him, he staggered on his numb feet when they untied his bonds at Poquette and ordered him to get off the sled. Connick came along and gazed on the young man grimly while they were freeing him. "Aha, my bantam!" he growled. Parker braced himself to meet a blow.
Before any one could stop him, for the men had left him standing alone, he precipitated his body through the panes of glass of the nearest window, and almost before the crash had ceased he was making away into the night Connick led the rush of men to the narrow door, but the mob was held them for a few precious moments, fighting with one another for egress.
In the hush he could hear the big winds wailing through the trees outside. Ward stood in advance of the rest, his mighty fists clinched, his face quivering and puckering in his passion. As the young man began to speak, he attempted to bellow him into silence. But Connick strode forward, put his massive hands on Gideon's shoulders, and thrust him down upon a near-by seat.
Connick removed his pipe when the door opened, and gazed under his hand, held edgewise to his forehead. "Why, hello, my bantam boy!" he bawled, in greeting. "What did you break out o' the wangan and run away for?" The fiddle stopped. The men crowded up from the bunks and deacons' seats. All were as curious as magpies. They gazed with interest on Parker's companion.
The attached sleds, loaded with the rails and spikes and other material, followed like a line of huge, frightened beavers seeking their hole. "There," ejaculated Connick, wiping the sweat from his brow, "when that hole freezes up the Poquette Carry Railro'd will be canned for a time, anyway. Now three cheers for Colonel Gid Ward!" The cheers were howled vociferously.
The sheet was paid off, and with dragging peavey-sticks instead of centerboard to hold the contrivance into the wind, the boat moved away on its tack across the lake. "Say good-by to your friend here!" Connick bellowed. "He says he thinks he'll go with us, strange country for to see."
He swung his ax menacingly. "My name is Parker," replied the engineer. "That is my property yonder. You will have to let my men pass to it." The giant looked squarely over the engineer's head into the crowd of Sunkhaze men. "You all know me," he cried, "an' if ye don't know me ye've heard of me! I reckon Dan Connick is pretty well known hereabouts. Wal, that's me.
The reply was a bit enigmatical but Ward understood that it signified mutiny. He gasped a few times and then Parker heard Connick exclaim: "Don't ye strike me with that sled-stake, Colonel Gideon, or it might be the worse for ye. I'll not bother your man in the wangan till I find out more about what you're doin' to him but don't you hit me with that stick."
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