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Parker was left standing alone on the ice. His supporters scuffled away, muttering angry complaints, but offering no resistance. When the giant woodsman returned after hastening their departure, he was faced by the young man, still defiant. Connick cocked his head humorously and looked down on the engineer.
Details, French Renaissance developed from the Italian influence. To right, Press Building, designed and built by the Exposition; Harris H. D. Connick, Director of Works. To left, large building, Palace of Horticulture, Bakewell & Brown, architects. To left, Young Women's Christian Association. French light standards, by Walter D'Arcy Ryan and P. E. Denneville.
Connick shouted. "What do you mean by playin' peek-a-boo with your friends in that manner?" The moose uttered a hoarse whuffle. "This is Ben Bouncer, the mascot of Number 7 camp," the foreman announced. He pushed Parker to the front rank of the group. "He won't hurt ye," he added. "He has got used enough to men to be a little sassy, an' he's got colty on Gid Ward's grain, but he's mostly bluff."
Now he's got to be put out of this camp an' shoved where he can't blab this thing round about. Why, he's half got that fool of a Connick on his side already. "The only thing, Hackett, is for you to take him across into that Tumble-dick camp an' keep him there keep him there! Tie him to a beam and feed him like yeh would a pup.
I tell you she beats a buckboard!" The man whom he addressed smiled with some constraint, and exchanged glances with his companions. "I guess we'll stick to our own tote-team as usual, Connick," said another in the party, jerking his thumb at the muddy buckboard that was waiting. "Oh say, now, ye've got to meet these here railroad fellers. They're your style all business!" bawled Connick.
Only the cook and his helper, "the cookee," were at the camp. The cook came out and advanced to meet the new arrivals, having been attracted from his kettles and pans by the view-halloo they sent down from the hilltop. "Colonel left word to lock him in the wangan," reported the cook, rolling his bare arms more tightly in his dingy apron. "Where is the colonel?" asked Connick.
The giant seized an ax, and shouted: "Keep back, all of ye! There's goin' to be fair play here to-night, an' it's Dan Connick says so!" "Connick," Gideon's command was almost a scream, "don't you interfere in what's none o' your business!"
The engineer would not confess to himself that he was frightened, but the wantonness and alacrity with which the irresponsible men had destroyed valuable property impressed him with ominous apprehension of what they might do to him. He wondered what revenge Connick was meditating. It was a strange and tedious ride for the young man.
"Ah, I don't know anything about your business, nor care!" Connick growled. "I only know there's something about a Poquette railro'd in it. But all that's between you and Gid Ward. You can talk that over with him." "Do you mean to tell me that you and your men have destroyed that railroad property without having any special grudge against the project?"
"Who's runnin' this camp, me or you?" "You're the man, sir." "Well, then, there'll be no invitin' out nor passin' talk. You men have nothin' to do with that chap in that wangan and you'll keep away from him or get your heads broken open. Do you hear what I say? Why don't you come away when I speak?" "I'm not the man to disobey orders," growled Connick. "But I'm a man as likes man's style.
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