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All the squaws I ever saw before were so thick with grease, and the things that stick to it. . . . I'm beginning to feel for the squaw-man after seeing that girl." "Wasn't she pretty?" Tressa was staring regretfully after the receding couple. "I didn't know they were so dainty " "Wasn't I telling you they aren't " Conrad spoke for the first time: "I've seen that chap before."
"Daddy!" chided Tressa. "He'll believe you." "Think so?" asked Torrance delightedly. "Then here goes: Say, I'll eat my last breakfast of bohunk livers, seasoned with bohunk brains if there are any and as an appetiser, bohunk tongues steeped in " "Heap big talk," broke in the Indian wearily. "And that," snorted Torrance, "just about puts the blinkers on that. Even strangers don't believe me.
Koppy had explained it to Tressa in fiery words; the Independent Workers of the World had found tilled soil in the breasts of these unthinking men. By feeding their smouldering bitterness against conditions due largely to themselves it had won their unreasoning fidelity; like dogs they crept to heel. Here at last was a medium in which to express their wrath.
Mahon did not trouble to speculate as to the end of the affair. His duty was to fight to the last, to protect life first and then the work of the contractors. Only when he remembered Tressa did his thoughts pass beyond the immediate future. Fortunately his wife, alone three miles away, did not enter his mind as a matter for anxiety.
But there's methylated spirits somewhere in the stores and you've a bottle or two of flavoring extract, haven't you? All it needs is a smell. . . . They're tackling the trestle, Tressa. Bully for you, Big Chief! You got Murphy beat a mile. Must have heard us talking about fire-water. Wonderful ears, them Indians have."
You don't need to care so long as he turns up to work every morning." "Innocent?" He snorted. "Them damn Poles can't be innocent. Ever since them horses began to go If we could only do without the damn heathen!" "But you damn well can't." "Tressa!" He stumbled back to her door with horrified eyes. "My daddy's good enough to copy," she laughed. "Your daddy, girl, is is shocked.
The daily sight of Tressa Torrance and her simple acceptance of him as a fellow-creature had roused within him thoughts he imagined he had long since stifled. There were times when he contemplated the possibility of carrying her away and leaving all else behind. Never before in America had a decent woman looked at him in such a kindly way.
"And Mr. Torrance after all, Pete, he's only a tenderfoot. . . . Then there's Tressa." He nodded slowly. "Yes, there's Tressa." A chivalry he would never have acknowledged had been thrusting the girl more and more into the foreground.
But Conrad shook his head and pushed aside Torrance's extended hand; but he did not lower the rifle. The Indian came round the other side of the stable, as Torrance had predicted, but there was no attempt at secrecy, except that he continued to hug the ground. Torrance grunted. Tressa sighed. Conrad lowered the rifle. The Indian crawled over the back step and lifted himself to his feet.
The orchestra Chico Morani, a mere Dago bohunk himself, had organised among the men, burst afresh. And every other sound ceased. Even the gambling groups out before the camp paused to listen. "Morani's started on the second number, Tressa. Thank Heaven he has one redeeming feature, if he is a Wop." "This isn't your loving night, daddy. It must be my cooking "
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