United States or Hungary ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
He was on his feet before Heppel's slow wits realised the opportunity. Always the contractor had handled these men with his big fists; other weapons only dignified their resistance. These two fists of his, these great muscles they were made for a game like this. From her room Tressa heard the entrance of the delegation but not their message.
But life had lost a fraction of its zip, though he refused to acknowledge it. But Tressa knew it. Idleness was worse than medicine to her father, and for days he had been fuming with impatience for the opening of the last operation, more than a little irritable. She knew it as she watched the smoke breathe more slowly from his lips and the pipe grow cold.
He insisted on helping Tressa with the housework, and his interest in the books they were reading was so perfunctory that Conrad and Tressa went on to the end without bothering about his attention. Not infrequently he strolled down to the river bottom and paced up and down beneath the trestle. Again he would walk out on the sleepers above the quicksands and glory in the solidity beneath his feet.
By the time he had obeyed orders emptied the last pan of water, taken a look at the two horses in the stable behind the shack, tossed his mud-caked boots through the back door to await his pleasure inter-larding between each chore another glance at the trestle Tressa was in her own room. Torrance returned to the front door.
Tell them" his eyes were flashing, though his voice had not risen "that extra work caused by damage to the line will always be done overtime and they're going to do it without pay. Understand? Now clear out." Stretched on the dry grass beside the trestle, hanging perilously over the edge of the dizzy drop to the river bottom, Tressa watched the unceasing struggle with the hungry quicksands.
"Dad-in-law," pleaded Conrad, "don't you think we could stage a good rough-and-tumble here and now? I've been two years trying to get her back East for good." "I'm staying," declared Tressa, tossing her head. "So'm I in spite of your father." "What gets me," marvelled Torrance, "is why he bothered to shoot when he didn't want to hit. A regular splash of them, too. I might have fired back."
The boss was gone for the evening; and he knew something of lovers' rambles. One gang he despatched into the forest after Tressa and Conrad. A second crawled in detachments through the woods to the powder cache near Conrad's shack. Heppel had charge of the first, Werner of the other. Werner, given his orders, demurred. "Thanks, Koppy, but I don't think it's a thing I couldn't do without."
Just within the door Tressa sat as silent as her father. In all her silent moments now she was building, building. Conrad home a father far from the harsh influences of this rough life where man fought man as well as nature, and quite as brutally. The rapping of her father's pipe against the doorpost interrupted her dreams. "On Thursday!" he said. "I've spoken to Murphy.
The man straightened and shaded his eyes toward them. Tressa was struggling with her father. He must not shoot again. The man watched. Presently he slowly raised his rifle. The thud of the bullet in the shack not two feet from Torrance's shoulder preceded the sound of the explosion. The rifle did not drop.
A few walked lazily about the stables, and two white-aproned cooks passed from cook-house to cook-house on the night preparations for the morning meal. Outwardly everything was above suspicion. Tressa thought so, as she stood beside her father in the doorway and looked out over the scene, while behind them Conrad read aloud the newest book to reach them. But her father was not at ease.
Word Of The Day