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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Well, I don't know that I blame 'em for being a bit frightened," commented Job. "It is a queer proceeding how twenty-five men can disappear like that. Where have the men gone, Serato?" "Gone home. No more work. Go on hit strike same like white men." "They waited until pay day to go on strike," commented the bookkeeper, a youth about Tom's age. This was true.
Masni only shook her head, and murmured: "Me show." Probably Tom's attempt to talk her language was not sufficiently clear to her. "My man he good man," she said, coming to a pause on the rough trail after a climb which was not easy. "Yes, I know he is," Tom said. "But he went on a strike with the others, Masni. He no work. He go on a 'hit, as Serato calls it," and Tom laughed.
And it was Waddington, working in conjunction with the rascally foreman Serato, who had induced the tunnel workers to desert so mysteriously, hoping to scare the other Indians away. He nearly succeeded too, had it not been for the gratitude of the woman whose baby Tom had saved from the condor. Waddington had been an actor before he became involved with the rival contractors.
Whether Serato used his best arguments could not, of course, be learned, but he came back at the close of the day, unaccompanied by any workers, and he shook his head despondently. "Indians no come for one sol, mebby not for two," he said. "I no can git." "Then I'll try!" cried Job. "I'll get the workers. I'll make our old ones come back, for they'll be the best."
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