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Grimy streaks of perspiration showed on his colorless face, from which every drop of blood seemed to have fled, and his black eyes, that shone always with the soft brilliancy of a warm, impulsive nature and an imaginative mind, were glittering and purposeful. Smaltz stood his ground as Bruce advanced. "Why didn't you answer that telephone, Smaltz?" In feigned surprise Smaltz glanced at the box.
He knew almost to a pound how much sugar, flour, rice, coffee, beans, and other provisions he had, but nothing, that he could discover, had been disturbed. The nail kegs and reserve tools in the corner, wedges, axe-handles and blades, files and extra shovels all were there. It was a riddle Toy could not solve yet he knew that Smaltz had not told the truth.
Finally, Bruce took his knee from his chest and got up. Smaltz pulled himself to his feet and stood uncertainly. "Well I suppose it's jail." There was sullen resignation in his voice. Bruce stopped the machinery without answering. Then he folded his arms and leaned his broad shoulders against the rough boards of the power-house while, eying Smaltz, he considered.
It was many miles before the river straightened out again but when it did he saw them all riding safely, with Smaltz holding his place in line. Stretches of white water came at frequent intervals all day but Bruce slept on the platform of his barge that night more soundly than he ever had dared hope.
Before Bruce reached the pump-house he heard Banule ringing the telephone violently, and his frenzied shout: "Shut down, Smaltz! Shut down! Where are you? Can't you hear? For God's sake shut down, everything's burnin' up!" He was ringing as though he would have torn the box loose from the wall when Bruce reached the pump-house door.
Smaltz had been loyal; Smaltz never had shirked; but he never had shown Smaltz the slightest evidence of friendship because of his unconquerable dislike. Bruce was reproaching himself as he stepped up on the wooden casing which covered the pipes and nozzles inside the power-house. There he stopped and stood quite motionless, looking at Smaltz.
Smaltz had taken it instead of the overhead tram in which he always crossed. There was no time to speculate as to Smaltz's reason. He kept on running along the river until he came to the steps of the platform where the heavy iron cage, suspended from a cable, was tied to a tree. Bruce bounded up the steps two at a time and loosened the rope.
Penitentiaries were made for men like Smaltz but in a country of long and difficult distances, with the lax courts and laws indifferently enforced, to put Smaltz where he belonged was not so simple as it might sound. It required time and money; Bruce had neither to spare. It was so still in the power-house that the ticking of the dollar watch hanging on a nail sounded like a clock.
Smaltz warded him off without striking, trying to get his hand over his mouth; but in vain, and the Chinaman kept up his shrill accusing cry, "I savvy you, Smaltz! I savvy you!" There was little chance, however, of his being heard above the rush of the water through the sluice-boxes and the bumping and grinding together of the rocks and boulders that it carried down. Then Smaltz struck him.
"I declare the receiver's dropped off the hook!" Bruce ignored the answer; he did not even look, but stepped closer. "Why didn't you shut down?" Smaltz summoned his impudent grin, but it wavered and faded under Bruce's burning eyes even while he replied in a tone of injured innocence "How should I know? The bell didn't ring Banule hadn't told me to." Bruce paid no attention to the foolish excuse.
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