Late in the afternoon they came back and hung around, watching the gang at work. They had been drinking again, and McGuire had a bottle in his pocket which he pulled out frequently. They were talking loud and laughing. Their actions drew the attention of the men and annoyed Badeau, though he said nothing for a long time. Finally, Bruce and McGuire began calling at the men, growing bolder in their remarks. At last McGuire called, “You fellows mus' like working for tha' dam' fool,” and Hunch walked toward them. “You'll have to move away from here,” he said. “We can't have you disturbing the work.” “Go 'way!” McGuire replied. “You can't touch us. We ain't on your job.” “Stop that, McGuire! Get out, quick, or I'll throw you out!” McGuire laughed. Hunch went to him and pulled him to his feet. “Le' go o' me!” said McGuire. “Take your hand off o' me!” Hunch began dragging him away. McGuire hung back protesting and threatening. Bruce walked slowly after them, shaking his head and talking to himself. McGuire braced his feet. Hunch gave him a wrench that nearly threw him, and McGuire struck at him. Bruce watched the struggle, the old drunken cunning in his eyes, then he ran forward and jumped on Hunch's back, pounding him about the face and head. Hunch staggered, but recovered and caught McGuire with his knuckles squarely on the side of the jaw. McGuire staggered back. Bruce had both arms around Hunch's neck and was trying to choke him. Hunch gripped Bruce's wrists, and slowly pulled them forward, until their hold was loosened; then he turned quickly, took hold of Bruce's shoulders, and threw him against a pile of cut timber. Bruce struck hard and seemed for a moment to be clinging to the pile, then he fell on his face. Some of the men were running toward them. One was calling: “I seen it, Hunch! It weren't your fault! I seen it!” Hunch stood panting as the men gathered around. “Better see if he's hurt,” he said. They rolled Bruce over. His face was covered with blood. One of the men brought some water from the river in his hat, and washed it off. McGuire stood at one side, rubbing his cheek. Hunch ordered him away, and he went without a word. The other men were crowding around Bruce. One of them looked up and said: “I guess he's done for, Hunch.” CHAPTER XV--THE LETTER |IT was a cold day in Manistee. The snow lay in high banks on each side of the street-car tracks, with paths cut through at the crossings and in front of the larger stores; underfoot it creaked and crunched. Men walked briskly, keeping their hands in their pockets or holding them over ears or noses, and pausing at the drug store on the corner to look at the red thermometer. It was close to noon, and a number of men were coming down a flight of stairs which reached the sidewalk a few doors beyond the drug store. The last one was Hunch Badeau, with his ulster collar turned up, his cap pulled down over his ears, and his fur mittens on.