Love stories; Lumber trade -- Fiction; Maine -- Fiction
"I will assist you to--to--I believe it is a stage-coach that takes us
on," he said. "Let me do this, so that you won't remember me simply as a
man whose own troubles made him a boor."
MacLeod's look of fury as he saw the act fell full upon them both, and
the girl resented it.
"I thank you," she returned, smiling at her squire with a little
exaggeration of cordiality. And when at last the platforms were cleared
they stepped out, still talking.
All about them men were kneeling, fastening the latchets of their
spike-sole shoes.
"Rod Ide's gal has got a new mash!" hiccoughed one burly chap, leering
at them as they passed. At the instant MacLeod, at their heels, struck
the man brutally across the mouth, shouldered Wade roughly, and spoke
to the girl, his round hat crumpled in his big fist.
"Miss Nina," he stammered, "I'm--I'm sorry for forgetting that you were
in that car awhile back. But you know I ain't used to takin' talk of
that sort. So, let me see you safe aboard the stage, like an old friend
should."
"This gentleman will look after me," said the girl. She tried to be
calm, but her voice trembled. A city woman, confident of the regard due
to woman, would not have feared so acutely. But Nina Ide, bred on the
edge of the forest, was accustomed to see the brute in man spurn
restraint. The passions flaming in the eyes of these two were familiar
to her. She expected little more from the gentleman in the way of
consideration for her feelings than she did from the lumber-jack. "You
go along about your business, Colin," she said, hastily. "I can attend
to mine."
"Give me that!" snarled the boss, his eyes red under their meeting
brows. In his rage he forgot the deference due the woman.
"See if you can take it!" growled back the other. With him the girl was
only the means to the end that his whole nature now lusted for. He
forgot her.
Wade looked for the young giant to strike. But the woods duello has its
vagaries.
MacLeod lifted one heavy shoe and drove its spiked sole down upon Wade's
foot, the brads puncturing the thin leather. With his foe thus anchored,
he clutched for the valise. But ere his victim had time to strike, the
furious, flaming, bristling face of the Honorable Pulaski was between
them, and his elbows, hard as pine knots, drove them apart with wicked
thrustings. As they staggered back the old lumber baron, used to playing
the tyrant mediator, grabbed an axe from the nearest man of the crew.
"I'll brain the one that lifts a finger!" he howled. "What did I tell
you about this? Who is running this crew? Whose money is paying you? Get
back, you hounds!"
Once more, though he gasped in the pure madness of his rage, MacLeod was
cowed by his despot. He turned and began marshalling the crew aboard
great wagons that were waiting at the station.
"You take your seat in that wagon, young man!" roared Britt, shaking
that hateful, hairy fist under Wade's nose. "We'll see about all this
later! Get onto that wagon!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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