"Sure, they could; but them boys know too much for that. Mr. Glover
stays out a week at a time in this kind; he don't care. That man Paddy
McGraw is his head engineer in the bucking gang; he don't care--them
fellows don't care. But I've got a wife at the Cat and two babies,
that's my fix. I never cared neither when I was single, but if I'm
carried home now it's seven hundred and fifty relief and a thousand
dollars in the A. O. U. W., and that's the end of it for the woman.
That's why I don't like to freeze to death, ma'am. But what can you do
if you're ordered out? Suppose your woman is a-hangin' to your neck
like mine hung to me to-night and cryin'--whatever can you do? You've
got to go or lose your job; and if you lose your job who'll feed your
kids then?"
McGraw's head appeared under the canvas doorway. Glover did not follow
him and Gertrude grew alarmed: but when the canvas rattled and she saw
his cap she was waiting for him at the doorway and she put her hands
happily on his frozen sleeve: "I'm so glad."
He looked at her with humor in his big eyes.
"I was afraid without you," she added, confusedly.
He laughed. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
"Oh, you are so cold. Come to the fire."
"What do you think about the ploughs now?" he asked of McGraw, who had
climbed up to his seat.
"How many is there?" returned the engineer as Glover shivered before
the fire.
"There may be a thousand."
"What do you want me to do?"
"There's only one thing, Paddy. Go through them," answered Glover,
slamming shut the furnace door.
McGraw laid his bar over, and, like one putting his house in order,
looked at his gauges and tried his valves.
"What is it?" whispered Gertrude, at Glover's side.
He turned. "We've struck a bunch of sheep."
"Sheep?"
"In a storm they drift to keep from freezing out in the open. These
sheep have bunched in a little cut out of the wind," he explained, as
the fireman sprinkled the roaring furnace. "You had better get up on
your seat, Miss Brock."
"But what are you going to do?"
"Run through them."
"Run through them? Do you mean to kill them?"
"We shall have to kill a few; there isn't much danger."
"But oh, must you mangle those poor creatures huddling in the cut out
of the storm? Oh, don't do that."
"We can't help it."
"Oh, yes, yes, you can if you will, I am sure." She looked at him
imploringly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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