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Read Ebook: In the Shadow of the Hills by Shedd George C George Clifford
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Ebook has 2225 lines and 86548 words, and 45 pages
"Preposterous, impossible, absurd!" he exclaimed. Then revolving on his heels so as to face the crowd he swiftly repeated in Spanish what Weir had said.
An angry stir followed, murmurs, sullen looks, a number of oaths and jeers. The lawyer turned again to the engineer, spreading his hands in a wide gesture and lifting his brows with exaggerated significance.
"You see, Mr. Weir, your position is hopeless," he remarked.
"Ask them if they definitely refuse."
The lawyer put the question to the crowd. A chorus of shouts vehemently gave affirmation--a refusal immediate, disdainful, unanimous.
"We'll now discuss the men's terms," the lawyer remarked politely and with an air of satisfaction.
"There's nothing more to discuss. The matter is settled. They have refused; they need not seek work at the dam again. Start the car, Meyers."
The roar of the machine drowned the indignant lawyer's protest, the crowd hastened to give an opening and the conference was at an end.
"Drive to Vorse's saloon; I want a look at Vorse," said Weir. "I see the place a short way ahead."
When they entered the long low adobe building an anemic-appearing Mexican standing at the far end of the bar languidly started forward to serve them, but a bald-headed, hawk-nosed man seated at a desk behind the cigar-case laid aside his newspaper, arose and checked the other by a sidewise jerk of his head.
He received their orders for beer and lifted three dripping bottles from a tub of water at his feet. His eyes passed casually over Steele Weir's face, glanced away, then came back for a swift unblinking scrutiny. The eyes his own met were as hard, stony and inscrutable as his own. Finally Vorse, the saloon-keeper, turned his gaze towards the window and extracting a quill tooth-pick from a vest pocket began thoughtfully to pick his teeth.
"You're the new manager at the dam?" he asked presently, still considering the street through the window.
"I am."
"And your name is Weir?"
"You've got it right."
The questions ended there. The three men from camp slowly consumed their beer and exchanged indifferent remarks. At the end of five minutes the Mexican lawyer, clutching the arm of an elderly, gray-mustached man, entered the saloon.
They lined up at the bar nearby the others. The older of the pair regarded the trio shrewdly, laid a calf-bound book that he carried under his arm upon the counter and ordered "a little bourbon." When he had swallowed this, he addressed the men from the engineering camp.
"Which of you is Mr. Weir?"
"I am he," Steele replied.
"Mr. Martinez here has solicited me, Mr. Weir, to use my offices in explaining to you the workmen's point of view in the controversy that exists relative to the work. I'm Senator Gordon, a member of the state legislature, and I have no interest in the matter beyond seeing an amicable and just arrangement effected."
Steele Weir fixed his eyes on the speaker with an intentness, a cold penetration, that seemed to bore to the very recesses of his mind. In that look there was something questioning and something menacing.
"There's no controversy and hence no need of your services. The men stopped work, refused to return, and now the case is closed."
"My dear sir, let us talk it over," said the Senator, bringing forth a pair of spectacles and setting the bow upon his nose.
The engineer's visage failed to relax at this pacific proposal.
"I gave them their chance and they declined; they'll have no other," he stated. "Those men have browbeaten the company long enough. They refused, and as I anticipated that refusal I made preparations accordingly; a hundred and fifty white workmen arrived at Bowenville from Denver this morning and a hundred and fifty more will come to-morrow. They will do the work."
The Senator's lips quivered and the upper one lifted in a movement like a snarl, showing tobacco-stained teeth.
"The matter isn't closed, understand that," he snapped out. "We have the directors' promise no outside labor shall be brought in here for this job, and the promise shall be kept."
"The new men go to work in the morning," Weir said.
"You'll repent of this action, young man, you'll repent of it." The Senator seized the whisky bottle and angrily poured himself a second drink. "You'll repent of it as sure as your name is--is--whatever it is."
The engineer took a step nearer the older man. His face now was as hard as granite.
"Weir is my name," he said. "Did you ever hear it before?"
"Weir--Weir?" came in a questioning mutter.
"Yes, Weir."
The speaker's eyes held the Senator's in savage leash, and a slight tremble presently began to shake the old man. Atkinson and Meyers and even the volatile Mexican lawyer, Martinez, remained unstirring, for in the situation they suddenly sensed something beyond their ken, some current of deep unknown forces, some play of fierce, obscure and fateful passion.
A shadow of gray stole over Gordon's lineaments.
"I am. His son."
"And I know what happened thirty years ago in this selfsame room!"
The whisky that the Senator had poured into his glass suddenly slopped over his fingers; his figure all at once appeared more aged, hollow, bent. Without further word, with his hand still shaking, he set the glass on the bar, mechanically picked up the law book and walked feebly towards the door.
Steele Weir turned his gaze on the saloon-keeper, Vorse. The man's right hand was under the bar and he seemed to be awaiting the engineer's next move, taut, tight-lipped, malignant.
"That was for you too, Vorse," was flung at him. "One Weir went out of here, but another has returned."
And he led his companions away.
A COMEDY--AND SOMETHING ELSE
Towards noon one day a week later Steele Weir, headed for Bowenville in his car, had gained Chico Creek, half way between camp and San Mateo, when he perceived that another machine blocked the ford. About the wheels of the stalled car the shallow water rippled briskly, four or five inches deep; entirely deep enough, by all appearances, to keep marooned in the runabout the girl sitting disconsolately at the wheel.
She was a very attractive-looking girl, Steele noted casually as he brought his own car to a halt and sprang out to join her, wading the water with his laced boots. As he approached he perceived that she had a slender well-rounded figure, fine-spun brown hair under her hat brim, clear brown eyes and the pink of peach blossoms in her soft smooth cheeks.
But her look of relief vanished when she distinguished his face and her shoulders squared themselves.
"Has your engine stopped?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"I'll look into the hood."
"I prefer that you would not."
For an instant surprise marked his countenance.
"You mean that you desire to remain here?" he asked.
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