Joshua released her hand reluctantly and turned toward the watching group. At Shanty Madge’s side he walked toward them, and Demarest gave him a brief nod as the pair drew near.
Philip Demarest was a bluff, rough-and-ready old contractor, worth millions, but very human. He had come up from the grade—first a common laborer, then a gypo man, and finally the head of one of the biggest contracting firms in the United States. He was kindly, erratic, outspoken, and a terror when roused to anger. Now his blue eyes looked at Joshua in wonderment, and the blue veins in his ruddy cheeks and about his pudgy nose stood out prominently, as was their way when the man’s interest or curiosity was aroused. He plucked at his stubby, well-trimmed white beard while he waited for Joshua to have his say, for by every token Joshua had a say.
“Mr. Demarest,” said Joshua, “I’d like to talk with you about stopping the slide in this tunnel. I understand you have offered five thousand dollars to the man who can stop it. I’d like to make a try for the money.”
“Humph! Would, eh? And who are you?”
“My name is Cole, and I’m a hammerman at your Camp One.”
“That so! Heavens to Betsy!” (The contractor’s favorite expletive.) “Ain’t you the bird that got winged on the grade here about a month ago?”
“Yes, somebody shot me.”
“The hell they did! What for?”
“I’ve never been able to find out.”
“Oh! Just like that, eh? Well, young fella, what d’ye savvy about stoppin’ slides in tunnels?”