“‘Ye wudn’t shoot a mon for doin’ his duthy?’ I says.
“‘Thry me,’ he says. ‘You’re trespassers. The railroad company didn’t come through wid the coin for the right-of-way. Your mon, Corrigan, has got an idee that he’s goin’ to bluff me. I’m callin’ his bluff. You’ve got tin minutes to get out av here. At the end av that time I begin to shoot. I’ve got six cattridges in the gun, an’ fifty more in the belt around me middle. An’ I seldom miss whin I shoot. It’s up to you whether I start a cemetery here or not,’ he says, cold an’ ca’mlike.
“The ginneys knowed somethin’ was up, an’ they crowded around. I thought Trevison was thryin’ to run a bluff on me, an’ I give orders for the ginneys to go back to their work.
“Trevison didn’t say another word, but at the end av the tin minutes he grins that tiger grin av his an’ busts the safety valve on the rattle-box wid a shot from his pistol. He smashes the water-gauge wid another, an’ jammed one shot in the ol’ rattle-box’s entrails, an’ she starts to blow off steam——shriekin’ like a soul in hell. The ginneys throwed down their tools an’ started to climb up the walls of the cut like a gang av monkeys, Trevison watchin’ thim with a grin as cold as a barrow ful ov icicles. Murph’, the engineer av the dinky, an’ his fireman, ducks for the engine-cab, l’avin’ me standin’ there to face the music. Trevison yells at the engineer av the rattle-box, an’ he disappears like a rat into a hole. Thin Trevison swings his gun on me, an’ I c’u’d feel me knees knockin’ together. ‘Carson,’ he says, ‘I hate like blazes to do it, but you’re the boss here, an’ these min will do what you tell thim to do. Tell thim to get to hell out of here an’ not come back, or I’ll down you, sure as me name’s Trevison!’
“I’m old enough to know from lookin’ at a mon whether he manes business or not, an’ Trevison wasn’t foolin’. So I got the bhoys away, an’ here we are. If you’re in charge, it’s up to you to smooth things out. Though from the looks av your mug ‘Firebrand’s’ been maulin’ you some, too!”
Corrigan’s answer was a cold glare. “You quit without a fight, eh?” he taunted; “you let one man bluff half a hundred of you!”
Carson’s eyes brightened. “My recollection is that ‘Firebrand’ is still holdin’ the forrt. Whin I got me last look at him he was sittin’ on the top av the cut, like he was intendin’ to stay there indefinite. If ye think he’s bluffin’, mebbe it’d be quite an idee for you to go out there yourself, an’ call it. I’d be willin’ to give ye me moral support.”
“I’ll call him when I get ready.” Corrigan went to the desk and sat in the chair, ignoring Carson, who watched him narrowly. Presently he turned and spoke to the man:
“Put your men at work trueing up the roadbed on the next section back, until further orders.”
“An’ let ‘Firebrand’ hold the forrt?”