Barclay was tilting uneasily in his chair.
"I reckon they've about got it picked up and cleaned out o' the way by this time, Mr. Adair. I shouldn't be surprised if we could hardly find the place when we get there."
"Nor I," said Adair; and he sat back and chuckled. "It's considerably difficult to sit up and pull your imagination on a man who has been decently good to you, isn't it, Barclay? Let me ask you: are you Mr. North's man?"
"Mr. North is the big boss."
"But this Plug Mountain division is a part of Mr. Ford's line, isn't it?"
"It used to be all his. There's a white man for you, Mr. Adair."
Adair saw his opportunity and used it.
"Now see here, Barclay; I'm only a director, and I don't cut much ice out this way. But back in New York I'm one of three or four people who can tell Mr. North what he can do, and what he can't. You wouldn't want to see Mr. Ford getting it in the neck, would you?"
"By Jacks! There ain't a man in the service that wouldn't fight for him. I tell you, he's white."
"Well, Mr. Ford is in trouble: I don't know but he is likely to lose his job, if I don't see the president before the big ax comes down. That is between us two."