“I don’t suppose throwing a few timbers across Twin Bear Creek means much of anything to you, Munford, eh?” he asked quietly.
“Not so much,” replied Munford carelessly, a little puzzled at the question.
“No? Well, it means a lot to me, a whole lot! Until that trestle is up, we can’t shove material over to the other side, ties and rails and heavy stuff. Progress on the Hill Division depends just at this minute on Bridge Gang No. 3, and concretely on me. I don’t propose to have it interfered with by the men going down to Big Cloud and getting their heads broke, understand?”
“Oh, I guess we can take care of our heads, if that’s all that bothers you,” drawled Munford. “And I furthermore guess your bloomin’ little bridge you seem so stuck on won’t take any hurt by lettin’ the boys have their fling. Anyway, whether it will or not, what’s the use of you shootin’ off all your talk? You can’t stop ‘em! If they want to go, they’ll go. And say, Burton”—an inspiration coming to Munford—“come on down with us. I’ll promise you the time of your life.”
“I ought to have put it up to you differently, I guess, and saved my breath,” said Burton in disgust. “You’re just a hulk of bone and muscle and your head’s wood. You can lift a timber and swing a pick or axe because you’ve got the strength. But that’s all you know, or all you’re good for!”
The cool contempt in Burton’s voice stung Mun-ford more than the words themselves.
“Is that so!” he snarled, resorting to his favorite habit of blowing on his knuckles. “I’d show you fast enough what I’m good for, you runt, if you was a little bigger!”
“Maybe you’ll find I’m big enough one of these days,” said Burton, sharply. “Now I’ll put it to you straight so that you’ll understand. I’ll show you whether I can stop the gang going to Big Cloud or not. No man rides on the construction trains after to-day without a pass signed by me. That’s orders! If the men don’t like it, you can tell them it’s your fault. The next row in Big Cloud wouldn’t stop at fists. And as for you, you wouldn’t come out of it alive.”
“You needn’t worry about me,” sneered Munford. “I’m——”
“You’re a fool! The thickest-headed, trouble-hunting fool it’s ever been my cursed luck to run against!” exclaimed Burton angrily.