“Hallo!” he called. “Wait there a moment. I guess this place doesn’t belong to you.”
A man who looked big and shapeless in his whitened furs signed to somebody outside without answering, and four or five other men in fur caps and snow-sprinkled coats came in. They did not seem to consider it necessary to wait for permission, and it dawned upon the agent that something unusual was about to happen.
“We have a little business to put through,” said one.
“Well,” said the agent brusquely, “I can’t attend to you now. You can come back later—when the train comes in.”
One of the newcomers smiled sardonically, and the agent recognized two of his companions. They were men of some importance in that country, who had, however joined the homestead movement and were under the ban of the company’s chief supporters, the cattle-barons. There was accordingly no inducement to waste civility on them; but he had an unpleasant feeling that unnecessary impertinence would not be advisable.
“It has got to be put through now,” said the first of them, with a little ring in his voice. “We want a locomotive and a calaboose to take us to Boynton, and we are quite willing to pay anything reasonable.”
“It can’t be done. We have only the one loco here, and she is wanted to shove the west-bound train up the long grade to the hills.”
“I guess that train will have to get through alone to-night,” said another man.
The agent got up with an impatient gesture. “Now,” he said, “I don’t feel like arguing with you. You can’t have the loco.”
“No?” said the homesteader, with a little laugh. “Well, I figure you’re mistaken. We have taken charge of her already and only want the bill. If you don’t believe me, call your engineer.”