It was the fifth day of the strike, and still no sound of labor disturbed the sleeping forest. Quiet and calm, like that of the Sabbath, brooded over the camp, but not its peace, for, being well rested, the strikers chafed under inaction, moving restlessly among the buildings. Michigan Red, to be sure, was dealing interminable poker on a blanket under a tree, while the younger men skylarked or tried one another out in games, but neither forms of amusement appealed to the older and more thrifty Canadians. Secret disquiet, moreover, underlay even the nonchalance of the gamblers, for Bender's mysterious looks and Carter's continued absence were rapidly disintegrating the strikers' confidence.
"He ain't here," the giant had answered, when the committee had called for another conference, and to further questioning he had returned an irritating grin. "When will he be back? That's for us to know an' you to find out." And so, shorn of its functions, the committee had languished like a moulting peacock. In addition, the cook's ominous visage at meal-times bade the strikers beware that the curse of labor still clung to the fruits of the earth; and the fact that almost a month's back pay rested in Carter's hands, served as a text and lent force to the unpreached sermon. What if he never came back? The history of Western construction abounded with cases of absconding contractors, and the hostility of the monopoly lent substance to the doubt. Most of them would have hailed Carter's advent, just then, with real if secret pleasure, and the general uneasiness manifested itself in a grumbling remark made as Michigan Red raked a fat "jack-pot" into his winnings.
"You're the only one that's making anything these days."
"That's right," another grumbler added. "An' what's more, if we're out another five days the raise won't pull us even by freeze-up. Ten days lost at three-fifty is thirty-five dollars. Take the extra dollar seven weeks to make it up—if the frost holds off that long."
Apparently indifferent, Michigan went on with his deal. "You're hell at figures, Chalky. Where'd you learn? Figuring interest on your mortgage? How many cards, Bill?"
But Bill, spokesman of the committee, laid down his hand. "Look here, Red! Chalky's right. If we hadn't struck we'd have had a pay-day yesterday, an' if we're standing to lose that much we can't call it off too soon for me."
"Nor me."
"Nor me." The voices, pitched in altercation, had brought the idlers crowding, and the support came in from all around.
Michigan's teeth gleamed white through his red beard while his bleak eyes took stock of the crowding faces as though calculating just how far envy and avarice would take them. "You don't stand to lose a cent, Bill. They've got to finish the contrac' before freeze-up to reach the tie an' lumber-camps. Otherwise the road 'll be idle all winter, an' what's a few days' pay alongside the freight on a hundred million feet of lumber. He's got to finish it. If he kain't"—pausing, he distributed a significant nod around the circle—"there's others as kin an' will."
"But what if he don't come back?"