CHAPTER SIX
WHEN the autocrat of the Noda strode away, a stalwart young man instantly obeyed Flagg’s command—seizing the occasion to follow then and there. He had been standing on the outskirts of the throng, surveying the happenings with great interest. The men who were in his immediate vicinity, lumberjacks who were strangers in the Noda region, were plainly of his appanage and had obeyed his advice to keep out of the mêlée that had been provoked by Flagg’s methods of selection.
When the big fellow hurried in pursuit of Flagg a bystander put a question to one of the strangers.
“You ought to know who he is,” returned the questioned. “That’s Ward Latisan.”
And just then, apart from the crowd, having overtaken the autocrat, the young man was informing Flagg to that same effect.
Flagg halted, swung around, and rammed his cant dog into the ground. “You’ve changed from a sapling into fair-sized timber since I saw you last. You look like old John, and that’s compliment enough, I reckon. How do you happen to be over in the Noda country?”
“I don’t happen! I heard of the word you sent out. I came here on purpose, sir.”
“What for?”