Therefore, they had answered his appeal and had gone with him. But they went without alacrity, and were encouraged only by the despondent belief that at least matters could not be made any worse.
CHAPTER XXX
THE PACT WITH KING SPRUCE
“We ’lowed he was caught, and we never thought we’d see Mike any more;
But he took and he kicked a bubble up, and he rode all safe to shore.”
—The “Best White-water Man.”
So it came about that once more, after a year had passed, Dwight Wade walked up the hill towards “Castle Cut ’Em,” where the sunlight shimmered upon grim walls. The mills along the canal screamed at him as he passed. His fancy detected derision in the squall of the saws.
A score of men plodded along with him—broad-backed, silent men who, now that they were under the frown of King Spruce’s citadel, muttered their forebodings to one another. Resentment and desperation had left their hearts open to the young man’s appeal when he urged a union against the tyrant. But now their reluctance hinted that their determination was built on some very shifty sands. He remembered the man who had declaimed a year before so stoutly, and had been turned aside from his purpose by a few words whispered in a corner.