“There's no use of me and you backin' and fillin'!” shouted the old man. “You know me and I know you. You think you're goin' to tote your material up over this lake and build that railroad across my carry at Poquette?”
“Yes, that's what I am going to do.”
Ward shot out his two great fists.
“Naw, ye ain't!” he howled.
Parker turned and consulted his steam-gage and water indicator. Then he rang the bell.
“All aboard!” he shouted. “First train for Poquette.”
A nervous little laugh went round at his quiet jest, and twoscore men boarded the sleds. For the first time in his roaring, reckless and quarrelsome life Colonel Gideon Ward found himself in the presence of a man who defied him scornfully and facing an obstacle that promised ridiculous defeat.
The titter of the crowd spurred his rage into fury. He took his whip between his teeth, and grasping the hand-rods, was about to lift himself into the cab. Parker put his gloved hand against the old man's breast.
“Not without an invitation, Colonel Ward,” he said. “Our party is made up.”
“Don't want to ride in your infernal engine!” bellowed Ward, “I'm goin' to hoss-whip you, you—”