The young man wondered what card his antagonists were preparing to play. He found out promptly when he ordered his swampers to advance with their axes and begin chopping down the trees on the right of way. At the first “chock” ringing out on the crisp silence of the woods Ward came running down the snowy stretch of tote-road, presenting much the same appearance as would an up reared and enraged polar bear. The lawyer hurried after him, and several woodsmen followed more leisurely.
“Not another chip from those trees! Not another chip!” bawled the colonel. The men stopped chopping and looked at each other doubtfully.
“We've been told to go ahead here,” said the “boss.”
“I don't care what yeh've been told. You all know me, don't you?” Ward slapped his breast. “You know me? Well, I say stop that chopping on my—understand?—on my land.”
Parker, who was in advance of the choppers with his instruments, heard, and came plowing through the snow. He found Colonel Ward roaring oaths and abuse, brandishing his fists, and backing the crew of a dozen men fairly off the right of way. Ward's own band of “Gideonites” stood at a little distance, grinning admiringly.
Parker set himself squarely in front of the old man, elbowing aside a woodsman to whom the colonel was addressing himself. The young engineer's gaze was level and determined.
“Colonel Ward,” he said, “you are interfering with my men.”
The answer was a wordless snarl of ire and contempt.
“There's no mistaking your disposition,” continued Parker. “You have set yourself to balk this enterprise. But I haven't any time to spend in a quarrel with you.”