The lanky one snapped: “Okay. You didn’t. But come on, now! We finish this——”
He advanced toward the workman who had so nearly caused his death. But the other man dropped his arms to his sides.
“I don’ fight no more,” he said thickly. “Not here. You keel me is okay. I don’ fight.”
The lanky man—Haney—growled at him.
“Tonight, then, in Bootstrap. Now get back to work!”
The stocky man picked up his tools. He was trembling.
Haney turned to Joe and said ungraciously: “Much obliged. What’s up?”
Joe still felt queasy. There is rarely any high elation after one has risked his life for somebody else. He’d nearly plunged two hundred feet to the floor of the Shed with Haney. But he swallowed.
“I’m looking for Chief Bender. You’re Haney? Foreman?”
“Gang boss,” said Haney. He looked at Joe and then at Sally who was holding convulsively to the upright Joe had put her hand on. Her eyes were closed. “Yeah,” said Haney. “The Chief took off today. Some kind of Injun stuff. Funeral, maybe. Want me to tell him something? I’ll see him when I go off shift.”