Dimond’s eyes were flashing with excitement, though he kept them lowered to the cards. His face was flushed. Flagg saw that the seed he had planted was growing, and he swept on, working up the situation with considerable art.
“Think it over, boys, think it over. This man Carhart finds he can’t drive you fast enough at one-fifty, so what does he do? He gets up his pay-slip scheme so’s you will kill yourselves for the chance of making ten cents more. And you stand around and let him do it—never a peep from you! Now, what’s the situation? Here’s this man, five hundred miles from nowhere; he’s got to rush the job. We know that, don’t we?”
“Yes,” muttered Dimond, with a quick breath, “we know that, all right.”
“Well, now, what about it?” Flagg looked deliberately about the eager group. “What about it? There’s the situation. Here he is, and here you are. He’s in a hurry. If he was to find out, all of a sudden, that he couldn’t drive you poor devils any farther; if he was to find out that you had just laid down and said you wouldn’t do another stroke of work on these terms, what about it? What could he do?” Flagg paused again, to let the suggestion find its mark.
“But he ain’t worrying any. He knows you for the low-spirited lot you are. So what does he do? He sends out a bunch of you and makes you ride three days to get water, and then he stacks the barrels around his tent, where he and his gang can get all they want, and tells you to go off and suck your thumbs. Much he cares about you.”
Dimond raised his eyes. “Talk plain, Jack,” he said in a low voice. “What is it? What’s the game?”
Flagg gave him a pitying glance. “You’re still asking what’s the game,” he replied, and went on half absently, “Let’s see. How much is he paying the iron squad—how much was that, now?”
“Two dollars,” cried a voice.
“Two dollars—yes, that was it; that was it. He is paying them two dollars a day, and he has set them to digging and grading along with you boys that only gets one-sixty. I happened to notice that to-day, when I was a-walking up that way. Those iron-squad boys was out with picks and shovels, a-doing the same work as the rest of you, only they was doing it for forty cents more. They ain’t common laborers, you see. There’s a difference. You couldn’t expect them to swing a pick for one-sixty a day. It would be beneath ’em. They’re sort o’ swells, you see—”
He paused. There was a long silence.