"Perdosa," I repeated, "drop that knife."
The crisis had come, but my resolution was fully prepared for it. I should not have cared greatly if I had had to shoot the man--as I certainly should have done had he disobeyed. There would then have been one less to deal with in the final accounting, which strangely enough I now for a moment never doubted would come. I had not before aimed at a man's life, so you can see to what tensity the baffling mystery had strung me.
Perdosa hesitated a fraction of an instant. I really think he might have chanced it, but Handy Solomon, who had been watching me closely, growled at him.
"Drop it, you fool!" he said.
Perdosa let fall the knife.
"Now, get at that cable," I commanded, still at white heat. I stood over him until he was well at work, then turned back to set tasks for the other men. Handy Solomon met me halfway. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Eagen," said he, "I want a word with you."
"I have nothing to say to you," I snapped, still excited.
"It ain't reasonable not to hear a man's say," he advised in his most conciliatory manner, "I'm talking for all of us."
He paused a moment, took my silence for consent, and went ahead.
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Eagen," said he, "we ain't going to do any more useless work. There ain't no laziness about us, but we ain't going to be busy at nothing. All the camp work and the haulin' and cuttin' and cleanin' and the rest of it, we'll do gladly. But we ain't goin' to pound any more cable, and you can kiss the Book on that."