“You are. You can get work at Marquette.”
“That ain't a fair shake,” cried the man excitedly.
“I'll have no growlers in this camp,” said Thorpe with decision.
“By God!” cried the man, “you damned—”
“You get out of here!” cried Thorpe with a concentrated blaze of energetic passion that made the fellow step back.
“I ain't goin' to get on the wrong side of the law by foolin' with this office,” cried the other at the door, “but if I had you outside for a minute—”
“Leave this office!” shouted Thorpe.
“S'pose you make me!” challenged the man insolently.
In a moment the defiance had come, endangering the careful structure Thorpe had reared with such pains. The young man was suddenly angry in exactly the same blind, unreasoning manner as when he had leaped single-handed to tackle Dyer's crew.
Without a word he sprang across the shack, seized a two-bladed ax from the pile behind the door, swung it around his head and cast it full at the now frightened teamster. The latter dodged, and the swirling steel buried itself in the snowbank beyond. Without an instant's hesitation Thorpe reached back for another. The man took to his heels.