Park Reber was out of bed, and met them in the big living-room, a huge place forty feet long and twenty-five feet wide. Around two sides of this huge room was a wide veranda. At one end was a doorway leading out on to the veranda; and there was another doorway about fifteen feet from the corner, on the side. About midway of the room was a big window, and there were two windows at the front end.
Across this front end of the room was a long table and a number of chairs. On the opposite side of the room from the side entrance was a huge fireplace, capable of taking ten-foot logs. Most of the furnishings were of the home-made variety, and the floors were strewn with bright-colored Navajo rugs and the skins of wolf and grizzly. The walls were darkened with smoke and age.
The five foremen came in together. Reber seated them around the big table, he himself sitting at the head of the table, still a trifle pale, unable to use his left arm. At his right sat June Meline. She received several undisguised scowls. Beside her sat Franks of the M 33. At the opposite end of the table sat McLeese, scowling at everybody, and June in particular. He did not like the idea of having a woman at their conference. On the other side of the table sat Patterson, Jackson and Carlin.
Reber’s glance swept around the table and came to rest on McLeese.
“You’re drunk,” he said shortly. “Why?”
McLeese grimaced and tried to laugh it off, but Reber’s eyes bored into him and he coughed a little.
“I wanted sober men at this meetin’,” said Reber.
“I’m sober enough to know what I’m doin’,” said McLeese.
“Not if you had three drinks—and you’ve had more.”
Reber did not wait for McLeese to reply, but turned to the others.