Читать книгу Bed Rock - Jack Bethea - Страница 16

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Shackleford voiced the question: "Well, what do you think of him?" He put it bluntly to Stringfellow and the others sat up.

Stringfellow took his time about answering. He turned his pipe slowly in his hands. "I don't know, Ben. He is beyond me."

"How come?" Shackleford asked impatiently. "You've come closer to him 'n anybody."

"That don't mean I know more about him. He ain't done nothin' so's I could find out, not even looked at the reports. Blackford's a new kind of superintendent to me."

Lawler chimed in. "Yes, that's so. I thought he was goin' to take hold right away. I talked with him the first day, but I ain't seen him since. He ain't been in the mine and he ain't said nothin' to any of the men; he ain't even been over to the tipple."

Shackleford spat through his fingers and looked around at the little group. "Strikes me we ought to be findin' out what he's aimin' t' do. I been holdin' back to see what he was like. I don't aim to much longer."

Shackleford's voice was easy, but with an undertone of command. His massive head was thatched by grizzled hair and swayed slightly from side to side. It was a heritage of the accident that had deprived him of his right hand. His mouth was hard across his long chin and his eyes peered bleakly above a predatory nose. It was not a sullen face, though a powerful one. There were lines of humor about the eyes under heavy brows. A very light steel blue, the pupil and the ball were so nearly the same color he seemed to be staring blankly out of sightless eyes. He looked steadily at the men around him, his eyes unmoving in his shaking head.

"I've waited on Blackford 'bout long's I figger to," he repeated. "How 'bout you all?"

His blue eyes gleaming, Lawler sat forward in his chair. "I don't see any use waitin' no longer," he said viciously. "If he wants to get hard, I c'n keep him busy at the tipple."

Charlie Galloway, who had been silent, added his observation. "He hasn't tried to check up on the cars, either. He ain't been up to the Mineral depot since he come in on the coal train."

Galloway was the Mineral agent, weighing the coal as it was mined and signing receipts for it. These were forwarded to Birmingham and the coal routed from them by the traffic department. Galloway was one of three men who ran Cahaba for personal profit. Lawler was one. He was in charge of the mine and he took tax of every ton that left it. The second was Shackleford, who did not live in Cahaba. His whisky went to Birmingham and he owned a poker and craps game in the camp. The third was Galloway, and he took toll from both Lawler and Shackleford. He stood at the neck of the bottle through which Lawler's coal and Shackleford's whisky must pass. He imposed a transportation tax.

Stringfellow was out of place in the group. Because through him they could learn what went on in company councils, the other three needed him. They used shrewdly the information he furnished. Stringfellow puzzled the others. He gave his information freely and asked nothing in return, although he could have demanded and received a fourth of the profits from the loose partnership. It would have made his salary as chief clerk insignificant.

The four were meeting in Galloway's house; Shackleford had called him: his need was urgent. He had been delaying his whisky shipments nearly three weeks now, waiting on Blackford. His customers in Birmingham were clamoring and he could no longer keep his stills in operation and handle the growing stores of liquor.

Galloway was the least striking of the four; small, almost dwarfish, with nondescript light hair and peering eyes, his quiet demeanor gave no hint of the craft his unpromising exterior hid.

"What kind of a man is Blackford, Stringfellow?" Shackleford asked. "You must of learned somethin' 'bout him."

"Not a thing," the chief clerk denied. "All I know is what I have seen and that ain't much. Blackford has hardly opened his mouth to me. I asked him if there was anything he wanted to know and he told me if there was he'd ask me. That was the first day he was here. He ain't never asked."

"How does he spend his time? What does he do?" This was Galloway.

Stringfellow shook his head. "Blessed if I know. He usually comes down in the morning and sits at his desk lookin' out the window for a while. Then he goes out; what he does or where he goes, I don't know."

"I do. He goes up the mountain and sits there," rumbled Shackleford. "Some of my folks seen him more'n once. Made me nerv'us an' I set a trap in the path right over the hill, but I never caught nothin'."

Lawler pointed at Stringfellow. "What was the idea in sendin' him down here, Lin? I was lookin' for another kind after the way Crosslands was handled. He seems easier 'n Crosslands."

They waited as Stringfellow deliberated. He was always slow of speech and Lawler moved impatiently before the clerk spoke. "I don't know exactly what did happen. I know one thing, though. The central office don't like him."

"How do you know that?"

"They've got it fixed to send Macklin Gower down here for an engineer."

"Who's Gower? I never heard of him."

"Gower is one of Fain's boys."

"In the safety department, eh? I still don't see how that means the main office don't like Blackford. He married the old man's daughter, I heard."

"Well, I may be wrong, but if it was a straight deal they wouldn't send Gower. He ain't no engineer; he's a policeman, an' he's comin' here to do a policeman's work. He may pretend to be an engineer, but that ain't what he's comin' for. You mark what I tell you. They're after somebody an' Blackford's the only one it can be. If it had been you, for instance, Ben, he would have come before this. I figure from the way he has acted there is something funny about Blackford's marriage. You know he was chief clerk in the mining division one day an' Cahaba superintendent the next."

Galloway again broke in. "I've heard enough of Blackford. I'm fair sick of him. Let's decide somethin'."

They all looked at Shackleford, and he spoke decisively. "There ain't no use waitin' no longer. Kin you take a carload to-morrow night, Charlie?"

"Hell, yes! I could have took it any night for the last three weeks."

"Then I'll git it over here by midnight. You want to watch out, 'cause it's goin' to be a whopper. Don't put it in one o' those dinky little gondolas."

"I'll fix it all right." Galloway looked at Lawler. "How 'bout you?"

"Guess I'll let her shoot, too. I'm tired of waitin' myself. You watch out for the car sheets to-morrow and don't get 'em mixed up."

Stringfellow stopped them. "Suppose Blackford should begin lookin' into things in the office; he'll find plenty. Thought about that?"

Shackleford was indifferent. "That's your job." And Lawler added: "If he gets too busy inside, I'll find plenty to bring him out."

The foreman was an entirely different person from the man who had talked with Blackford in his office.

Shackleford got up. "Guess that's 'bout all, ain't it? Split same way as before?"

The other two nodded and Stringfellow looked on regretfully. Shackleford was back where he had been before Blackford's arrival. Margaret would be disappointed, but it would have been useless to protest. It would only have inflamed her father. He must ask for more time to fulfill his promise. Big Shackleford was stubborn.

"Let's go down and look over the game," Lawler proposed, and when all but Stringfellow agreed they strolled down the hill to the building euphemistically called "The Club." Here Stringfellow left them with a muttered excuse. Inside they found the one big room filled with smoke and a fair-sized crowd at the tables.

Shackleford spoke to the lookout. "Anything doin'?"

"Pretty nice poker game, sir," the man answered.

The newcomers wandered to the dice game, but the stakes were uninteresting and Shackleford drifted to the poker table. Billy McArdle was dealing, and he looked up with a nod as the group sauntered in. Shackleford knew all but one of the players, a blond youth at the end who kept up a running fire of good-natured comment on his own poor fortune. The game was stud.

"Doggone! I can't get enough to see anything but the first card," the lad complained. He flipped over a trey and turned up a four-spot as his hole card.

Shackleford did not like strangers in Cahaba nor did Lawler. They questioned Landers Stow, who ran the house for Shackleford.

"Who is he?" demanded Shackleford, jerking a thumb at the stranger. "How come you let him in?"

"It's an open game," protested Stow. "Told me his name was Mudd, John Mudd. He is a company man."

"How do you know?"

"He's got on a company badge and he came in on a company ticket from Birmingham."

"Is he a special?" meaning a company policeman.

"Search me. He don't play poker like no special. Hear him raising hell about his luck? He's been playing all night on a twenty-dollar bill and I bet there's more'n fifteen dollars in his stack right now. When he gets low, he goes out and wins a pot."

"Listens worse and worse," rumbled Shackleford. "This ain't no time to have nobody buttin' in. We got enough on our hands. You try him, Joe. You're the mine boss. Better find out somethin' about him."

The three moved back to the table, and Lawler stood at the opposite end to watch Mudd's play. The boy was good. Lawler saw him turn over a pair of deuces back to back with a pair of kings hidden on his left. The men were playing in silence when the youngster straightened up after looking at his hole card.

"Well, gentlemen, this is going to be a B., S. and C. hand," he announced. "I feel it coming. Just gimme a pair to start with and let's go."

Lawler and Shackleford watched in silence. On his first card, a jack of hearts, the boy bet two dollars. Several small cards turned over and the rest stayed. On the next card, a queen of spades, the lad doubled his bet.

"It's going up every time as long as they fall like this," he said cheerfully.

A king of hearts raised him ten dollars and the boy back-raised five. Again there was a round of betting. So it continued until the last card when the boy had all his money in the middle of the table. He had a possible straight, queen high.

"If it's agreeable, I'll call all bets," he said, after peeping at his hole card again.

Lawler interposed softly. "You play poker like a railroad man."

Sensing something unusual coming, a hush fell over the game.

"Well, old-timer, what is it to you?" asked the stranger, again peeking at his hole card and not looking at Lawler. "I don't see any chips in front of you."

"I don't need any to play in this game."

"Own it, or something like that?" questioned the boy. "You must be Big Shackleford."

"Like hell he is," Shackleford interrupted. "That's me."

Mudd glanced at him. Then his eyes wandered to Stow, standing by nervously.

"Who are you, anyway?" Shackleford demanded suddenly. "And what are you doin' here?"

"Have to answer right out loud?" sparred Mudd.

"That's all right. We don't have any secrets here." Shackleford's tone was aggressive.

"I don't think I want to," Mudd said coolly.

Shackleford banged his one hand on the table. "Then this game is closed." He turned to Stow. "Cash 'em in, Landers."

The players knew Shackleford too well to protest and the dealer argued long in straightening the pot. Mudd thrust his money into his pocket and rose, still refusing to grow angry.

Shackleford and Lawler approached him. "Now, young fellow, just give an account of yourself. What do you want here? We are kind of particular about who lives in Cahaba." It was Lawler speaking.

The boy's eyes were beginning to kindle and his lips tightened. "Oh, I wouldn't say you were particular. You live here, I see."

Shackleford's patience ended and he raised his voice to a bellow. "I'll ask you one more time. Who are you an' what do you want?"

"And I'll tell you for the first time that it's none of your damned business," Mudd flashed back. "Now, what are you going to do about it?"

"Run you out of the camp," replied Shackleford definitely. "You're too young to be goin' 'round loose here." He raised his voice in an inarticulate shout and a half-dozen men began edging forward. "Bounce him," he said malevolently, motioning toward Mudd. "And listen, young fellow, when you hit the ground, keep goin'. You ain't needed 'round here."

"This is Southern hospitality, I suppose," murmured the boy sweetly. Abruptly his voice changed; his eyes grew menacing. "Stop right where you are," he commanded the men who were advancing on him. "I didn't come here to start anything, but I guess I can finish anything that is started." He backed into a corner and swept his eyes over the gathering. "My name is Mudd," he cried defiantly. "I work for the Cahaba Company, and I'm going to stay here until the superintendent who hired me tells me to beat it. Now, if any of you fellows are looking for trouble, come right ahead."

The boy made no movement toward a gun. Apparently he was not armed, but there was something in his glance that held the others back until Shackleford sent them forward again.

"For God's sake!" he cried. "Do I have to tell you twice to get a man out of my own house? Get to it!"

At the word, Mudd leaped from his corner at Shackleford. He seized the big man by the neck, spun him around, and, in spite of his bulk, was back in the corner with him before any one could reach them. His hand brushed down across the front of his coat and a revolver was jammed into Shackleford's ribs.

"You sicked 'em on so fast, now call 'em off!" Mudd snapped. There was no lightness in his voice. "If I have to get somebody, I'll start with you. Now, talk quick!"

The mountaineer spluttered and his men halted irresolutely. Shackleford was not afraid, but he was no fool. He could spot a bluff, and he knew if anything happened he would have little interest in it; he would be the curtain-raiser. He twisted and squirmed, but could not break Mudd's grip.

"Wait a minute, boys, wait a minute. The gentleman seems to have me right now," he said.

"That's the way to talk," Mudd approved. "Suppose we discuss the matter a little. You have asked me some personal questions. S'pose I ask you some." The whole room was watching them as Mudd lowered Shackleford none too gently into a chair and stood over him in polite inquiry. "What have I done? Your welcome to Cahaba is too much. I come in here to seek some innocent diversion, but my face don't make a hit at all. Wise me up! What's it all about?"

Shackleford squirmed uncomfortably. "We don't like strangers much."

"I'll tell the world you don't. But why?"

"We just don't."

"Don't you ever have any here?" Mudd persisted. "Am I the first man who ever came here who wasn't born in Cahaba?"

Shackleford did not answer, and Mudd considered him with a brightly cheerful air. Secretly he was wondering how he was to get out, when Shackleford spoke again.

"If I was you," he said judicially and entirely without rancor, "I'd sure catch that coal train out to-night. You ain't goin' to be pop'lar with me."

"Thanks for the advice," Mudd answered calmly. "I'll consider it. Something tells me, though, that I'm going to disappoint you. I just live on excitement."

"All right. If that's what you're lookin' for. You c'n stay if you're willin' to take the consequences."

Mudd placed an affectionate hand on the elder man's arm. "Let's me and you take a walk to the door. I'll go next to the wall if you don't mind."

Shackleford rose with alacrity and the two sidled out.

"Thanks for a very pleasant evening," said Mudd courteously as he disappeared into the darkness.

Shackleford turned back into the room. "Now, who in hell can he be?" he asked, but no one answered.