CHAPTER XVI
DISASTER AT THE MILL
Night closed in leaden-hued. The threat of storm had early brought theday to a close, so that the sunset was lost in the massing cloudsbanking on the western horizon.
Summer was well advanced, and already the luxurious foliage of thevalley was affected by the blistering heat. The emerald of the treesand the grass had gained a maturer hue, and only the darker pinesresisted the searching sunlight. The valley was full ripe, and kindlynature was about to temper her efforts and permit a breathing space.The weather-wise understood this.
Dave was standing at his office door watching the approach of theelectric storm, preparing to launch its thunders upon the valley. Itsprogress afforded him no sort of satisfaction. Everybody but himselfwanted rain. It had already done him too much harm.
He was thinking of the letter he had just received from Bob Mason up inthe hills. Its contents were so satisfactory, and this coming rainlooked like undoing the good his staunch friends in the mountain campshad so laboriously achieved.
While Mason reported that the fever still had the upper hand, itscourse had been checked; the epidemic had been grappled with and heldwithin bounds. That was sufficiently satisfactory, seeing Chepstow hadonly been up there ten days. Then, too, Mason had had cause tocongratulate himself on another matter. A number of recruits for hiswork had filtered through to his camps from Heaven and themselves aloneknew where. This was quite good. These men were not the best oflumbermen, but under the "camp boss" they would help to keep the workprogressing, which, in the circumstances, was all that could be asked.
A few minutes later Dave departed into the mills. Since the mill up theriver had been converted and set to work, and Simon Odd had been giventemporary charge of it, he shared with Dawson the work of overseeing.
As he mounted to the principal milling floor the great syren shriekedout its summons to the night shift, and sent the call echoing andreechoing down the valley. There was no cessation of work. The "relief"stood ready, and the work was passed on from hand to hand.
Dave saw his foreman standing close by No. 1, and he recognized therelief as Mansell. Dawson was watching the man closely, and judging bythe frown on his face, it was plain that something was amiss. He movedover to him and beckoned him into the office.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, as soon as the door was closed.
Dawson was never the man to choose his words when he had a grievance.That was one of the reasons his employer liked him. He was so rough,and so straightforward. He had a grievance now.
"I ain't no sort o' use for these schoolhouse ways," he said, with theadded force of an oath.
Dave waited for his next attempt.
"That skunk Mansell. He's got back to-night. He ain't been on thetime-sheet for nigh to a week."
"You didn't tell me? Still, he's back."
Dave smiled into the other's angry face, and his manner promptly drewan explosion from the hot-headed foreman.
"Yes, he's back. But he wouldn't be if I was boss. That's the sort o'Sunday-school racket I ain't no use for. He's back, because you sayhe's to work right along. Sort of to help him. Yes, he's back. He'sbeen fightin'-drunk fer six nights, and I'd hate to say he's dead sobernow."
"Yet you signed him on. Why?"
"Oh, as to that, he's sober, I guess. But the drink's in him. I tellyou, boss, he's rotten--plumb rotten--when the drink's in him. I knowhim. Say----"
But Dave had had enough.
"You say he's sober--well, let it go at that. The man can do his work.That's the important thing to us. Just now we can't bother with hismorals. Still, you'd best keep an eye on him."
He turned to his books, and Dawson busied himself with the checkers'sheets. For some time both men worked without exchanging a word, andthe only interruption was the regular coming of the tally boys, whobrought the check slips of the lumber measurements.
Through the thin partitions the roar of machinery was incessant, and atfrequent intervals the hoarse shouts of the "checkers" reached them.But this disturbed them not at all. It was what they were used to, whatthey liked to hear, for it told of the work going forward without hitchof any sort.
At last the master of the mills looked up from a mass of figures. Hehad been making careful calculations.
"We're short, Dawson," he said briefly.
"Short by half a million feet," the foreman returned, without evenlooking round.
"How's Odd doing up the river?"
"Good. The machinery's newer, I guess."
"Yes. But we can't help that. We've no time for installing newmachinery here. Besides, I can't spare the capital."
Dawson looked round.
"'Tain't that," he said. "We're short of the right stuff in the boom.Lestways, we was yesterday. A hundred and fifty logs. We're doingbetter to-day. Though not good enough. It's that dogone fever, I guess."
"What's in the reserve?"
"Fifteen hundred logs now. I've drew on them mighty heavy. We've usedup that number twice over a'ready. I'm scairt to draw further. You see,it's a heap better turning out short than using up that. If we're shorton the cut only us knows it. If we finish up our reserve, and have toshut down some o' the saws, other folks'll know it, and we ain'tlookin' for that trouble."
Dave closed his book with a slam. All his recent satisfaction was gonein the discovery of the shortage. He had not suspected it.
"I must send up to Mason. It's--it's hell!"
"It's wuss!"
Dave swung round on his loyal assistant.
"Use every log in the reserve. Every one, mind. We've got to gamble. IfMason keeps us short we're done anyway. Maybe the fever will let up,and things'll work out all right."
Dave flung his book aside and stood up. His heavy face was more deeplylined than it had been at the beginning of summer. He looked to benearer fifty than thirty. The tremendous work and anxiety were telling.
"Get out to the shoots," he went on, in a sharp tone of command herarely used. "I'll see to the tally. Keep 'em right at it. Squeeze thesaws, and get the last foot out of 'em. Use the reserve till it's done.We're up against it."
Dawson understood. He gave his chief one keen glance, nodded anddeparted. He knew, no one better, the tremendous burden on the man'sgigantic shoulders.
Dave watched him go. Then he turned back to the desk. He was not theman to weaken at the vagaries of ill fortune. Such difficulties as atthe moment confronted him only stiffened his determination. He wouldnot take a beating. He was ready to battle to the death. He quietly,yet earnestly, cursed the fever to himself, and opened and rereadMason's letter. One paragraph held his attention, and he read it twiceover.
"If I'm short on the cut you must not mind too much. I can easily makeit up when things straighten out. These hands I'm taking on are mostly'green.' I can only thank my stars I'm able to find them up here. Ican't think where they come from. However, they can work, which is thegreat thing, and though they need considerable discipline--they're arebellious lot--I mean to make them work."
It was a great thought to the master of the mills that he had such menas Bob Mason in his service. He glowed with satisfaction at thethought, and it largely compensated him for the difficulties besettinghim. He put the letter away, and looked over the desk for a memorandumpad. Failing to find what he required, he crossed over to a largecupboard at the far corner of the room. It was roomy, roughly built, tostore books and stationery in. The top shelf alone was in use, exceptthat Dawson's winter overcoat hung in the lower part. It was on the topshelf that Dave expected to find the pad he wanted.
As he reached the cupboard a terrific crash of thunder shook thebuilding. It was right overhead, and pealed out with nerve-rackingforce and abruptness. It was the first attack of the threatened storm.The peal died out and all became still again, except for the shriek ofthe saws beyond the partition walls. He waited listening, and then astrange sound reached him. So used was he to the din of the millingfloor that any unusual sound or note never failed to
draw and hold hisattention. A change of tone in the song of the saws might mean so much.Now this curious sound puzzled him. It was faint, so faint that onlyhis practiced ears could have detected it, yet, to him, it wasominously plain. Suddenly it ceased, but it left him dissatisfied.
He was about to resume his search when again he started; and the lookhe turned upon the door had unmistakable anxiety in it. There it wasagain, faint, but so painfully distinct. He drew back, half inclined toquit his search, but still he waited, wondering. The noise was asthough a farrier's rasp was being lightly passed over a piece ofwell-oiled steel. At last he made up his mind. He must ascertain itsmeaning, and he moved to leave the cupboard. Suddenly a terrificgrinding noise shrieked harshly above the din of the saws. Itculminated in a monstrous thud. Instinctively he sprang back, and wasstanding half-inside the cupboard when a deafening crash shook themills to their foundations. There was a fearful rending and smashing oftimber. Something struck the walls of the office. It crashed through,and a smashing blow struck the cupboard door and hurled him against theinner wall. He thrust out his arms for protection. The door was fast.He was a prisoner.
Now pandemonium reigned. Crash on crash followed in rapid succession.It was as though the office had become the centre of attack for anoverwhelming combination of forces. The walls and floor shivered underthe terrific onslaught. The very building seemed to totter as though anearthquake were in progress. But at last the end came with a thunderupon the cupboard door, the panels were ripped like tinder, andsomething vast launched itself through the wrecked woodwork. It struckthe imprisoned man in the chest, and in a moment he was pinned to thewall, gasping under ribs bending to the crushing weight which felt tobe wringing the very life out of him.
A deadly quiet fell as suddenly as the turmoil had arisen, and hisquick ears told him that the saws were still, and all work had ceasedin the mill. But the pause was momentary. A second later a greatshouting arose. Men's voices, loud and hoarse, reached him, and therushing of heavy feet was significant of the disaster.
And he was helpless, a prisoner.
He tried to move. His agony was appalling. His ribs felt to be on theverge of cracking under the enormous weight that held him. He raisedhis arms, but the pain of the effort made him gasp and drop them. Yethe knew he must escape from his prison. He knew that he was neededoutside.
The shouting grew. It took a definite tone, and became a cry that nonecould mistake. Dave needed no repetition of it to convince him of thedread truth. The fire spectre loomed before his eyes, and horror nighdrove him to frenzy.
In his mind was conjured a picture--a ghastly picture, such as all hislife he had dreaded and shut out of his thoughts. His brain suddenlyseemed to grow too big for his head. It grew hot, and his templeshammered. A surge of blood rose with a rush through his great veins.His muscles strung tense, and his hands clenched upon the imprisoningbeam. He no longer felt any pain from the crushing weight. He wasincapable of feeling anything. It was a moment when mind and body werecharged with a maddening force that no other time could command. Withhis elbows planted against the wall behind him, with his lungs filledwith a deep whistling breath, he thrust at the beam with every ounce ofhis enormous strength put forth.
He knew all his imprisonment meant. Not to himself alone. Not to thoseshouting men outside. It was the mills. Hark! Fire! Fire! The cry wason every hand. The mills--his mills--were afire!
He struggled as never before in his life had he struggled. He struggledtill the sweat poured from his temples, till his hands lacerated, tillthe veins of his neck stood out like straining ropes, till it seemed asthough his lungs must burst. He was spurred by a blind fury, but thebeam remained immovable.
Hark! The maddening cry filled the air. Fire! Fire! Fire! It waseverywhere driving him, urging him, appealing. It rang in his brainwith an exquisite torture. It gleamed at him in flaming letters out ofthe darkness. His mill!
Suddenly a cry broke from him as he realized the futility of hiseffort. It was literally wrung from him in the agony of his soul; norwas he aware that he had spoken.
"God, give me strength!"
And as the cry went up he hurled himself upon the beam with the fury ofa madman.
Was it in answer to his prayer? The beam gave. It moved. It was solittle, so slight; but it moved. And now, with every fibre braced, heattacked it in one final effort. It gave again. It jolted, it lifted,its rough end tearing the flesh of his chest under his clothing. Ittottered for a moment. He struggled on, his bulging eyes and agonizedgasping telling plainly of the strain. Inch by inch it gave before him.His muscles felt to be wrenching from the containing tissues, hisbreathing was spasmodic and whistling, his teeth were grindingtogether. It gave further, further. Suddenly, with a crash, it fell,the door was wrenched from its hinges, and he was free!
He dashed out into the wreck of his office. All was in absolutedarkness. He stumbled his way over the debris which covered the floor,and finally reached the shattered remains of the doorway.
Now he was no longer in darkness. The milling floor was all toobrilliantly lit by the leaping flames down at the "shoot" end of theNo. 1 rollers. He waited for nothing, but ran toward the fire. Beyond,dimly outlined in the lurid glow, he could see the men. He saw Dawsonand others struggling up the shoot with nozzle and hose, and he put hishands to his mouth and bellowed encouragement.
"Five hundred dollars if you get her under!" he cried.
If any spur were needed, that voice was sufficient. it was the voice ofthe master the lumber-jacks knew.
Dawson on the lead struggled up, and as he came Dave shouted again.
"Now, boy! Sling it hard! And pass the word to pump like hell!"
He reached out over the shoot. Dawson threw the nozzle. And as Davecaught it a stream of water belched from the spout.
None knew better than he the narrowness of the margin between savingand losing the mills. Another minute and all would have been lost. Thewhole structure was built of resinous pine, than which there is nothingmore inflammable. The fire had got an alarming hold even in those fewminutes, and for nearly an hour victory and disaster hung in thebalance. Nor did Dave relinquish his post while any doubt remained. Itwas not until the flames were fully under control that he left thelumber-jacks to complete the work.
He was weary--more weary than he knew. It seemed to him that in thatbrief hour he had gone through a lifetime of struggle, both mental andphysical. He was sore in body and soul. This disaster had come at theworst possible time, and, as a result, he saw in it something like aweek's delay. The thought was maddening, and his ill humor found ventin the shortness of his manner when Dawson attempted to draw him aside.
"Out with it, man," he exclaimed peevishly.
Dawson hesitated. He noticed for the first time the torn condition ofhis chief's clothes, and the blood stains on the breast of his shirt.Then he blurted out his thankfulness in a tone that made Dave regrethis impatience.
"I'm a'mighty thankful you're safe, boss," he said fervently. Then,after a pause, "But you--you got the racket? You're wise to it?"
Dave shrugged. Reaction had set in. Nothing seemed to matter, the causeor anything. The mill was safe. He cared for nothing else.
"Something broke, I s'pose," he said almost indifferently.
"Sure. Suthin' bust. It bust on purpose. Get it?"
The foreman's face lit furiously as he made his announcement.
Dave turned on him. All his indifference vanished in a twinkling.
"Eh? Not--not an accident?"
In an access of loyal rage Dawson seized him by the arm in a nervousclutch, and tried to drag him forward.
"Come on," he cried. "Let's find him. It's Mansell!"
With a sudden movement Dave flung him off, and the force he used nearlythrew the foreman off his feet. His eyes were burning like two livecoals.
"Come on!" he cried harshly, and Dawson was left to follow as hepleased.