“Dark nights are unpleasant,” said the workman.
“Yes, for strangers to travel,” the other answered.
“That’s good enough. I’m Brother Scanlan, Lodge 341, VermissaValley. Glad to see you in these parts.”
“Thank you. I’m Brother John McMurdo, Lodge 29, Chicago.
Bodymaster J.H. Scott. But I am in luck to meet a brother soearly.”
“Well, there are plenty of us about. You won’t find the ordermore flourishing anywhere in the States than right here inVermissa Valley. But we could do with some lads like you. I can’tunderstand a spry man of the union finding no work to do inChicago.”
“I found plenty of work to do,” said McMurdo.
“Then why did you leave?”
McMurdo nodded towards the policemen and smiled. “I guessthose chaps would be glad to know,” he said.
Scanlan groaned sympathetically. “In trouble?” he asked in awhisper.
“Deep.”
“A penitentiary job?”
“And the rest.”
“Not a killing!”
“It’s early days to talk of such things,” said McMurdo with theair of a man who had been surprised into saying more than heintended. “I’ve my own good reasons for leaving Chicago, and letthat be enough for you. Who are you that you should take it onyourself to ask such things?” His gray eyes gleamed with suddenand dangerous anger from behind his glasses.
“All right, mate, no offense meant. The boys will think none theworse of you, whatever you may have done. Where are you boundfor now?”
“Vermissa.”
“That’s the third halt down the line. Where are you staying?”
McMurdo took out an envelope and held it close to the murkyoil lamp. “Here is the address—Jacob Shafter, Sheridan Street.
It’s a boarding house that was recommended by a man I knew inChicago.”
“Well, I don’t know it; but Vermissa is out of my beat. I live atHobson’s Patch, and that’s here where we are drawing up. But, say,there’s one bit of advice I’ll give you before we part: If you’re introuble in Vermissa, go straight to the Union House and see BossMcGinty. He is the Bodymaster of Vermissa Lodge, and nothingcan happen in these parts unless Black Jack McGinty wants it. Solong, mate! Maybe we’ll meet in lodge one of these evenings. Butmind my words: If you are in trouble, go to Boss McGinty.”
Scanlan descended, and McMurdo was left once again to histhoughts. Night had now fallen, and the flames of the frequentfurnaces were roaring and leaping in the darkness. Against theirlurid background dark figures were bending and straining, twistingand turning, with the motion of winch or of windlass, to therhythm of an eternal clank and roar.
“I guess hell must look something like that,” said a voice.
McMurdo turned and saw that one of the policemen had shiftedin his seat and was staring out into the fiery waste.
“For that matter,” said the other policeman, “I allow that hellmust be something like that. If there are worse devils down yonderthan some we could name, it’s more than I’d expect. I guess youare new to this part, young man?”
“Well, what if I am?” McMurdo answered in a surly voice.
“Just this, mister, that I should advise you to be careful inchoosing your friends. I don’t think I’d begin with Mike Scanlanor his gang if I were you.”
“What the hell is it to you who are my friends?” roared McMurdoin a voice which brought every head in the carriage round to witnessthe altercation. “Did I ask you for your advice, or did you think mesuch a sucker that I couldn’t move without it? You speak when youare spoken to, and by the Lord you’d have to wait a long time if itwas me!” He thrust out his face and grinned at the patrolmen likea snarling dog.
The two policemen, heavy, good-natured men, were takenaback by the extraordinary vehemence with which their friendlyadvances had been rejected.
“No offense, stranger,” said one. “It was a warning for your owngood, seeing that you are, by your own showing, new to the place.”
“I’m new to the place; but I’m not new to you and your kind!”
cried McMurdo in cold fury. “I guess you’re the same in all places,shoving your advice in when nobody asks for it.”
“Maybe we’ll see more of you before very long,” said one of thepatrolmen with a grin. “You’re a real hand-picked one, if I am ajudge.”
“I was thinking the same,” remarked the other. “I guess we maymeet again.”
“I’m not afraid of you, and don’t you think it!” cried McMurdo.
“My name’s Jack McMurdo—see? If you want me, you’ll find meat Jacob Shafter’s on Sheridan Street, Vermissa; so I’m not hidingfrom you, am I? Day or night I dare to look the like of you in theface—don’t make any mistake about that!”
There was a murmur of sympathy and admiration from theminers at the dauntless demeanour of the newcomer, whilethe two policemen shrugged their shoulders and renewed aconversation between themselves.
A few minutes later the train ran into the ill-lit station, andthere was a general clearing; for Vermissa was by far the largesttown on the line. McMurdo picked up his leather gripsack andwas about to start off into the darkness, when one of the minersaccosted him.
“By Gar, mate! you know how to speak to the cops,” he said in avoice of awe. “It was grand to hear you. Let me carry your grip andshow you the road. I’m passing Shafter’s on the way to my ownshack.”
There was a chorus of friendly “Good-nights” from the otherminers as they passed from the platform. Before ever he had setfoot in it, McMurdo the turbulent had become a character inVermissa.
The country had been a place of terror; but the town was inits way even more depressing. Down that long valley there was atleast a certain gloomy grandeur in the huge fires and the cloudsof drifting smoke, while the strength and industry of man foundfitting monuments in the hills which he had spilled by the side ofhis monstrous excavations. But the town showed a dead level ofmean ugliness and squalor. The broad street was churned up by thetraffic into a horrible rutted paste of muddy snow. The sidewalkswere narrow and uneven. The numerous gas-lamps served onlyto show more clearly a long line of wooden houses, each with itsveranda facing the street, unkempt and dirty.
