The Doctor [121]
forces in an endeavour to have the doctor removed. The wires ordinarily effective were pulled with considerable success, when the manipulators met with an unexpected obstacle in General Manager Fahey. Upon him the full force of the combined influences available was turned, but to no purpose. He was too good a railway manager to be willing to lose the services of a man "who knew his work and did it right, a man who couldn't be bullied or blocked, and a man, bedad, who could play a good game of poker."
"He stays while I stay," was Fahey's last word in reply to an influential director, labouring in the interests of the party machine.
Failing with Fahey, the allied forces tried another line of attack. "Mexico" and the organization of which he was the head were instructed to "run him out." Receiving his orders, "Mexico" called his agents together and invited their opinions. A sharp cleavage immediately developed, one party led by "Peachy" being strongly in favour of obeying the orders, the other party, leaderless and scattering, strongly opposed. Discussion waxed bitter. "Mexico" sat silent, watchful, impassive. At length, "Peachy," in full swing of an impassioned and sulphurous denunciation of the doctor, his person and his ways, was called abruptly to order by a peremptory word from his chief.
"Shut up your fool head, 'Peachy.' To hear you talk you'd think you'd do something."
A grim laugh at "Peachy's" expense went round the company.
"Do somethin'?" snarled "Peachy," stung to fury, "I'll do somethin' one of these days. I've stood you all I want."
"Peachy's" oaths were crude in comparison with "Mexico's," but his fury lent them force. "Mexico" turned his baleful, gleaming eyes upon him.
"Do something? Meaning?"
"Never mind," growled "Peachy."
"Git!" "Mexico" pointed a long finger to the door. It was a word of doom, and they all knew it, for it meant not simply dismissal from that meeting, but banishment from the company of which "Mexico" was head, and that meant banishment from the line of the Crow's Nest Pass. "Peachy" was startled.
"You needn't be so blanked swift," he growled apologetically. "I didn't mean for to--"
"You git!" repeated "Mexico," turning the pointing finger from the door to the face of the startled wretch.
With a fierce oath "Peachy" reached for his gun, but hesitated to draw. "Mexico" moved not a line of his face, not a muscle of his body, except that his head went a little back and the heavy eyelids fell somewhat over the piercing black eyes.
"You dog!" he ground out through his clenched teeth, "you know you can't bring out your gun. I know you. You poor cur! You thought you'd sell me up to the other side! I know your scheme! Now git, and quick!"
The command came sharp like a snap of an animal's teeth, while "Mexico's" hand dropped swiftly to his side. Instantly "Peachy" rose and backed slowly toward the door, his face wearing the grin of a savage beast. At the door he paused.
"'Mexico,'" he said, "is this the last between you and me?"
"Mexico" kept his gleaming eyes fastened upon the face of the man backing out of the door.
"Git out, you cur!" he said, with contemptuous deliberation.
"Take that, then."
Like a flash, "Mexico" threw himself to one side. Two shots rang out as one. A slight smile curled "Mexico's" lip.
"Got him that time, I reckon."
"Hurt, 'Mexico'?" anxiously inquired his friends.
"Naw. He ain't got the nerve to shoot straight." The bartender and some others came running in with anxious faces. "Never mind, boys," said "Mexico." "'Peachy' was foolin' with his gun; it went off and hurt him some."
"Say, there's blood here!" said the bartender. "He's been bleedin' bad."
"Guess he's more scared than hurt. Now let's git to business."
The bartender and his friends took the hint and retired.
"Now, boys, listen to me," said "Mexico" impressively, leaning over the table. "Right here I want to say that the doctor is a friend of mine, and the man that touches him touches me." There was an ominous
"He stays while I stay," was Fahey's last word in reply to an influential director, labouring in the interests of the party machine.
Failing with Fahey, the allied forces tried another line of attack. "Mexico" and the organization of which he was the head were instructed to "run him out." Receiving his orders, "Mexico" called his agents together and invited their opinions. A sharp cleavage immediately developed, one party led by "Peachy" being strongly in favour of obeying the orders, the other party, leaderless and scattering, strongly opposed. Discussion waxed bitter. "Mexico" sat silent, watchful, impassive. At length, "Peachy," in full swing of an impassioned and sulphurous denunciation of the doctor, his person and his ways, was called abruptly to order by a peremptory word from his chief.
"Shut up your fool head, 'Peachy.' To hear you talk you'd think you'd do something."
A grim laugh at "Peachy's" expense went round the company.
"Do somethin'?" snarled "Peachy," stung to fury, "I'll do somethin' one of these days. I've stood you all I want."
"Peachy's" oaths were crude in comparison with "Mexico's," but his fury lent them force. "Mexico" turned his baleful, gleaming eyes upon him.
"Do something? Meaning?"
"Never mind," growled "Peachy."
"Git!" "Mexico" pointed a long finger to the door. It was a word of doom, and they all knew it, for it meant not simply dismissal from that meeting, but banishment from the company of which "Mexico" was head, and that meant banishment from the line of the Crow's Nest Pass. "Peachy" was startled.
"You needn't be so blanked swift," he growled apologetically. "I didn't mean for to--"
"You git!" repeated "Mexico," turning the pointing finger from the door to the face of the startled wretch.
With a fierce oath "Peachy" reached for his gun, but hesitated to draw. "Mexico" moved not a line of his face, not a muscle of his body, except that his head went a little back and the heavy eyelids fell somewhat over the piercing black eyes.
"You dog!" he ground out through his clenched teeth, "you know you can't bring out your gun. I know you. You poor cur! You thought you'd sell me up to the other side! I know your scheme! Now git, and quick!"
The command came sharp like a snap of an animal's teeth, while "Mexico's" hand dropped swiftly to his side. Instantly "Peachy" rose and backed slowly toward the door, his face wearing the grin of a savage beast. At the door he paused.
"'Mexico,'" he said, "is this the last between you and me?"
"Mexico" kept his gleaming eyes fastened upon the face of the man backing out of the door.
"Git out, you cur!" he said, with contemptuous deliberation.
"Take that, then."
Like a flash, "Mexico" threw himself to one side. Two shots rang out as one. A slight smile curled "Mexico's" lip.
"Got him that time, I reckon."
"Hurt, 'Mexico'?" anxiously inquired his friends.
"Naw. He ain't got the nerve to shoot straight." The bartender and some others came running in with anxious faces. "Never mind, boys," said "Mexico." "'Peachy' was foolin' with his gun; it went off and hurt him some."
"Say, there's blood here!" said the bartender. "He's been bleedin' bad."
"Guess he's more scared than hurt. Now let's git to business."
The bartender and his friends took the hint and retired.
"Now, boys, listen to me," said "Mexico" impressively, leaning over the table. "Right here I want to say that the doctor is a friend of mine, and the man that touches him touches me." There was an ominous