The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 24: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

494 the big vat to bring its contents up to ‘““standard.”. And there were those who said that, by merely glancing at a handful of “ tailings,” he would figure you their worth in ton lots to a cent. But he was not even primer-wise in a knowledge of human nature, and he was a child in tact and diplomacy, and a mere babe in arms when it came to meeting a hard situation with judg- ment and energy. Lacey had known this when leaving King in charge. Racked with pain and half delirious when berne away from the Mariquita, he had been in no con- dition to pick and choose a successor pro tem. . | Even so, he had yet had no second choice. Whatever his other short- comings, King was the only man at the mine who, in the absence of the super- intendent, would be loyal to Deane. Two weeks Lacey had been gone. They were weeks of mental distress for King, who realized fully his own in- competence. If affairs had gone badly under Lacey, they nearly went te smash under King. About all the cyainid ex- pert hoped for was to hold the mine organization together until the new man arrived to fill the place vacated by Lacey. Troubles began almost before Lacey had been carried over the hill in the mine buckboard. The miners struck for higher pay, although they were re-- ceiving better wages than were being paid at any other mine in that district. They struck, apparently, just to be con- trary and worry Mortimer King. With no mining going on, the ore- haulers had to be laid off; with no drills to point, the blacksmith and his helper were out of a job; and with nothing to mill, the millmen were forced into idleness. Then the spirit of unrest laid hold of the cyanid workers, and one by one they drifted away to loaf with the others. King was at his wits’ end and telegraphed wildly to Deane. Everything’s going to pot. the new man? Where’s THE ARGOSY. And to this Deane answered in char- acteristic vein: _ ._ Keep your shirt on! New man on the job Thursday morning. King began counting the days until Thursday. On Wednesday some un- known person smuggled a supply of ted liquor into camp. Steve Bryden, otherwise known as “ Big Steve,” be- gan imbibing, and slowly and system- atically working himself up to concert pitch. He miade an art of getting “in tune,’ as he called it. | In twenty-four, thirty-six, or forty- eight hours, according to his own pre- arranged schedule, he weuld strike high C. Then, as King very well knew, the super pro tem would have difficulty keeping his scalp on, let alone his shirt. The cyanid expert would have sent to Phoenix for the sheriff. There was nobody to send, however, and he dared not leave the mine himself. Wednesday night Big Steve got a sledge- hammer from the deserted blacksmith-shop and joyously broke all the windows in the bunk-house. “ Just wanted to tease somebody,” he ex- plained when King ventured a feeble remonstrance. The little devils in his drink-mad- dened brain were growing. The Mexi- cans fled to their jacals and herded their wives and children behind closed doors. The Americans and_half- ‘ bloods moved their blankets to a dry wash and posted a guard. Wun Sing, the cook, barricaded him- self in the chuck shanty. From the laboratory King, torn with conflicting emotions, watched the trail from towr1r and hoped against hope. It was known that Big Steve had a dark past. But he had not acquired it in his sober moments. Not much of good could be said of him when his brain was clear, although in that state he was never openly lawless. In drink, all his evil flew brazenly uppermost, and his black folly knew no bounds. Barrin’ King, the Americans at the COMicdoo S CO@