“Not very much, only in little ways.  I guess it’s just this section boss that does it on his own hook.  He’s a sort of a fool, you know, and he’s got it into his head that we’re trying to do him some way.”

Bannon put his hands into his pockets, and studied the checkered pattern in the ground shadow of the nearest arc lamp.  Then he slowly shook his head.

“No,” he said, “that ain’t it.  He’s too big a fool to do much on his own hook.  He’s acting on orders of some sort, and that’s just what I don’t understand.  As a general thing a railroad’s mighty white to an elevator.  Come to think of it, they said something about it up at the office,”—­he was apparently speaking to himself, and Max quietly waited,—­“Brown said something about the C. & S. C. having got in the way a little down here, but I didn’t think much about it at the time.”

“What could they do?” Max asked.

“A lot, if they wanted to.  But that ain’t what’s bothering me.  They haven’t any connection with the G.&M., have they?”

“No”—­Max shook his head—­“no, not that I know of.”

“Well, it’s funny, that’s all.  The man behind those orders that the section boss talks about is the general manager; and it’s my notion that we’re likely to hear from him again.  I’ll tell you what it is.  Somebody—­I don’t know who, but somebody—­is mighty eager to keep this house from being finished by the first of January.  After this I wish you’d keep your eyes open for this section boss.  Have you had any trouble with the men?”

“No, only that clerk that we laid off today, he ’lowed he was going to make trouble.  I didn’t say anything about it, because they always talk like that.”

“Yes, I know.  What’s his name?”

“Briggs.”

“I guess he can’t hurt us any.”

Bannon turned back to his work; and Vogel disappeared in the shadows along the path.

Nine o’clock came, and the timber was still coming in.  The men were growing tired and surly from the merciless strain of carrying the long, heavy sticks.  The night was raw and chill.  Bannon felt it as he stood directing the work, and he kept his hands in his pockets, and wished he had worn his overcoat; but the laborers, barearmed and bareheaded, clad only in overalls or in thin trousers and cotton shirts, were shaking sweat from their eyes, and stealing moments between trips to stand where the keen lake breeze could cool them.  Another half-hour or so should see the last stick on the piles, and Bannon had about decided to go over to the office when he saw Vogel moving among the men, marking their time in his book.

“Here, Max,” he called, adding, when Vogel had reached his side:  “Just keep an eye on this, will you?  I’ll be at the office.  Keep things going just as they are.”