He waited until a blaze sprung up, and then his relaxed pose stiffened.
It was a bottle of whisky, better stuff than the railroaders generally drank, for he knew the label. Moreover, when the light touched the gla.s.s the yellow reflection showed that it was full. He got up and approached the table, wondering how the liquor came there, until he saw some writing on the label. Picking up the bottle, he read his own name.
He put it down abruptly and stood with his hand clenched. The veins swelled on his forehead and the pain nearly left him as he fought with temptation. It was some weeks since he had tasted liquor, but this was not all. A drink would give him relief from the gnawing ache and perhaps a night"s sound sleep. If he could get that, he might be well for most of the next day. But he shrank from the remedy. There was liquor enough to last some days, but the next bottle would not last as long, and he knew there would be another. He must resist and conquer his craving now.
He opened the door and picked up the bottle by the neck. With a swing of his arm he could throw it among the pines; he wanted to hear it smash.
Victory could be won by a quick movement; but afterwards? The touch of the gla.s.s and the way the yellow liquid gleamed in the light fired his blood. If he was to win an enduring victory, he must fight to a finish.
Leaving the bottle in the light, he moved his chair and sat down close by, after which he looked at his watch. He would give himself half an hour. If he could hold out now, he need not be afraid again, because the odds against him would never be so heavy. The craving was reenforced by pain and bodily fatigue; his jangled nerves demanded a stimulant. Yet to win would make the next conflict easier, and he had resources that he tried to marshal against the enemy.
The rough work on the track had given him confidence. He had always had physical courage and muscular strength, and it was something to feel he could hold his own with his comrades at a strenuous task. Moreover, his saving Festing from the river had restored his self-respect. But he had stronger allies, and his face got hot as he thought of the two women who had fought for him when he had scarcely tried to help himself.
Sadie had given up her ambitions and was content to live at the lonely farm because she thought it best for him. He remembered the bitter disappointments he had brought her and how he had found her sitting, depressed and tired, at his neglected work when he came home from some fresh extravagance. Sometimes she had met him with the anger he deserved, but as a rule she had shown a patience that troubled him now.
Then there was Helen, who had borne slander and estrangement from her husband for his sake. Both had made costly sacrifices, of which he was unworthy; but it was unthinkable that the sacrifices should be made in vain.
Perhaps it was his imagination, or the proximity of relief, but the physical torment he suffered got worse. He could not sit straight, and leaned forward, with head bent and hands grasping the sides of his chair, until he looked at his watch. Ten minutes had gone, but he must hold out for twenty minutes more. Fumbling awkwardly in his pocket, he got his tobacco pouch. He did not want to smoke, but could occupy some time by filling his pipe, and did so with slow deliberation. Then he let the match go out as an idea dawned on him. The bottle had been put there with an object.
Wilkinson hated Sadie. He had struck at her and injured Helen, but had plotted a harder blow. The plot had, however, miscarried, for Charnock almost forgot his pain in his fury. The fellow was a dangerous reptile, and could not be allowed to hurt Sadie by his poisonous tricks. Charnock meant to punish him, but must first overcome the insidious ally the other had counted on. He looked at his watch again. A quarter of an hour had gone; he felt stronger, and more confident. For all that, the fight was stern, and at length Festing, entering quietly, was surprised to find Charnock sitting with his watch in his hand. His brows were knit; his face looked pinched and damp.
"What are you doing, Bob?" he asked.
"Trying my strength," said Charnock, who got up. "Three minutes yet to go, but I think we can take it that I"ve won."
"I don"t understand. Is this a joke?"
"Do I look as if I"m joking?" Charnock rejoined, with a forced smile.
"Anyhow, I"d like you to notice that I"m perfectly sober and this bottle has not been opened, although I"ve sat opposite it for nearly half an hour. I"d have finished the half-hour if you had not come in."
Festing picked up the bottle and read the writing. "Who brought the thing here?"
"I suspect Wilkinson. He knows a drink would stop the pain."
"Ah," said Festing quietly. "I think I understand! You have made a good fight, Bob, and I believe you"ve won. But we"ll take precautions; it will be some satisfaction to throw out the stuff."
He went to the door, but Charnock stopped him.
"Hold on! I mean to keep the satisfaction to myself. Give me the cursed thing!"
Festing put the bottle in his hand, and opening the door Charnock swung it round his head and let it go. There was a crash as it struck a tree, and he went back to his chair.
"That"s done with! It"s remarkable, but I don"t feel as sore as I did.
Perhaps the effort of resisting was a counter-irritant. However, we have said enough about it. Tell me how you got on with the job that kept you late."
CHAPTER XXII
FESTING"S NEW PARTNER
Charnock felt better next morning and luck favored him. An accident to the gravel train disorganized the work, and he and some others were dismissed for the afternoon. He went to Festing"s shack, and making himself comfortable by the fire, opened a tattered book and enjoyed several hours of luxurious idleness. After his exertions in the rain and mud, it was delightful to bask in warmth and comfort and rest his aching limbs. The next day was Sunday and he lounged about the shack, sometimes reading and sometimes bantering his comrade. The pain had gone and he felt cheerful.
When he returned to work on Monday he was sent with a bag of bolts to the bridge, and presently reached a spot where the heavy rain had washed away the track. For about a dozen yards the terrace cut in the hillside had slipped down, leaving a narrow shelf against the bank. The shelf broke off near the middle, where a gully had opened in the hill. Water flowed through the gap, and in order to get across one must pick a way carefully over the steep, wet slope. This, however, would save a toilsome climb, and Charnock, jerking the bag higher on his shoulders, went on.
A few minutes later he saw Wilkinson come round a corner. One of them would have to go back to let the other pa.s.s, and it would be difficult to turn if they met at the gully. Charnock did not mean to give way, and with his arms crooked to support his load, he required some room.
There was no way up the torn bank, and on the other side a nearly perpendicular slope of wet soil and gravel ran down to the river. In places, the surface was broken by small, half-buried firs.
When both were near the gully Wilkinson stopped, and Charnock, whose head was bent, thought he had not known who he was. He certainly looked surprised, and Charnock was conscious of rather grim amus.e.m.e.nt as he guessed the reason. Wilkinson had, no doubt, not expected him to be capable of carrying a heavy bag along the dangerous ledge.
"Hallo!" he said. "The boys told me you were crippled by your pains."
"I was. The pain"s gone."
"Rest"s a good cure," said Wilkinson. "You got laid off on Sat.u.r.day, didn"t you?"
The curiosity that had made Charnock stop was satisfied. Since Wilkinson"s work kept him at some distance from the gravel gang, it looked as if he had made inquiries about Charnock, and had probably been surprised to learn he had started with the others. There was, however, no use in taxing the fellow with trying to make him drunk, because he would deny that he knew anything about the whisky or declare that he had sent it with a friendly object.
"Yes," he said, "but I didn"t need the cure as badly as you think.
However, I"m not in a talkative mood and this bag is heavy. I"ll trouble you to get out of the way."
Wilkinson looked hard at him. Charnock knew why he had sent the whisky and meant to quarrel, but was shrewd enough to choose his ground.
"You can dump your bag and wait until I get past."
"Not at all," said Charnock. "I don"t see why I should pick up the load again to convenience you. Anyhow, I"m going on, and the thing takes up some room."
Wilkinson measured the distance across the gap. He imagined he could reach the other side first and squeeze against the bank, when Charnock must take the outside and would probably fall. He did not mean to be forced back, particularly as there were men at work not far off who had, no doubt, noted Charnock"s aggressive att.i.tude. The latter, however, was quicker than he thought, and reached the dangerous spot before Wilkinson got across. Splashing, and slipping in the mud, he advanced recklessly, and Wilkinson could not turn back. Moreover, he could not strike Charnock, because he was in the workmen"s view, and the railroaders would not approve his attacking an apparently defenseless man. He thought Charnock knew this, but the fellow was not as defenseless as he looked. The heavy bag gave him a certain stability and momentum.
"If you come any farther before I find a hold, we"ll both go down," he said.
"It looks like that," Charnock agreed. "I don"t mean to stop."
Wilkinson clutched at the slippery bank but the wet gravel tore out. It was impossible to get up, and if he tried to scramble down, he might not stop until he fell into the river. He glanced at Charnock"s set face and got something of a shock. He had thought the fellow meant to bluff and would give way if he were resolutely met; Charnock was impulsive, but never stayed with a thing. Now, however, he looked dangerous.
Driving his boots into the mud, Wilkinson braced himself, with one foot so placed that it might trip his antagonist. Then he set his lips as he met the shock. Charnock struck him with his shoulder and forced him backwards by the weight of the bag. The mud slipped under his feet; he staggered and clawed at the bank, but his fingers found no hold. They plowed through the miry gravel, and falling face downwards, he rolled down the hill.
Charnock lurched across the gully and stopped when he reached the shelf.
Wilkinson had swung round on his descent and his head was lowest. He was sliding down rather slower, and there were some trees not far off.
Charnock did not care if he brought up among them or not, and watched with a curious dispa.s.sionate interest. The fellow looked ridiculous as he went down, scattering the gravel with his hands. He was in some danger, but this was his affair.
Wilkinson rolled against the thin branches of a half-buried tree, which caught and turned him partly round. The branches broke and he went down sideways, until he and a wave of loosened gravel struck another tree.
This stopped him, and Charnock plodded on until he was off the shelf.
"Better go down and fetch him, boys," he shouted to the other men. "I reckon he"s not much the worse, except in temper, and you"ll find a rope a piece back up the track."
He saw them start and then resumed his journey. Whether he was hurt or not, Wilkinson could talk, for he was pouring out scurrilous epithets.
Charnock laughed as he stamped through the mud. His antagonist had got the worst of it, and there was a satisfactory explanation of their quarrel. They had met on a narrow path and neither would give way, but as Charnock was carrying the load he had put the other in the wrong.
Wilkinson could not revenge himself by circulating the story he had told before because it would interest n.o.body at the camp, and Charnock"s friendship with Festing would prove it untrue. In fact, he imagined Wilkinson would think it prudent to leave him alone.
He delivered the bag, and going back stopped at a spot where Festing and some others were fitting the end of a heavy beam into a pole. Charnock watched while the men dragged out the beam and then replaced it after deepening the hole. They were splashed and dirty, and presently Festing leaned upon his shovel while he got his breath.