CHAPTER VIII
READE MEETS A "KICKER" HALF WAY
"Who's your foreman?" asked the checker, a young fellow named Royal
"Payson--if it's any of your business." replied the workman roughly.
The others, seeing him take this attitude, were willing to let him talk
for all. Superintendent Hawkins had rounded up the foremen, and now
sent them to the checker's hut to deal with the men.
"Some of you are my men," said Payson, looking the lot over. "You're
discharged."
"What's that?" roared the same indignant spokesman, a big, bull-necked,
red-faced fellow.
"Discharged," said Payson briefly. "All of you who belong to my gang.
Checker, I'll call their names off to you."
While Payson, and then the other foremen, were calling the names, the
workmen stood by in sullen silence. When the last name had been entered
the same bull-necked spokesman flared up again.
"Have we no rights?" he demanded. "Is there no such thing as the right
of appeal in this camp, or are we under a lot of domineering, petty
tyrants like you?"
"I'm a poor specimen of tyrant,"' laughed Payson good-naturedly.
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