He returned his horse to the barn and started down the street toward the mill, forgetful that he had eaten nothing but Steve’s snack since breakfast. As he passed the hotel he saw Moran on the piazza—Moran, who had taken a train yesterday to the city.
Jim stopped, gripped his temper with both hands, as it were, to hold it in check, and spoke.
“Didn’t get to the city at all. Wire met me halfway and called me back.”
“That’s good,” said Jim, with another of his sudden resolutions. “I’m glad you’re here. Can you walk down to the mill with me? I want to show you something.”
The older man attempted casual talk as they went along, but Jim’s answers were monosyllabic, even brusk. Moran studied the young man’s face out of the corner of his eye, wondering what was in the wind. He was puzzled, uneasy, and he ceased his conversation and speculated on possibilities.
Jim led him round to the rear of the mill. At the fire-room door he paused and called, “Kowterski!”
Presently a bulky figure emerged from the gloom that was beyond the doorway. The man was big, with a clumsy bigness, not so tall as Jim, but heavier by fifty pounds. He came forward slowly.
Kowterski recognized Jim and ducked his head.
“Evenin’, boss,” he said, then looked into Jim’s face. Something he saw was disquieting, for he halted, took a step backward, started to raise his hands.
Putting the weight of his body into the blow, Jim struck him. Kowterski stumbled, went down. He lay still an instant where he had fallen, then wallowed to his knees and remained in that position, mumblingly ridding his mouth of blood and teeth.
Kowterski rose, wavering, turned, and ran stumblingly away into the darkness.
Jim turned to Moran. “Good night,” he said, shortly.
“You had something to show me,” said Moran, thrown from his habitual poise.
“That was it,” Jim said, and disappeared into the fire-room.
That night Jim patrolled the mill in the place of the watchman whose resignation he had accepted in front of the fire-room door. Through the long, dark hours he had time and quiet for reflection. His mind was stimulated by the occurrences of the day; he was aware of a clarity of vision, a straightness of thought, a satisfying concentration. His problem, in all its intricate difficulties, lay plain before him. He fancied he had read astutely his enemies’ plans; his own plans began to take form.