"
"Politics?" queried the big boss, swinging about to go to his crew. He
grinned. It was evident that he considered that anything under that
general head was in the Duke's supreme control, and that his employer's
orders absolved him.
"It's just what they've been trying to prod into you--it's their game,"
adjured Presson, beating expostulating palms upon Thornton's breast.
"Then it has worked," the old man replied, calmly. He pushed the
chairman aside. "Rush'em, Ben, and, if they don't go easy, toss 'em over
the fence."
The big boss sauntered among his crew and growled a few crisp commands.
The smile he wore gave the affair the appearance of a lark, and the
woodsmen took it in that spirit. But the mob was sullen. Those who were
not active rebels had been stung by the contempt that their leader now
displayed. Some resisted when the woodsmen pushed them half playfully. A
burly fellow stood his ground. Ivus Niles lurked at his back.
"The folks up in the Jo Quacca Mountains will snicker in good shape when
I tell 'em that Fightin' MacCracken let himself be dumped out of Duke
Thornton's dooryard by a pack of lard-eating Quedaws," he sneered in
the giant's ear.
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