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Authors: Howard Frank Mosher
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the jack in the slouch hat was not a man but a tall, broad-shouldered black woman. "We're mired right down to Chiny," she announced with satisfaction. "The drive be hung on Big Eva's Crotch. The boys can't budge it and ain't no-body pleased with the walking boss, which is me. Big Eva. Tell you the truth, I ain't overly pleased with her myself. What you doing with old Sabbati's hefferlump, boy? Where at's Sab?"
In a few words Morgan told her of Sabbati's fate. Eva put her hand to her head. "I ain't surprised," she said, though it was obviousthat she was. "In such parlous times as these, they entire Republic at war with itself, I can't say that anything surprise Big Eva. Except good news. I sorry to hear about Sab. He a fine man for all he gypsy nonsensicalness. Help one big slew of passengers over the line to Canady."
Morgan was studying the jam. "Here's some good news," he said. "I believe I can help you free up your logs."
"Not unless you got a crate of dyne-a-mite, you can't. We already tried every other method known to mortal man or woman. Every stick of dyne-a-mite in the North Country been sent south so we can blow up the other fella's bridge and railway so he can blow up ours. Blow up a great multitude of each other in the bargain. Without dyne-a-mite there no breaking loose God's Toothpick."
"God's Toothpick?"
"What I call that kingpin pine log fasten in all the others. God's Toothpick. River ain't big enough up here to float out a log like that."
Still coughing, Morgan watched the men and oxen straining to free the key log. Now they were hooking the chain wound around the log to a heavy wire from a drum windlass on a sled chained to a tree. Big Eva's lumberjacks cranked the wire taut, and it stood quivering in the hazy spring sunlight, flinging off sparkling drops of river water. God's Toothpick didn't budge.
"That steady pressure won't answer," Morgan said. "You'll have to jerk the key log free. You've got to snap him out the way he went in."
"I very glad to know it. Glad to go to school to a yalla-hair boy. We had enough dyne-a-mite, we could jolt free the whole riverbed. Where you ever get such a croup, boy? You don't take care of thatbloody flux, you be as dead as poor Mr. Brown. What you big idea, bust out the jam?"
Morgan led the Caliph down the bank to the windlass. The wire was juddering with tension. As he'd suspected, the winching pressure was only wedging the mammoth log tighter into the jam.
"You need to pull it at an angle upriver, the way it went in," Morgan told the gray-haired black man turning the capstan winch.
"I see we got a new walking boss," the man said to Big Eva. "That the good part. Bad part, they new boss all of about twelve years old. Boy Jesusa at the temple, I reckon. Young Master Jesusa, 'structing they moss-backed old Pharisees."
"A steady pull won't do here," Morgan said. "It needs to be more of a jerk and a heave. To overcome inertia. My brother explained it to me."
"Oh, I sees," the gray-head replied. "He a big engineer, you brother."
"Maybe more of a conductor," Morgan said. "His name was-- is --Pilgrim Kinneson." Out of the tail of his eye he saw Big Eva cut a glance toward him and just as quickly look away.
"Be my guest, by all means," the drive foreman said as Morgan cranked the winch backward and loosened the wire.
"We need to get the physics right," Morgan said, citing Pilgrim, who had studied physics at Harvard. But Eva said, "I physic you, boy, with a double dose of salts, you grand idea don't work out."
Morgan grinned. He liked this big, good-looking woman with a loud and ready reply for everything. He would not be surprised if she could tell him something about Pilgrim or about the girl--the pretty girl--the killers were after. When there was slack enough in the cable, he walked the elephant knee-deep into the river. Heunclipped the wire hooked to the end of the chain around the log, then he fastened the chain to the ring bolt of the
In a few words Morgan told her of Sabbati's fate. Eva put her hand to her head. "I ain't surprised," she said, though it was obviousthat she was. "In such parlous times as these, they entire Republic at war with itself, I can't say that anything surprise Big Eva. Except good news. I sorry to hear about Sab. He a fine man for all he gypsy nonsensicalness. Help one big slew of passengers over the line to Canady."
Morgan was studying the jam. "Here's some good news," he said. "I believe I can help you free up your logs."
"Not unless you got a crate of dyne-a-mite, you can't. We already tried every other method known to mortal man or woman. Every stick of dyne-a-mite in the North Country been sent south so we can blow up the other fella's bridge and railway so he can blow up ours. Blow up a great multitude of each other in the bargain. Without dyne-a-mite there no breaking loose God's Toothpick."
"God's Toothpick?"
"What I call that kingpin pine log fasten in all the others. God's Toothpick. River ain't big enough up here to float out a log like that."
Still coughing, Morgan watched the men and oxen straining to free the key log. Now they were hooking the chain wound around the log to a heavy wire from a drum windlass on a sled chained to a tree. Big Eva's lumberjacks cranked the wire taut, and it stood quivering in the hazy spring sunlight, flinging off sparkling drops of river water. God's Toothpick didn't budge.
"That steady pressure won't answer," Morgan said. "You'll have to jerk the key log free. You've got to snap him out the way he went in."
"I very glad to know it. Glad to go to school to a yalla-hair boy. We had enough dyne-a-mite, we could jolt free the whole riverbed. Where you ever get such a croup, boy? You don't take care of thatbloody flux, you be as dead as poor Mr. Brown. What you big idea, bust out the jam?"
Morgan led the Caliph down the bank to the windlass. The wire was juddering with tension. As he'd suspected, the winching pressure was only wedging the mammoth log tighter into the jam.
"You need to pull it at an angle upriver, the way it went in," Morgan told the gray-haired black man turning the capstan winch.
"I see we got a new walking boss," the man said to Big Eva. "That the good part. Bad part, they new boss all of about twelve years old. Boy Jesusa at the temple, I reckon. Young Master Jesusa, 'structing they moss-backed old Pharisees."
"A steady pull won't do here," Morgan said. "It needs to be more of a jerk and a heave. To overcome inertia. My brother explained it to me."
"Oh, I sees," the gray-head replied. "He a big engineer, you brother."
"Maybe more of a conductor," Morgan said. "His name was-- is --Pilgrim Kinneson." Out of the tail of his eye he saw Big Eva cut a glance toward him and just as quickly look away.
"Be my guest, by all means," the drive foreman said as Morgan cranked the winch backward and loosened the wire.
"We need to get the physics right," Morgan said, citing Pilgrim, who had studied physics at Harvard. But Eva said, "I physic you, boy, with a double dose of salts, you grand idea don't work out."
Morgan grinned. He liked this big, good-looking woman with a loud and ready reply for everything. He would not be surprised if she could tell him something about Pilgrim or about the girl--the pretty girl--the killers were after. When there was slack enough in the cable, he walked the elephant knee-deep into the river. Heunclipped the wire hooked to the end of the chain around the log, then he fastened the chain to the ring bolt of the
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