Then you can't cheat me."
"In the future I won't be here," said Johnnie Gallegher.
"You mean you are quitting!"
For a moment it was on Scarlett's hot tongue to cry: "Go and good riddance!" but the cool hand of caution stopped her. If Johnnie should quit, what would she do? He had been doubling the amount of lumber Hugh turned out. And just now she had a big order, the biggest she had ever had and a rush order at that. She had to get that lumber into Atlanta. If Johnnie quit, whom would she get to take over the mill?
"Yes, I'm quitting. You put me in complete charge here and you told me that all you
expected of me was as much lumber as I could possibly get out. You didn't tell me how to run my business then and I'm not aiming to have you start now. How I get the lumber out is no affair of yours. You can't complain that I've fallen down on my bargain. I've made money for you and I've earned my salary--and what I could pick up on the side, too. And here you come out here,
interfering, asking questions and breaking my authority in front of the men. How can you expect me to keep discipline after this? What if the men do get an occasional lick? The lazy scum deserve worse. What if they ain't fed up and pampered? They don't deserve nothing better. Either you tend to your business and let me tend to mine or I quit tonight."
His hard little face looked flintier than ever and Scarlett was in a quandary. If he quit tonight, what would she do? She couldn't stay here all night guarding the convicts!
Something of her dilemma showed in her eyes for Johnnie's expression changed subtly
and some of the hardness went out of his face. There was an easy agreeable note in his voice when he spoke.
"It's getting late, Mrs. Kennedy, and you'd better be getting on home. We ain't going to fall out over a little thing like this, are we? S'pose you take ten dollars out of my next month's wages and let's call it square."
Scarlett's eyes went unwillingly to the miserable group gnawing on the ham and she
thought of the sick man lying in the windy shack. She ought to get rid of Johnnie Gallegher. He was a thief and a brutal man. There was no telling what he did to the convicts when she wasn't there. But, on the other hand, he was smart and, God knows, she needed a smart man. Well, she couldn't part with him now. He was making money for her. She'd just have to see to it that the convicts got their proper rations in the future.
"I'll take twenty dollars out of your wages," she said shortly, "and I'll be back and discuss the matter further in the morning."
She picked up the reins. But she knew there would be no further discussion. She knew
that the matter had ended there and she knew Johnnie knew it.
As she drove off down the path to the Decatur road her conscience battled with her desire for money. She knew she had no business exposing human lives to the hard little man's mercies.
If he should cause the death of one of them she would be as guilty as he was, for she had kept him in charge after learning of his brutalities. But on the other hand--well, on the other hand, men had no business getting to be convicts. If they broke laws and got caught, then they deserved what they got. This partly salved her conscience but as she drove down the road the dull thin faces of the convicts would keep coming back into her mind.
"Oh, I'll think of them later," she decided, and pushed the thought into the lumber room of her mind and shut the door upon it.
The sun had completely gone when she reached the bend in the road above Shantytown
and the woods about her were dark. With the disappearance of the sun, a bitter chill had fallen on the twilight world and a cold wind blew through the dark woods, making the bare boughs crack
and the dead leaves rustle. She had never been out this late by herself and she was uneasy and wished herself home.
Big Sam was nowhere to be seen and, as she drew rein to wait for him, she worried about
his absence, fearing the Yankees might have already picked him up. Then she heard footsteps coming up the path from the settlement and a sigh of relief went through her lips. She'd certainly dress Sam down for keeping her waiting.
But it wasn't Sam who came round the bend.
It was a big ragged white man and a squat black negro with shoulders and chest like a
gorilla. Swiftly she flapped the reins on the horse's back and clutched the pistol. The horse started to trot and suddenly shied as the white man threw up his hand.
"Lady," he said, "can you give me a quarter? I'm sure hungry."
"Get out of the way," she answered, keeping her voice as steady as she could. "I haven't got any money. Giddap."