them above it.

One, who was accounted somewhat brighter than his fellows, by whom he
was regarded as a leader, had indeed been promoted on trial by the
timber boss to a position in his own gang. He was a perfect brute for
strength, but so densely ignorant and of such sullen disposition that
when a better man was offered, in the person of Dick Peveril, the boss
was only too glad to return him to his hated task of car-pushing and
accept the new-comer in his place. His sentence of degradation,
pronounced only the day before, had been received as a personal
affront by every wild-eyed car-pusher of the mine. All knew that some
one must fill the place from which their leader had been ousted, and
all were prepared to hate him the moment his identity should be
disclosed.

Thus, as Peveril stumbled awkwardly out of the cage in which he had
just made that breathless, mile-deep descent, he was instantly spotted
as being a new man, and a team of car-pushers, slaking their thirst at
a water-barrel in one corner of the plat, gazed at him with scowling
intentness, that they might minutely describe his appearance to their
fellows. As he knew nothing of the circumstances through which a place
had been made for him, he paid no attention to these men, other than
to note their savage appearance as a feature of his novel
surroundings.

In fact, he had barely time to take a single comprehensive glance
around the plat before a man who had been one of his fellow-passengers
in the cage remarked, sneeringly:

"Pretty well scared, wasn't you, young feller?"

"Yes, I was," replied Peveril, turning and facing his questioner. "But
how did you know it?"

"By the way you grabbed my arm. If you'd done it again I'd have
punched your head; for I don't 'low no man to catch holt on me that
way."

Peveril had already recognized the speaker's face; but, without
deigning a further reply, he turned to Mark Trefethen and said:

"Will you kindly give me the name of this unpleasant person, as I wish
to file it away in my memory for future reference?"

"Person be blowed!" exclaimed the man, stepping forward with a
menacing gesture. "What do you mean by calling me names, you damned--"

"Shut up, Mike Connell, and go about your business," commanded the
timber boss. "Come, lad, he's not worth noticing," and, thus saying,
Mark Trefethen led Peveril away.

Although the car-pushers had not caught the words of this brief
conversation, they had readily und