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Another thing that vexed him was that somehow he felt restless with nothing to do. He couldn't understand it. Here he was with money and idleness, the two goals of a hillman's life, and yet he was not half so contented as when he was working on the railroad—damn funny thing! Well, he would just go back and work on the railroad, since Jim and Haly seemed to want him to. . . .

Here Abner turned into Ransom's drug store.

The store appeared empty of persons. Abner became suspicious that Pratt had seen him and had slipped out of some rear entrance. He was about to call Pratt's name when he caught sight of the round top of a sleek black head over the prescription counter. The mere sleekness of this head incensed the teamster anew. He strode silently to the back of the store, staring fixedly at the obnoxious hair as men and animals do when they stalk their enemies.

At his step Mr. Pratt came to the entrance of his den holding a large-sized bottle in one hand and a small one in the other.

"Good-morning, Mr. Teeftallow," he saluted in clerkly fashion. "Glad you come in. I was just wishing I could see you."

"Well, by God, you're goin' to see me all right!" snarled Abner.

Mr. Pratt was so wrapped up in his project, whatever it was, he did not observe Abner's angry tone.

"Sure glad of it," repeated Pratt earnestly. "Say, look here, are you goin' to be at the head of the men?"

The drug clerk put down his big bottle and came up to Abner, shaking the smaller one.

"Head of what men?" growled Abner.

"Why, the strike breakers!"

Abner deferred his attack for a few moments.

"Hell, no, I ain't the head of no strike breakers!"

Mr. Pratt appeared disappointed. "I heard you were. Do you know who is?"

"No, I don't," reflected Abner, "unless it's Bascom."