The Iron Dragon Never Sleeps (5 page)

Winnie thought about the storekeeper and Jane and Johnny. She didn’t know what to say.

“Some voices,” said Lee, “speak of working no more. They are angry voices.”

“What do you think?” Winnie asked.

“I do not decide yet,” said Lee. He gave her
back the kite string. “Maybe I say too much. It is getting late. Good-bye, Winnie Tucker.”

He turned and ran away.

Winnie pulled in the kite and walked slowly back to her parents.

“Who was that, Winnie?” her father asked. “Chinese, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, Papa. That was Lee, the Celestial I’ve met before.”

“Lee seems to know about kites,” said her mother.

Winnie nodded. “He knows a lot. He used to work for a miner—after his parents died. That’s how he learned English.” She paused for breath. “And, Papa, remember what I told you about those men in town? When I asked Lee about it, he got nervous. I think the Celestials are angry.”

Her father sighed. “That may well be. But sometimes you can’t go looking for trouble. You have to wait for it to hit you over the head. Come on now. Let’s clean up. And then we’ll take that boat ride I promised.”

Winnie enjoyed rowing on the lake. She made ripples in the water with her hand and splashed her father with an oar. But her attention also wandered. What kind of trouble could be coming? And when? Maybe she couldn’t do anything about it, but she kept thinking about Lee and the angry voices.

“E
LI, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?
”

Marjorie stopped pinning for a moment. She was making a new dress for Winnie, who was standing on a stool next to her. Winnie was draped in burgundy calico.

The cloth was almost as red as her father’s face. Eli Tucker looked about ready to explode.

“It’s an upside-down day, Marjorie. No, worse than that. It’s an inside-out day, too!”

“Can I get down, Mama?” Winnie asked. Clearly the dressmaking was going to be delayed.

“All right, Winnie. Now, Eli, calm down. Tell us what’s wrong?”

“There’s a strike, Marjorie. Two thousand Chinamen are on strike. Can you believe it?”

Winnie could.
This was what Lee was hinting about
, she thought.

“I mean, we expected trouble on Saturday. There were a few men holding up signs. But this morning the tunnel drillers refused to work. Mr. Strobridge must have choked on a cigar when he heard the news. And Mr. Crocker, he probably swallowed one whole.”

“Mr. Crocker and the other railroad owners may be getting what they deserve,” said Marjorie. “You’ve said the Chinese are paid twenty-six dollars a month while the others get thirty-five. And the Chinese have to pay for their own food, too.”

“It’s strange food, Marjorie, you have to admit that.”

“Strange to us, Papa,” said Winnie. “Not to them.”

Her father folded his arms. “Well, that may be. But don’t try to confuse the issue with facts.”

“And what is the issue?” asked Marjorie.

“That strikes are not allowed. If the Chinese aren’t happy here, they can leave.”

“Can they?” Marjorie wasn’t so sure. “I heard two men on the street bragging about the deserters they brought back to the railroad. They talked of beatings and whippings.”

Her husband chewed his lip. “Some of the boys
may have gotten a little out of hand. That still doesn’t make a strike right.”

“What are the Chinese demanding?”

“They want the same pay and work hours as white workers. Mr. Crocker won’t stand for it. He’s coming out to take charge of the situation personally.”

“Do you think there’ll be trouble?” Winnie asked. “Could anyone get hurt?”

“The strike is already trouble, Winnie. If you mean dangerous trouble, I honestly don’t know. So far there’s been none. Most of the Chinese are holed up in the camps. They’re just lying around, drinking their tea. Our orders are to leave them alone for the present.”

“And if those orders change?” asked Winnie.

Her father sighed. “Then trouble will follow for sure.”

Two days passed with no outward change in the situation. The Chinese stayed in their camps. There were meetings between Mr. Crocker and the strikers, but no progress was made.

“They know we need them,” her father told Winnie at supper. “So they’re being stubborn. But they have nowhere to go. In a way they need us, too.”

“I just wish it were over,” said Winnie. “Even the air feels tense.”

The next morning Winnie rode Handsome out to look at the tracks. There were scattered non-Chinese crews trying to keep busy. Still, everything seemed very quiet.

The trail took her past a trestle bridge spanning a ravine. The crisscrossed wood supports rose like the top of a cherry pie on its side.

“Winnie!”

She turned in the saddle. Lee was approaching. He walked slowly, and she thought he looked tired.

“Hello, Winnie!”

Winnie dismounted. Part of her was glad to see Lee. The other part was mad at him and all the other Chinese, who were causing problems for her father.

“Why are you here?” she said. “I thought you were on strike.”

“I am. That is why I can be here. There is nothing else for me to do.”

“You should be working to settle this strike. You should be helping.”

“I wish to help,” Lee admitted. “But my words go unheard.”

Winnie paused. She knew what that was like.

“My father says it’s not right to strike,” she said finally.

Lee sighed. “Right and wrong can be hard to tell apart. Is it right that we are up before the sun and do
not rest until dark? Is it right that last winter the snow fell so deep we could not walk over it? We had to dig tunnels under the snow to go from place to place. Is it right that we had to dig holes through the snow for air?” He shivered at the memory. “The iron dragon never sleeps, Winnie. It is always waiting, always wanting more. There were some days when we didn’t see the sky. But even in the tunnels we were not safe from the rumbling snows.”

“Avalanches?”

Lee nodded. “One of them swept away twenty men. They were buried so deep they could not be dug out until spring.”

Winnie shuddered.

“Again and again we have asked for changes. The railroad does not listen. Maybe they will listen now.”

“The strike is still wrong,” Winnie said softly.

Lee sighed. “Not so wrong as being buried alive in the snow.”

Handsome snorted.

“He’s hungry,” said Winnie, glad to change the subject. “And impatient, too. I brought him a treat.”

She took two apples out of her saddlebag. She offered one to Handsome, who quickly gobbled it up.

“Do you want to feed him the other?” she asked Lee.

Lee took the apple and looked at it thoughtfully. He turned it over. “It is a fine apple. Very round.”

“I guess it is,” said Winnie. She watched Lee closely. “Do you want to eat it?”

Lee brightened. “Yes, please.”

“Go ahead. I’ll get more.”

Lee almost choked on the apple because he bit into it so fast.

“Slow down,” said Winnie. “Why are you so hungry?”

“We have had no food since Tuesday. Mr. Crocker, the big boss, cut off our supplies.”

Winnie blinked. She knew the Chinese paid for their own food. It wasn’t fair for Mr. Crocker to starve them into working for him. That made him nothing more than a bully.

Winnie didn’t like bullies.

“I should go,” she said. “I promised to meet my mother.” She chewed her lip. “Lee, do you see those pines by the ridge? Meet me there tomorrow morning. Early.”

“What plan is in your head, Winnie Tucker?”

“Just be there,” she said. “Please.”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
found Eli Tucker prowling around his room. Marjorie watched him from a chair by the window.

“Eli, you’re as itchy as a bear in a briar patch.”

“I can’t help myself. It’s this strike, Marjorie. I hate feeling like my hands are tied.”

“Do you think it will last much longer?”

Eli shrugged. “The Celestials want more money and a shorter workday. I doubt they’ll get much. Maybe Crocker will throw them a bone.”

“What do you think they’ll do?” asked Marjorie.

“They’re caught betwixt and between,” Eli admitted. “Poor devils. I don’t know that they have much choice.”

He looked under a pillow. “Where are those muffins?” he muttered.

“Muffins?” said Marjorie.

“Yes, muffins,” he repeated. “Mrs. Swanson gave me a few yesterday. They were wrapped in a napkin.”

“I think Winnie has them. She went out for a ride.”

He frowned. “You say she took all the muffins?”

“She’s a growing girl. Besides, you had breakfast. Tell me, Eli, is it true that Mr. Crocker has cut off the Chinese food supplies?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Cisco has big ears for such a small town. Is it true?”

He nodded. “Nothing to do with me, of course, but nothing I can do about it either. I don’t approve, though, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He cleared his throat. “Where did Winnie go anyway?”

“She went riding on Handsome.”

“This early? Well, I hope she’s got sense enough to stay away from the tracks. Tempers are getting short. No telling what might happen.”

At the moment nothing was happening to Winnie. She was sitting under a tree by the trestle bridge. The sun was rising in the sky, and Lee was nowhere in sight.

Winnie yawned. She had not slept well. Some new men had come in late. They tromped up the stairs, laughing and talking. She could hear them as they passed by in the hall.

“They think they can wait us out,” said one.

“We’ll teach them a lesson,” said another. “A few cracked heads is something they’ll understand.”

Winnie sighed and took out her sketchpad. Us and Them, Was this some kind of game? Was she supposed to be on the railroad’s side because of her father? Or just because she wasn’t Chinese?

“Over here, Lee!” she shouted as he appeared on the ridge.

Lee came forward slowly. Twice he looked back over his shoulder.

“I am sorry to be late. There was a meeting. I wanted to hear what was said. This Mr. Crocker is a hard man. He has spoken very plain. If we do not return to work by Monday, he will act.”

Winnie nodded. “I know. My father says Crocker will fine you for keeping his other men and equipment idle.” She paused. “He’s used to getting his way, I think. Well, let’s not talk about
that
for now. I brought you some muffins. And more apples. And a sandwich, too. Mrs. Swanson made it for me.”

She indicated the sack at her side.

“Help yourself.”

Lee examined the contents.

“There is too much here,” he protested. “You will eat, too?”

“Oh, I had a big breakfast,” Winnie lied. “You go ahead.”

Lee bit into a corn muffin. “Very good,” he said.

Winnie looked relieved. “I didn’t know what you liked,” she admitted.

“I like salted cabbage, dried seaweed, bamboo sprouts, and mushrooms,” said Lee.

“We didn’t have any vegetables or cuttlefish. I don’t like vegetables much.”

“The way Americans cook them, I would not like them either. But I eat other things, too.”

He turned his head. “Did you hear that?”