CHAPTER IV

HE BECOMES THE GREAT LITTLE BILL WRENN





When the _Merian_ was three days out from Portland the frightened
cattleman stiff known as "Wrennie" wanted to die, for he was now
sure that the smell of the fo'c'sle, in which he was lying on a
thin mattress of straw covered with damp gunny-sacking, both
could and would become daily a thicker smell, a stronger smell,
a smell increasingly diverse and deadly.

Though it was so late as eight bells of the evening, Pete, the
tough factory hand, and Tim, the down-and-out hatter, were still
playing seven-up at the dirty fo'c'sle table, while McGarver,
under-boss of the Morris cattle gang, lay in his berth, heavily
studying the game and blowing sulphurous fumes of Lunch Pail
Plug Cut tobacco up toward Wrennie.

Pete, the tough, was very evil. He sneered. He stole. He
bullied. He was a drunkard and a person without cleanliness of
speech. Tim, the hatter, was a loud-talking weakling, under
Pete's domination. Tim wore a dirty rubber collar without a
tie, and his soul was like his neckware.

McGarver, the under-boss, was a good shepherd among the men,