CHAPTER XXIII

THE HERO OF THE BRIDGE

OLSEN leaped in through the opening, kicking the pieces of the wrecked door that interfered with his passage from his path.

Bob darted by him. They ran into the front room, which, in this instance, was the parlor, but found it vacant. Next Jarvis dived into the dining room.

Allison, a heavy-jowled, powerful man, was standing at bay behind the dining-room table. His family were nowhere in sight. The place was squalid and poverty was in evidence everywhere.

"We are looking for Steve Rush. Where is he?" announced Bob.

"Get out of my house! I'll have you both sent to jail, you scoundrels!" raged Allison.

"I tell you, Rush came to your house last night, and he has not been seen since. We want him; we want him quick! It will be the worse for you if you don't produce him or tell us where we shall find him."

"I don't know anything about your fool friend. I----"

Bob had the miner by the throat. Allison hurled him aside, grabbing up a chair as he did so.

Olsen uttered a yell and charged the miner. The latter made a pass at the Icelander with the heavy dining-room chair. Segunder wrenched it from his hands. Then he brought the offending chair down on the floor with a terrific crash, smashing it into kindling wood.

"I want boy Rush!" he demanded.

"You get out of my house, or I'll bore you full of holes!" yelled the miner, at the same time whipping out a knife.

With a well-directed kick Segunder sent the table between them crashing to one side. With a leap he landed upon Allison, smiting him a powerful blow on the side of the head. Allison went down as a matter of course.

Olsen calmly stooped over, picked the fellow up and threw him out of the window, Allison carrying the frame and the glass with him.

"He one bad man," grinned the Icelander. "I smash house down."

Olsen began to destroy the furniture, what there was of it, until Jarvis restrained him.

"Don't do that, Segunder. We want to find Steve. I believe he is here somewhere. Hark--what's that?"

Olsen listened.

"I heard someone calling, Segunder."

"Hello!"

The voice sounded faint and far away.

"Is that you, Steve?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

"I am here."

"Where is here?"

"Down cellar. I can't get out. I think there must be a trap somewhere, if you can find it."

"We'll find it. Olsen, he's down below us. If we don't find the cellar opening I'll let you try your hand at breaking a hole in the floor," proposed Bob.

Both began searching for the opening. Bob found it, but there was no ring in the trap and Olsen solved the problem of getting the place open by kicking a hole in the trap, then finally demolishing it altogether.

"Where's the stairs?" cried Jarvis.

"Pull stairs up," answered the Icelander.

Sure enough, such was the case. A short flight of clumsily constructed stairs had been pulled up to the floor and secured by a rope that ran off to another part of the cellar. Upon investigation they found that this rope led up to another trap in the dining room, from where the food that Steve had found must in all probability have been lowered.

Olsen did not wait for the stairs to be lowered but squeezed down into the hole, dropping to the cellar bottom. Steve ran to him and the big fellow hugged the boy delightedly.

"I get. I smash big boss."

"What does he mean, Bob?"

"He means that he gave Cavard an awful beating. But it was a dandy fight, Steve. How I wish you could have seen it!"

Steve Rush heard all about the events that had occurred since he had been taken prisoner the night before. In turn he related what had happened to himself. There was no direct evidence by which they could connect Cavard with Rush's capture, but the circumstantial evidence was strong. Later in the day Steve went to see the superintendent, and the two had a long talk.

Nothing of moment occurred for several days after that. Cavard did not appear on the street for nearly a week after the battle, though his lieutenants were in conference with him at his home every day. The leader had had a beating that he was not likely to forget during the rest of his life. His rage was deep and murderous, and as he paced the floor of his room he swore vengeance on the Iron Boys as well as on Segunder Olsen.

An extremely cold winter was setting in. It was developing into one of the most severe seasons ever known on the iron range, and the suffering of the families of the miners who were out of work had reached a serious stage.

The miners themselves were growing bitter against the bosses and more turbulent. It had come to a point where it was not safe for a non-union man to appear upon the street. He was in danger of his life if he did so.

Steve believed that the men's turbulence was as much due to the subtle influence of Cavard as because of their families' sufferings. The armed guard about the mine shafts had been trebled, as it was feared that the strikers might wreck some of the company's property. What seemed to enrage the men more than ever was the sight of the long trains of cars that were carrying the ore from the dump pile and transferring it to the furnaces in Ohio and in the east. The lakes being frozen over, the ore was conveyed all the way to the mills by rail, as is always the case in the winter.

Matters were approaching a crisis, as the officials of the mining company well realized. Mr. Penton believed, however, that he had enough loyal men to hold the others in check and to protect the company's property. Steve took a different view of the matter, but he said nothing, as it was not fitting for him to suggest what should and what should not be done.

Since the boy's capture he had set himself upon Cavard's trail with the firm purpose of running the man down and exposing his perfidity. He knew a weak spot would sooner or later develop in the leader's defence, and when it did develop Steve Rush proposed to be on hand to break through the defence at that particular point.

As soon as Cavard was able to be out he began meeting the men at the hall, encouraging them and goading them on in his subtle way by pointing out that the sufferings of their families were due to the grasping avarice of the bosses. A day or so after he got out Cavard made a trip to the Blair, an independent mine some ten miles up the valley. There he spent the day and part of the night.

Steve did not learn of this until late in the evening. The information caused him to wonder what was going on up the valley. He had no doubt that something would develop from that visit.

"I ought to go up there and find out what is going on," he confided to Bob.

"Why don't you?"

"I cannot leave here. Every loyal man is needed right here every minute of the day and night. There is no telling at what moment trouble will break loose, and when it comes it is going to come thick and fast, if I am any judge of men. The miners are getting desperate. They are going to break out, and with our handful of helpers we shall be powerless to stem the tide."

"I reckon you're right. When do you think it is coming?"

"It is likely to occur at any minute now--to-night, to-morrow, any time. I believe it is a part of Cavard's game to have something like that occur."

"I wish I'd let Segunder finish the fellow while he was about it. He would have killed the leader in a minute more."

"Bob, how _can_ you say such a thing?" chided Rush.

"Yes; I suppose it is rather a strong statement, but I don't love that man Cavard one little bit."

"Neither do I, but that is no excuse for wanting to see him killed. We will beat him at his own game, and with his own weapons if we can. If not the company will have to get out of its present situation as best it can."

"I guess that will be the answer."

On the following day Steve set an inquiry going in another direction, having enlisted the services of a man whom he and Bob had sent for from the city at their own expense. This man belonged to a private detective agency, and Steve had known him before coming to the mines.

There was a long conference, that night, at the house of one of the loyal miners, where the detective, Steve and Bob had gone that they might not be observed. To have met in the boarding house would have been to arouse suspicion, for the strikers had spies in every place of the sort. Cavard saw to it that he was kept well-posted as to all that was going on.

The conference broke up at a late hour and the boys made their way home through back yards and across open lots in order to avoid meeting with strikers. It was not that they were afraid, but they were acting the part of prudence. They had set out to achieve by their own efforts what the company, with all its resources and money, had not been able to accomplish, and that was to break the backbone of the strike.

It was a giant's task, it seemed, for two youngsters to attempt, but the Iron Boys were determined that it should be done.

The next day dawned raw and blustering. The weather, however, did not keep the strikers within doors. Groups were gathered on every corner, where, while stamping about to keep from freezing, they discussed the situation. Shortly before noon there was a meeting at Liberty Hall. Of course the Iron Boys were not present.

When the men came away from that meeting a change had stolen over them. They had ceased their noisy threats. Their faces were sullen and their words were few.

"Look out for trouble!" nodded Steve, as he observed the men from the window of a house across the way.

"Yes; they are loaded for bear," agreed Bob.

"Something has stirred them up. Probably Cavard has been talking to them. That man is a fiend in human form. He handles them, makes them his playthings, all to serve his own selfish purposes."

The boys came up with Mr. Penton, who was on his way to the mines from his office. Steve stepped up to him, touching his hat.

"How are you, boys? I have just closed down the shafts for the rest of the day. I don't like the looks of things."

"Neither do I, sir," answered Steve.

"What is it that you have observed?" questioned the superintendent.

"The men are loaded for trouble. Practically we are standing in a drift ready to be fired, and when the powder goes off the roof of the drift is likely to fall down on our heads and finish us."

"You are right, Rush. I have found your advice good. What would you do to cope with the situation, were you the superintendent?"

The superintendent's eyes twinkled.

"What would I do? Why, I'd take the situation by the nape of the neck and shake all the fight out of it. In the first place, if I did not have enough men to give the strikers all the fight they wanted, I would ask the authorities for protection. I believe our property will be destroyed if you don't place guards about the mines."

"I am glad to hear you say what you have said," nodded Mr. Penton. "I have urged the sheriff to wire the governor to rush a company of militia here, and the mining company has backed me up in the request. I dislike to do it, but I must protect our property. I presume it will excite the men to violence, and----"

"The men cannot be much more excited than they already are, sir. Cavard has worked them up to the exploding point. With an honest man at its head, a miner's union might be made of real benefit to the men. It's too bad that they have fallen into the hands of Cavard."

The boys went on up the street to their boarding house to dinner. There was little conversation at the meal, for every man felt that the calm before the storm was upon them.

Shortly after one o'clock the men began strolling toward the "ore bridge." This was a structure of steel and concrete that the company had erected across a mountain gorge, and over which the ore was carried by train to the lakes. The ore bridge was the key to the situation. Without it no ore could be shipped from either the Cousin Jack or the Red Rock Mines.

By two o'clock there were more than a thousand men gathered in the vicinity of the bridge. They seemed impervious to the biting cold of the winter's day. It was not apparent that the men had any particular purpose in gathering about the bridge, but there was little doubt that their leader had put the thought in their minds at the noonday meeting, whether or not they realized that fact.

Suddenly the men set up a cheer. Cavard, muffled to the ears in an expensive fur coat, was seen approaching. He was shaking hands with the men right and left as he strolled on toward the bridge.

The men began cheering. Somehow Cavard's appearance seemed to exert a strange influence over the miners. His sway over them was absolute.

They began to shout for him to talk to them. Half a dozen men hoisted him to a stump. The leader waved his cap.

"Men, you are making a noble fight!" he shouted. "You will yet down the bosses and make them come to your terms. We've got them on the run already. Their feet are on your necks and on the necks of your families, but you will throw the weight off, and when you do, there will be a terrible retribution. And what a little thing stands between you and that retribution. For instance, men, that bridge there is the key to the ore output. That represents the bosses. Of course we cannot interfere with their property, but that structure of steel and cement was made possible by the sweat of your brows. It was you who mined the ore for the steel from which the bridge was constructed. It was you who made its building a possibility. And now it rises up as if to mock you. Do not misunderstand me; I warn you against violence, but there are limits to man's endurance, especially if that man have dependent upon him a wife and children."

A low murmur ran over the assemblage. The murmur increased in volume until it became a roar.

"Men, men; I beg of you to be calm!" shouted Cavard.

"The bridge! The bridge!" thundered the multitude.

"Down with the bridge!"

"Down with the bosses!"

The mob surged toward the structure as one man.

"Dynamite! Get dynamite. We'll blow it up! We'll teach the bosses a lesson that they won't forget!"

Half a dozen men had started away on a run. After a time, amid the clamor and the shouting, these same six miners were seen crawling up the ravine toward the bridge itself.

"Look! Look!"

The men above had seen them.

"They're going to dynamite the bridge!"

It was true. The great structure that meant so much to the mining company seemed doomed to destruction. The ground fairly shook with the roar that arose when those above discovered the purpose of their fellows. Cavard had disappeared.

At that moment a lad dashed through the mob and out on to the bridge, running along the ties a hundred feet in the air.

"Stop! Back, every man of you!" he shouted. "It will be prison for years for every man who has a hand in this affair! Call them off! Stop them while there is still time!"

"Get off the bridge, unless you want to be blown to kingdom come!" roared the crowd.

"Let him blow up! It's what he deserves."

"If you destroy the bridge I shall go with it. That will be murder. Those men down there will be hanged for my death. Now, will you call them off?"

The mob hesitated.

"_No!_"

Every man of the hundreds took up the cry. Steve Rush stood calmly on the bridge, his attention divided between the men creeping up the ravine and the mob on the surface. He held a piece of railroad iron in his hands, but this was the only weapon he had for his own defence, in case the men should decide to rush upon him from the end of the structure.

The dynamiters were nearing the danger spot. Just then a woman fairly flew down the short incline that led to the bridge. She did not stop, but dashed full speed out to the bridge. Reaching it, she ran with all speed to where Steve Rush was standing, exhorting the crowd and pleading and threatening.

"Miss Cavard!" he gasped. "You must not stay here. Run for your life. Don't you see what the men are going to do?"

"Yes, I'll run, but I would rather stay. Here!"

She thrust something toward Steve--something that she had been carrying concealed under her long, black coat. Steve uttered an exclamation of joy. It was a rifle. Passing it quickly to him with a box of cartridges, the girl sped on across the bridge to the opposite side.

None had seen the rifle change hands. Steve waited until she had reached a place of safety; then he stooped over and pretended to pick the weapon up from the track. This time he made no effort to conceal it.

"He's got a gun!" roared the miners.

"Yes, and I'm going to use it," shouted the boy. "Call off your dynamiters!"

"Hurry! Fire the powder!" was the answer of the strikers.

Rush stepped to the edge of the bridge and looked down. The men were attaching the fuses to the sticks of dynamite as they ran.

Steve raised the rifle, took careful aim and fired. The foremost man dropped his dangerous burden and uttered a yell. A ball had passed through his arm.

"Back, you hounds; or I'll riddle every man of you."

Once more the rifle spoke, but the bullet missed its mark. It had the effect of stopping the man who was trying to reach the bridge to plant the explosive and touch off the fuse.

The dynamiters backed off. They had not bargained for this. The men on the surface made a hostile movement toward Steve, whereupon he threw the muzzle of the rifle about, covering them

"Come on; come on, if you want some of the same medicine!" he cried.

Bang!

A yell floated up from the mountain gorge. The Iron Boy had fired just in time to head off another man of that little party below. Now he kept menacing them with his weapon. Now and then he would send a shot close to them when he thought they were getting ready for another charge. This continued for fully half an hour, when the dynamiters drew back for a consultation. A man was sent to the surface to urge the miners to rush the bridge and throw the boy over. But the strikers up there had no mind to face his ready weapon at short range. Jeers, howls and cat-calls were hurled at the plucky boy who stood there in that wind-swept spot a hundred feet in the air with the temperature below zero, unmindful of taunts, but alert and watchful.

Five o'clock came, and he was still there. It was getting dark. A few minutes more and it would be so dark that the men below would have plenty of opportunity to carry out their desperate plan. Steve had six cartridges left in his magazine chamber.

He waited and watched. At last he could no longer see the bottom of the gorge. Aiming his weapon as nearly as he could judge at the spot where he had last seen the dynamiters, he began shooting at intervals, varying his aim somewhat with each shot. He hoped to hold them off.

One more shell was left in the gun. Steve was making his last stand. It would be a matter of but a short time now before they would have accomplished their purpose.

Suddenly a shout rent the air. There was a new note in it. It was not a shout of triumph, but of anger and alarm. The boy on the bridge did not understand it.

"Run for it. It's the soldiers!" was the shout that was suddenly taken up and passed from lip to lip.

"Hurrah!" shouted the lad.

But he had not finished yet. He turned the rifle down into the dark gorge and pulled the trigger again. Whether he had hit anything or not he did not know.

"Look out for the soldiers!" bellowed a man, leaning over the edge of the precipice. "Run for it!"

Steve was bounding toward the end of the bridge.

The soldiers and the sheriff's deputies were coming up at a dog trot.

"Shell the gorge down there. They're trying to dynamite the bridge!" Rush yelled.

A moment more and a volley of bullets from the rifles of the guardsmen raked the depths of the gorge with a hot fire.

The bridge was saved.