Chapter 11

A NIGHT ON GUARD

Two minutes more, with eight men to back him, George Graham was knocking or sawing out holes in the blacksmith-shop, and presently a man with a reliable Winchester was crouched by each opening watching the next move of the foe. The shop was perched at the edge of a flat-topped "dump", commanding the rocky slopes to the roadway on one side, the hill on the other. It was exposed to shots from below, yet the hardest to reach by direct assault. In the larger building a bit farther back, the compressor-house, Cawker and four others were stationed, guarding the approach from the north. The manager had taken Nolan's broad hint, and the subsequent orders, with one long look of amaze, then with the light of comprehension in his eyes and the silence of consent on his lips. Did he not know that the main charge against Nolan had been loyalty to his old comrades rather than his new employers? Did he not know, or at least more than suspect, that the company was trying to "freeze out" the distant holders? Did he not know, down in his heart, that it was out and out robbery? And now, in spite of youth and disguise, the manager saw in this masterful stranger one of the very elements the owners had sought to keep at a distance and in ignorance of true conditions. So far from resenting, he now thanked God for his coming. What else could explain Nolan's deference--Nolan, the most independent and self-respecting man at the mines? What else could it mean but that this youth was one of his officers--men skilled and schooled in warfare if not in mining--men taught to face danger with stout heart and stubborn front? All in the space of a few seconds the truth had flashed upon Cawker. It might not be just what the owners would want, thought he, but it's almighty good for us all.

Nolan, with a handful of men, still clung to the stoutest of the buildings. It stood without the entrance to the ravine in which had been discovered the outcropping that started the fame of Silver Shield. In this, also, stood two other buildings, but these were so far from the outer shop that flames need not be feared. Nolan was to care for the wounded and guard the outward approach, and all three were in close support of each other. Whoever managed to rush that little group of buildings would know, if he lived, that he had been through a fight.

And now it was after six of the long summer day. The rioters had received a wholesome lesson in the volley that met their first attempt to swarm up from the south. They had gone tumbling and cursing back to shelter, with three men wounded and many of the others badly scared, and now were being harangued by their vociferous leader, and hundreds had come to hear. Graham turned to the young Slav who had borne the first news to Nolan. "Creep out there as far as you can," he ordered, "listen to what is said, and tell me. They cannot reach you." But the frightened lad crouched and whimpered. He _dared_ not.

"Come on, then," answered Geordie, grasping the stout collar of the hickory shirt, and come he had to, moaning and imploring. With revolver in his right hand, his unwilling interpreter in the left, Geordie scrambled down to the roadway, and then, coming in view of the gang, crouched with his prisoner behind sheltering bowlders, regardless of the shots which began to hiss from below. The speaker was still shouting; his words were easily heard. Yells of approval and savage delight punctuated every other sentence. "What was that?" demanded Geordie, as the applause became furious.

"He say they make circle--all sides, uphill, sidehill, downhill. They all together run in when he give the word."

"He fights like a Cheyenne," grinned the young commander. "How soon do they begin?"

"Right off; now! They come from _all_ round!" was the almost agonized cry.

"Then I won't have to lug you back. You can go!"

And like a frightened hare the young foreigner darted away, dodging and diving up the slope, only to fall exhausted at the top, and then to creep on all-fours to the shelter of the office. Already some of the armed rioters had managed to climb far up the hill-side and from behind rock or ledge to open fire on the platform. The range was full three hundred yards, their aim was poor, and the bullets flew wild, but the effect on this poor lad was all they could ask. He collapsed at the opening door.

Leisurely, yet cautiously, Geordie climbed in his tracks--went first to the office to give warning to Nolan, then round to the compressor to instruct the little guard. Cawker poked a head from a window and looked anxiously toward the gaping mouth of the ravine. The darkness of night was already settling in its gloomy depths. The homely shed looked black and forbidding. Aloft on each side were precipitous slopes affording but slight foothold. Little likelihood was there of rioters sliding down to attack them, but, suppose they pried loose, or blasted out, some of those huge rocks up the mountain and sent them rolling, bounding, crashing down? What might _then_ happen?

A bullet tearing through the shingling, ten feet above Cawker's protruding head, made him jerk it in, like a turtle, but presently it reappeared at the window.

"It's the dynamite I'm thinking of," said he. "A rock lighting on that now--"

"Where is it?" interrupted Graham.

"In that first shed yonder--a dozen boxes."

"Bring two men and come along," was the quick order, and it was no time now for reluctance, resentment, much less refusal. The two men summoned shrank back and would not come, but Cawker found two who dared to follow. It was a case of "duck and run" for all.

"Watch the hill-side above!" shouted Graham, in tones that rang through every building and reached every ear. "Shoot down every man that tries to heave rocks into the ravine, or fire at us. We're going to move that dynamite."

Once within the shelter of the gorge, with comrades carefully sighting the slopes, Geordie felt the danger would not be very great. A swift rush carried all four over the open space of twenty yards. Three or four shots came zipping from aloft, but the instant ring of Winchesters back of them told that watchful eyes had noted every head that appeared, and the swift crackle of fire from the shop put instant stop to the fun up the slope. Into the store-room the manager led them, and unlocked a heavy little trap-door within; then, one by one, the ominous-looking cases were dragged forth, hoisted, and swiftly borne to the mouth of the mine. Three tunnels there seemed to be, as Geordie hurriedly noted, but into the largest and lowermost they shouldered their perilous burden and carefully, cautiously, stacked the boxes well inside; went back, and searched out, and followed with all the fuse and powder stored at the top. Then, with rock and ore and barrels of earth, they built a stout barrier in front of the tunnel, blocking it from without, and the sun was down and night was upon them when they stumbled back to their posts.

For now still a weightier problem remained to them--how to defend those works in the dark.

In all, Geordie Graham found they had just twenty men on whom he could count. The trembling young Slav at the blacksmith-shop, the blue-lipped boy in the office, and sorely wounded old Shiner were out of the fight. But Cawker's mine-guards were native born, or Irish, and most of the reinforcements that came with Nolan and himself were Americans, and all were good men and true. By day they could see and shoot at any man or men who sought to approach them with hostile intent. By night they could see nothing. There was only one way, said Graham, to prevent the more daring among the rioters crawling in on them and firing some of the shops, and that was to throw out strong pickets on every side, then trust to their ears, their grit, and their guns.

Already he had been selecting good positions in which to post his sentries. Ten at least, full half his force, would be needed, and while vigilant watch was kept through the twilight, and a warning shot sent at every hat that showed within dangerous range, Geordie went from building to building picking out his men.

Arms, ammunition, and provisions, fortunately, they had in abundance. The company had long since seen to that. Nolan already had set "Blue Lips" to work building a fire in the big kitchen stove at the office and setting the kettle to boil. Coffee, hard bread, and bacon, with canned pork and beans, were served to all hands, about five at a time, and then, with Nolan to station the watchers on the south and west fronts, George and his five stole out on the northward slope, alert, cautious, and silent, moving only a few paces at a time.

Afar down in the depths of the valley the clustered lights of the excited town shone brilliantly through the gloaming. Every now and then through the surrounding silence came the bark of dogs, the shrill voices of clamoring women, and occasionally a burst of howls and yells. Some rude orator was still preaching death and destruction to a more than half-drunken gang, urging them on to the aid of their brethren up the levels above. All about the Silver Shield, however, was ominously still. Over on opposite heights and down in stray gulches could be seen the flitting lights of rival establishments, and away to the west, around the base of the mountain where the railway squirmed by the side of the tortuous stream, two or three locomotive-engines, on stalled trains, had been whistling long and hard for aid. All that was useless. Above for a mile, below for a league, the track had been torn up in places, and down along Silver Run, toward Hatch's Cove and the foot-hills, culverts and cuts had been mined and blown out for five miles more. No sheriff's posses from below, no hated Pinkertons, no despised militia, no dreaded regulars, should come to the aid of Silver Shield till there was nothing left worth saving.

And up here on the northward flank of the bold, rounded heights that overhung the town, and harbored now both besieged and besiegers, invisible to each other and to the lower world in the darkness, Geordie Graham lay crouching behind a little bowlder, every sense on edge, for to his left front, a little higher up, he could distinctly hear low, gruff voices, confused murmurings and movements, sounds that told him that, relying on their overwhelming numbers, the mob was coming slowly, surely, down to carry out their threat to fire the buildings and to finish as they pleased the wretched defenders.

It was barely nine o'clock. Below him, perhaps twenty yards downhill, was his nearest sentry. Above him, and a little retired, was another, a silent young German-American who had been at the head of the men working tunnel Number Two. Beyond him still, and thrown back toward the head of the ravine, was one of Cawker's guard, a sharp-eyed, sharp-witted chap who had seemed at first to chafe at Graham's hints and orders, yet had acted on them. And on these two, so far as sound could enable him to judge, all ignorant of their presence and purpose, this uncouth mass of men was bearing down. Winchester in hand and, as he himself said later, his heart in his mouth, Geordie stole swiftly uphill to the post of the German and found him kneeling and all aquiver with excitement. He, too, had just heard.

"Don't fire till I do," said Graham. "I'll be right out where you can hear me challenge." A few steps higher he climbed, and then called low and clear:

"D'you hear them coming, guard? Can you see anything?"

And the answer came in the drawl of the Southland:

"Hyuh 'em plain 'nuff, but they don't show a light yet. Reckon they don't mean tuh."

"We'll give them the fill of our magazines if they don't halt at the word. Wait till I let drive, then let them have it!"

And so, crouching low, straightforward along the slope he sped, till, perhaps twenty yards out, the black bulk of the mountain-side loomed between him and the westward heaven, while against the stars of the northern horizon he could dimly determine, heaving steadily toward him, not fifty paces away, some huge, murmuring, moving mass. And then there rang out on the silence of the night, clear, stern, and commanding, a voice the like of which their ears had never heard, in words that even they could not fail to comprehend:

"Halt where you are--or we fire!"

There was an instant of recoil and confusion and fear. Then furious tones from far back in the throng and guttural shoutings that seemed urging them on, for, presently, on they came, but in the silence and dread of death.

Back went the lever of Graham's Winchester; slap went the bolt to its seat, with the shining cartridge ahead of it; up came the butt to the shoulder; and then, once more, that deep, virile voice rang along the heights and went echoing away across the gorge. Back at the mine Nolan's heart leaped at the sound of it. Away down in the village they heard it and shrank, for the next instant set them all shrieking; for the lightning flashed and the rifles barked loud and swift, and strong men howled and turned and fled, anywhere out of the way, and some fell headlong, screaming and cursing, in the rush and panic that spread from one stern and sudden word--the soldier command: "Fire!"