Part 35 (1/2)
Morrison swung impatiently on his foot.
”What's the matter with letting off a box or two of powder under the tram?”
”Nothing. Is that our job?”
”Yes. And see that it's done.”
”That's me. Come on, Joe. Let's have a drink first.”
These two were the penitents whom Firmstone had taken back.
The greater number of the men were crowded around the gilded bar, drinking boisterously to the success of the union and death to scabs and companies. A few, more sober-minded, but none the less resolute, gathered around Morrison. They were the leaders upon whom he depended for the carrying out of his orders, or for acting independently of them on their own initiative, as occasion might demand. With logic fiendish in its cunning, he pointed out to them their right to organise, laid emphasis on their pacific intentions only to defend their rights, and having enlarged upon this, he brought into full play Hartwell's fatal error.
”You see,” he concluded; ”right or wrong, the company's gone in to win.
They ain't taking no chances, and the law's at their backs. You know Haskins's gang. You know what they're here for. They're here to shoot, and they'll shoot to kill. Suppose you go out like lambs? That won't make no difference. It'll be too tame for them, unless some one's killed. What if it is murder and one of the gang is pulled? They've got the whole gang at their back and the company's money. Suppose we go out one by one and shoot back? Self-defence?” Morrison snapped his fingers.
”That's our chance to get off. We've got to pull together. In a general mix-up, we'll be in it together, and there ain't no law to string up the whole push. Stick together. That's our hold. If Haskins's gang is wiped out to-morrow, and that gla.s.s-eyed supe with them, who'll get jumped? If the mine and mill both get blowed up, who's done it? The fellows who did it ain't going to tell, and it won't be good medicine for any one else to do it, even if he wants to.”
”Who's going to open up?” one of the men asked, soberly.
Morrison turned carelessly.
”That's a fool question. Folks that ain't looking for trouble don't put caps and powder in a bag to play foot-ball with. Both sides are putting up kicks. Who's to blame?”
The man looked only half convinced.
”Well, we ain't, and we don't want to be. If we keep quiet, and they open up on us, we've got a right to defend ourselves. Unless,” he added, meditatively, ”we get out beforehand, then there won't be any questions to ask.”
Morrison turned fiercely.
”How much did you get?”
”Get for what?”
”How much did the company put up to stand you off?”
”I haven't been bought off by the company,” the man answered, fiercely; ”and I ain't going to be fooled off by you.”
Morrison lifted his hand, palm outward.
”That's all right. Go right on, first door right. Go right in. Don't knock. You'll find Pierre. He's scab-herding now.”
Morrison pa.s.sed among the thronging men, giving suggestions and orders for the morning's struggle. His manner was forced, rather than spontaneous. Pierre's leaven was working.
To elise at her desk it seemed as if the revel would never end. She had made up her mind what to do, she was awaiting the time to act. She did not dare to leave her place now; Morrison would be certain to notice her absence and would suspect her designs. There was nothing to do but wait.
It was after one o'clock when, slipping out from the alcove, she ostentatiously closed the office-door and, locking it, walked through the pa.s.sage that led to the dining-room. Her footsteps sounded loudly as she went upstairs to her room. She intended they should. In her room, she took down a dark, heavy cloak, and, throwing it over her shoulders, drew the hood over her head. A moment she stood, then turned and silently retraced her steps.
As the outside door closed noiselessly behind her, there was a momentary tightening around her heart. After all, she was leaving the only friends she had ever known. They were crude, coa.r.s.e, uncouth, but she knew them.