Part 69 (1/2)

”Sun and wind will bring it back to the hills,” said Uncle d.i.c.k gravely.

”There is no waste in nature.”

I half expected to see a group of men, friends or enemies, waiting about; but not a soul was in sight, and as we reached the gates I s.h.i.+vered involuntarily and thought that people must have very serious spite against us if they left their snug firesides to attack us on a night like that.

Uncle d.i.c.k opened the little door in the gate and we stepped in, but to our surprise there was no low growl and then whine of recognition from Piter.

”That's strange,” said Uncle Jack suspiciously, and he walked on quickly to the door of the building and listened.

There was no dog there, and his chain and collar did not hang over the kennel as if they had been taken from the dog's neck. They were gone.

This seemed very strange, and what was more strange still, though we went from grinding-shop to smithy after smithy, furnace house and shed, there was no sign of the dog, and everything seemed to point to the fact that he had been led away by his chain, and was a prisoner somewhere.

”Looks like mischief,” whispered Uncle Bob. ”Where's that scoundrel lying asleep?”

We went upstairs to see, and expected to find our careful watchman carefully curled up somewhere, but there was no snoring this time, and Uncle Bob's threat of a bucket of water to wake him did not a.s.sume substance and action.

For though we searched everywhere it soon became evident that Searby was not present, and that we had come to find the works deserted.

”Then there is going to be some attack made,” said Uncle d.i.c.k. ”I'm glad we came.”

”Shall you warn the police?” I whispered.

”No,” said Uncle Jack sharply. ”If we warn the police the scoundrels will get to know, and no attack will be made.”

”So much the better,” I said. ”Isn't it?”

”No, my lad. If they did not come to-night they would be here some other time when we had not been warned. We are prepared now, so let them come and we may give them such a lesson as shall induce them to leave us in peace for the future.”

”Do you mean to fight, then?” I asked.

”Most decidedly, boy. For our rights, for our place where we win our livelihood. We should be cowards if we did not. You must play the dog's part for us with your sharp eyes and ears. Recollect we have right on our side and they have wrong.”

”Let's put the fort in a state of defence,” said Uncle d.i.c.k merrily.

”Perhaps it will turn out to be all nonsense, but we must be prepared.

What do you say--divide in two watches as we proposed, and take turn and turn?”

”No: we'll all watch together to-night in case anything serious should be meant.”

It did seem so vexatious that a small party of men should be able to keep up this system of warfare in the great manufacturing town. Here had my uncles brought a certain amount of prosperity to the place by establis.h.i.+ng these works; the men had found out their worth and respected them, and everything was going on in the most prosperous way, and yet we were being a.s.sailed with threats, and it was quite possible that at any moment some cruel blow might be struck.

I felt very nervous that night, but I drew courage from my uncles, who seemed to take everything in the coolest and most matter-of-fact way.

They went round to the buildings where the fires were banked up and glowing or smouldering, ready to be brought under the influence of the blast next day and fanned to white heat. Here every precaution was taken to guard against danger by fire, one of the most probable ways of attack, either by ordinary combustion or the swift explosion of gunpowder.

”There,” said Uncle Jack after a careful inspection, ”we can do no more.

If the ruffians come and blow us up it will be pretty well ruin.”

”While if they burn us we are handsomely insured,” said Uncle d.i.c.k.