Part 40 (1/2)

”Sure!” he a.s.sured the Colonel. ”I'll fix 'em good and plenty.”

Together Pennington and the Black Minorca entered the automobile and proceeded swiftly to the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's mill-office.

From a locker the Colonel produced a repeating rifle and three boxes of cartridges, which he handed to the cholo, who departed without further ado into the night.

Twenty minutes later, from the top of a lumber-pile in Cardigan's drying-yard, Bryce Cardigan saw the flash of a rifle and felt a sudden sting on his left forearm. He leaped around in front of the cowcatcher to gain the shelter of the engine, and another bullet struck at his feet and ricocheted off into the night. It was followed by a fusillade, the bullets kicking up the freshly disturbed earth among the workers and sending them scurrying to various points of safety. In an instant the crossing was deserted, and work had been stopped, while from the top of the adjacent lumber-pile the Black Minorca poured a stream of lead and filthy invective at every point which he suspected of harbouring a Cardigan follower.

”I don't think he's hurt anybody,” Buck Ogilvy whispered as he crouched with Bryce beside the engine, ”but that's due to his marksmans.h.i.+p rather than his intentions.”

”He tried hard enough to plug me,” Bryce declared, and showed the hole through his sleeve. ”They call him the Black Minorca, and he's a mongrel greaser who'd kill his own mother for a fifty-dollar bill.”

”I'd like to plug him,” Buck murmured regretfully.

”What would be the use? This will be his last night in Humboldt County--”

A rifle shot rang out from the side of B Street; from the lumber-pile across the street, Bryce and Ogilvy heard a suppressed grunt of pain, and a crash as of a breaking board. Instantly out of the shadows George Sea Otter came padding on velvet feet, rifle in hand--and then Bryce understood.

”All right, boss,” said George simply as he joined Bryce and Ogilvy under the lee of the locomotive. ”Now we get busy again.”

”Safe-o, men,” Ogilvy called. ”Back to the job.” And while Bryce, followed by the careless George Sea Otter, went into the lumber-yard to succour the enemy, Ogilvy set an example to the men by stepping into the open and starting briskly to work with a shovel.

At the bottom of the pile of lumber the Black Minorca was discovered with a severe flesh-wound in his right hip; also he was suffering from numerous bruises and contusions. George Sea Otter possessed himself of the fallen cholo's rifle, while Bryce picked the wretch up and carried him to his automobile.

”Take the swine over to the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's hospital and tell them to patch him up,” he ordered George Sea Otter. ”I'll keep both rifles and the ammunition here for Jules Rondeau and his woods-gang. They'll probably be dropping in on us about two a.m., if I know anything about Colonel Pennington's way of doing things.”

CHAPTER x.x.xI

Having dispatched the Black Minorca to hold up the work until the arrival of reinforcements, Colonel Pennington fairly burned the streets en route to his home. He realized that there would be no more sleep for him that night, and he was desirous of getting into a heavy ulster before venturing forth again into the night air.

The violent slam with which he closed the front door after him brought s.h.i.+rley, in dressing-gown and slippers, to the staircase.

”Uncle Seth!” she called.

”Here!” he replied from the hall below.

”What's the matter?”

”There's the devil to pay,” he answered. ”That fellow Cardigan is back of the N.C.O., after all, and he and Ogilvy have a gang of fifty men down at the intersection of Water and B streets, cutting in a jump-crossing of our line.”

He dashed into the living room, and she heard him calling frantically into the telephone.

”At last!” she murmured, and crept down the stairs, pausing behind the heavy portieres at the entrance to the living room.

”That you, Poundstone?” she heard him saying rapidly into the transmitter. ”Pennington speaking. Young Bryce Cardigan is behind that N.C.O. outfit, and it's a logging-road and not intended to build through to Grant's Pa.s.s at all. Cardigan and Ogilvy are at Water and B streets this very instant with a gang of fifty men cutting in a jump-crossing of my line, curse them! They'll have it in by six o'clock to-morrow morning if something isn't done--and once they get it in, the fat's in the fire.

”Telephone the chief of police and order him to take his entire force down there, if necessary, and stop that work. To blazes with that temporary franchise! You stop that work for two hours, and I'll do the rest. Tell the chief of police not to recognize that temporary franchise. He can be suspicious of it, can't he, and refuse to let the work go on until he finds you? And you can be hard to find for two hours, can you not? Delay, delay, man! That's all I want... Yes, yes, I understand. You get down about daylight and roast the chief of police for interfering, but in the meantime!... Thank you, Poundstone, thank you. Good-bye.”

He stood at the telephone, the receiver still held to his ear and his right forefinger holding down the hook while the line cleared. When he spoke again, s.h.i.+rley knew he was calling his mill-office. He got a response immediately, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour.