Part 7 (2/2)
Even as he spoke a shot struck the thick, iron hinge of the heavy door, the lead spattering viciously. Another ripped through the cas.e.m.e.nt of the nearest window, and a s.h.i.+ver of gla.s.s was heard within, as the bullet spun through the shade of a lamp swinging from the beam above.
c.a.w.ker ducked, unaccustomed to such sounds, and dove to the interior.
Old Nolan, soldier of the Civil War and veteran of many an Indian skirmish, disdained to notice it. Geordie, bemoaning the luck that had left his pet rifle in Denver, busied himself with Nolan in ”herding”
the party within before himself following. Then s.h.i.+ner was found missing.
”He started with us,” cried Nolan. ”He wanted to go back to be with his boy, but we showed him he'd never get through. Those brutes would head him off and kick his life out. He must have--Good G.o.d, Mr. Geordie!
Look where he lies!”
And then they saw that the old plainsman, in his eagerness to make a way back to his possibly dying son, had quit the rush when half-way up, had turned eastward and sought a foot-path down the mountain-side, had found it guarded, like the rest, by a gang that yelled savage welcome at sight of him. Then, too late, he had turned again, had managed to run some fifty yards along the jagged slope, when a shot from a well-aimed rifle laid him low. With a leg broken just above the knee, poor s.h.i.+ner went down, and without so much as a word, with only one glance into each other's eyes, Long Nolan and Geordie swooped down to the rescue.
Breasting the hill fifty yards below him came the heaving throng of rioters, few of them, luckily, with fire-arms, but all bent on vengeance. Darting downhill to s.h.i.+ner came the old and the new of the regiment he had known for years and swore by to the end--Nolan, its oldest sergeant when discharged; Graham, its youngest subaltern when so recently commissioned. But, old and new, they were one in purpose and in spirit. The trained muscles, the lithe young limbs of the new bore him bounding down the slope in half the time it took the elder. s.h.i.+ner lay facing the coming throng, grim hate in his eyes and revolver in hand. In the fury of yells that arose he never heard the shout of encouragement from above. Geordie was bending over him, had seized him by the arm, was slinging him on his broad young back before ever s.h.i.+ner saw the face of his rescuer, and Geordie, with his helpless burden, was stumbling up the height again before Nolan could join and aid him.
By that time the peering guardians of the office had caught sight of the cause of the pandemonium of howls and curses from below, and the onward rush was stayed by the sound of shots from the hill and bullets whistling overhead. Yet only for a moment. Bullets sent downhill almost always fly high, and finding this to be so the mob took courage and came on again, those who had guns or revolvers shooting frantically up the slope, splintering rocks and spattering dirt as they bit at the heels of the rescuers. It was a desperate, do or die, neck or nothing, bit of daring and devotion--Nolan's third and Geordie's first experience in just such a feat. But the blood of the Graemes was up, and the younger soldier was not to be outdone by the old. The guards at the office burst into a cheer as the two came staggering up to the level, with poor s.h.i.+ner groaning between them, and then quick work and hot was needed, for the mob came fierce on their trail.
”There's more Winchesters there in the gun-rack,” shouted c.a.w.ker, as s.h.i.+ner was laid on a bunk in a back room. ”They'll be all round us here in a minute.”
”Aim low and pick out the leaders, d'ye hear?” panted Nolan. ”Don't let 'em get within reach of the buildings, whatever you do. They'll burn 'em over our heads. Let me have your loop-hole, _you_!” he ordered a young fellow, whose lips were blue with excitement and dread. ”Go sit by s.h.i.+ner and give him water till I spoil a few of these voters.” And the presence of the veteran, the confident ring of his voice, seemed to lend instant courage to the defence.
And courage, cool courage and grit, were needed, for the situation was difficult, if not, indeed, desperate. With any skilled leader to direct the mob, the refuge sought by the defence would already have been ruined. The office building, made of hewn logs laid horizontally and with possible view of defence, had been placed at the brow of the slope on one side and near the mouth of the mine on the other. Later, however, rude structures of unplaned pine sprung up--compressor-plant, blacksmith-shop, and the like--about it, no one of them strong enough to serve as a fort, and all of them a menace now because they screened the approaches on two sides and could be fired in a dozen places.
And now that Graham and Nolan were here to aid, this defect was noticed at once.
”This won't do at all, Mr. c.a.w.ker,” said Graham, as he sprung the lever of a new Winchester and glanced into the chamber. ”We'll be surrounded and burned out of here in ten minutes. We've got to occupy those others, too.”
c.a.w.ker stared at the ”young feller” with angering eyes. A moment agone and he was praising his daring, but that astonis.h.i.+ng tone of authority nettled him. What business had a railway fireman telling him, a mine manager, what to do in case of a row?
”_You_ get to a loop-hole and 'tend to that,” snapped he. ”I'll 'tend to my business,” and he turned to Long Nolan, just heaving up from a peep-hole, for support and approval. Nolan he knew for a soldier of old. He had learned to respect him quite as much as he jealously feared, and Nolan's answer took him utterly aback:
”You do as he tells you and do it quick. He knows his business better'n ever you'll begin to know yours.”
CHAPTER XI
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 a.s.sault. In the larger building a bit farther back, the compressor-house, c.a.w.ker 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 G.o.d 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 s.p.a.ce of a few seconds the truth had flashed upon c.a.w.ker. 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 s.h.i.+eld.
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 s.h.i.+rt, 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.”
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