Part 44 (2/2)

When Grant returned to the hotel at supper time, he found Mr. Brotherton sitting in a ramshackle rocking chair in the upstairs bedroom, waiting.

”I thought I'd come over and bring a couple of friends,” explained Mr.

Brotherton, pointing to the corner, where two shotguns leaned against the wall.

”Why, man,” exclaimed Grant, ”that's good of you, but in all the time I've been in the work of organization, I've never carried a gun, nor had one around. I don't want a gun, Mr. Brotherton.”

”I do,” returned the elder man, ”and I'm here to say that moral force is a grand thing, but in these lat.i.tudes when you poke Betsy Jane under the nose of an erring comrade, he sees the truth with much more clearness than otherwise. I stick to the gun--and you can go in hard for moral suasion.

”Also,” he added, ”I've just taken a survey of these premises, and told the missus to bring the supper up here. There may be an early curtain raiser on this entertainment, and if they are going to chase you out of town to-night, I want a good seat at the performance.” He grinned. ”Nate Perry will join us in a little quiet social manslaughter. I called him up an hour ago, and he said he'd be here at six-thirty. I think he's coming now.” In another minute the slim Yankee figure of Nathan was in the room. It was scarcely dusk outside. Mrs. Williams came up with a tray of food. As she set it down she said:

”There's a crowd around at the Hot Dog, you can see them through the window.”

Nate and Grant looked. Mr. Brotherton went into the supper. ”Crowd all right,” a.s.sented Nate. There was no mistaking the crowd and its intention. There were new men from the day s.h.i.+ft at the smelter, imported by the company to oppose the unions. A thousand such men had been brought into the district within a few months.

”There's another saloon across the road here,” said Mr. Brotherton, looking up from his food. ”My understanding is that they're going to make headquarters across the street in d.i.c.k's Place. You know I got a pipe-line in on the enemy through the Calvin girl. She gets it at home, and her father gets it at the office. Our estimable natty little friend Joe will be down here--he says to keep the peace. That's what he tells at home. I know what he's coming for. Tom Van Dorn will sit in the back room of that saloon and no one will know he's there, and Joseph will issue Tom's orders. Lord,” cried Mr. Brotherton, waving a triangle of pie in his hand, ”don't I know 'em like a book.”

While he was talking the crowd slowly was swelling in front of the Hot Dog saloon. It was a drinking and noisy crowd. Men who appeared to be leaders were taking other men in to the bar, treating them, then bringing them out again, and talking excitedly to them. The crowd grew rapidly, and the noise multiplied. Another crowd was gathering--just a knot of men down the street by the Company's store, in the opposite direction from the Hot Dog crowd. Grant and Nate noticed the second crowd at the same time. It was Local No. 10. Grant left the window and lighted the lamp. He wrote on a piece of paper, a few lines, handed it to Nathan, saying:

”Here, sign it with me.” It read:

”Boys--whatever you do, don't start anything--of any kind--no matter what happens to us. We can take care of ourselves.”

Nathan Perry signed it, slipped down the stairs into the hall, and beckoned to his men at the Company's store. The crowd at the Hot Dog saw him and yelled, but Evan Evans came running for the note and took it back. Little Tom Williams came up the stairs with Nathan, saying:

”Well--they're getting ready for business. I brought a gun up to No. 3 this afternoon. I'm with Grant in this.”

The little landlord went into No. 3, appeared with a rifle, and came bobbing into the room.

Grant at the window could see the crowd marching from the Hot Dog to d.i.c.k's Place, yelling and cursing as it went. The group in the bedroom over the street opened the street windows to see better and hear better.

An incandescent over the door of the saloon lighted the narrow street.

In front of the saloon and under the light the mob halted. The men in the room with Grant were at the windows watching. Suddenly--as by some prearranged order, four men with revolvers in their hands ran across the street towards the hotel. Brotherton, Williams and Perry ran to the head of the stairs, guns in hand. Grant followed them. There they stood when the door below was thrown open, and the four men below rushed across the small landing to the bottom of the stairs. It was dark in the upper hall, but a light from the street flooded the lower hall. The men below did not look up; they were on the stairs.

”Stop,” shouted Brotherton with his great voice.

That halted them. They looked up into darkness. They could see no faces--only four gun barrels. The men farthest up the stairs literally fell into the arms of those below. Then the four men below scrambled down the stairs as Mr. Brotherton roared:

”I'll kill the first man who puts his foot on the bottom step again.”

With a cry of terror they rushed out. The crowd at the Company store hooted, and the mob before the saloon jeered. But the four men scurried across the street, and told the crowd what had happened. For a few minutes no move was made. Then Grant, who had left the hallway and was looking through the window, saw the little figure of Joseph Calvin moving officiously among the men. He went into the saloon, and came out again after a time. Then Grant cried to Brotherton at the head of the stairs:

”Watch out--they're coming; more of them this time.” And half a dozen armed men rushed across the street and appeared at the door of the hallway.

”Stop,” yelled Brotherton--whose great voice itself sounded a terrifying alarm in the darkened hallway. The feet of two men were on the first steps of the stairs--they looked up and saw three gun barrels pointing down at them, and heard Brotherton call ”one--two--three,” but before he could say ”fire” the men fell back panic stricken and ran out of the place.

The crowd left the sidewalk and moved into the saloon, and the street was deserted for a time. Local No. 10 held its post down by the Company Store. It seemed like an age to the men at the head of the stairs. Yet Mr. Brotherton's easy running fire of ribaldry never stopped. He was excited and language came from his throat without restraint.

Then Grant's quick ear caught a sound that made him shudder. It was far away, a shrill high note; in a few seconds the note was repeated, and with it the animal cry one never mistakes who hears it--the cry of an angry mob. They could hear it roaring over the bridge upon the Wahoo and they knew it was the mob from Magnus, Plain Valley and Foley coming. On it came, with its high-keyed horror growing louder and louder. It turned into the street and came roaring and whining down to the meeting place at the saloon. It filled the street. Then appeared Mr. Calvin following a saloon porter, who was rolling a whiskey barrel from the saloon. The porter knocked in the head, and threw tin cups to the crowd.

”What do you think of that for a praying Christian?” snarled Mr.

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