CHAPTER XXIII
THE RED TIDE OF ANARCHY
Betty and her uncle spent the next few hours in preparing foreventualities. They explored the storeroom and armory, and in thelatter they found ample provision for a stout defense. There werefirearms in plenty, and such a supply of ammunition as should besufficient to withstand a siege. The store of dynamite gave them someanxiety. It was dangerous where it was, in case of open warfare, but itwould be still more dangerous in the hands of the strikers. Eventuallythey concealed it well under a pile of other stores in the hopes, incase of accident, it might remain undiscovered.
During their preparations several more stones crashed against the wallsand the door of the building. They were hurled at longish intervals,and seemed to be the work of one person. Then, finally no more werethrown, and futile as the attack had been, its cessation brought acertain relief and ease of mind. To the man it suggested the work ofsome drunken lumber-jack--perhaps the man who had been so forciblyrebuffed by Betty earlier in the evening.
It was one o'clock when Chepstow took a final look round hisbarricades. Betty was sitting at the table with a fine array offirearms spread out before her. She had just finished loading the lastone when her uncle came to her side. She looked up at him with quietamusement in her eyes.
"I was wondering," she said, with just a suspicion of satire in hermanner, "whether we are in a state of siege, or--panic?"
But her uncle's sense of humor was lacking at the moment. He saw onlythe gravity of his responsibility.
"You'd best get to bed," he said a little severely. "I shall sit up.You must get all the rest you can. We do not know what may be in storefor us."
Betty promptly fell in with his mood.
"But the sick?" she said. "We must visit them to-morrow. We cannot letthem suffer."
"No. We must wait and see what to-morrow brings forth. In themeantime----"
He broke off, listening. Betty too had suddenly turned her eyes uponthe barred door. There was a long pause, during which the murmur ofmany voices reached them, and the faint but distinct sound of trampingfeet. The man's eyes grew anxious, his lean face was set and hard. Itwas easy enough to read his thoughts. He was weighing the possibilitiesof collision with these strikers, and calculating the chances in hisfavor. Betty seemed less disturbed. Her eyes were steady and interestedrather than alarmed.
"There's a crowd of them," said her uncle in a hushed voice.
The girl listened for something which perhaps her uncle had forgotten.Sober, she did not expect much trouble from these people. If they hadbeen drinking it would be different.
The voices grew louder. The shuffling, clumping footsteps grew louder.They drew near. They were within a few yards of the building. Finallythey stopped just outside the door. Instantly there was a loudhammering upon it, and a harsh demand for admittance.
Neither stirred.
"Open the door!" roared the voice, and the cry was taken up by othersuntil it grew into a perfect babel of shouting and cursing.
Betty moved to her uncle's side and laid a hand upon his arm. Shelooked up into his face and saw the storm-clouds of his anger gatheringthere.
"We shall have to open it, uncle," she said. "That's--that's TimCanfield's voice."
He looked down into her eager young face. He saw no fear there. Hefeared, but not for himself: it was of her he was thinking. He wantedto open the door. He wanted to vent his anger in scathing defiance, buthe was thinking of the girl in his charge. He was her sole protection.He knew, only too well, what "strike" meant to these men. It meant theturning of their savage passions loose upon brains all too untutored toafford them a semblance of control. Then there was the drink, and drinkmeant--
The clamor at the door was becoming terrific. He stirred, and, walkingswiftly across the room, put his mouth to the jamb.
"What do you want?" he shouted angrily. "What right have you to comehere disturbing us at such an hour?"
Instantly the noise dropped. Then he heard Tim's voice repeating hiswords to the crowd, and they were greeted with a laugh that had in it anote of rebellion.
The laugh died out as the spokesman turned again to the door.
"Open this gorl-durned door, or we'll bust it in!" he shouted. And achorus of "Break it in!" was taken up by the crowd.
The parson's anger leapt. His keen nerves were on edge in a moment.Even Betty's gentle eyes kindled. He turned to her, his eyes blazing.
"Hand me a couple of guns!" he cried, in a voice that reached the menoutside. "Get hold of a couple yourself! If there's to be trouble we'lltake a hand!" Then he turned to the door, and his voice was thrillingwith "fight." "I'll open the door to no one till I know what you want!"he shouted furiously. "Beat the door in! I warn you those who stepinside will get it good and plenty! Beat away!"
His words had instant effect. For several seconds there was not a soundon the other side of the door. Then some one muttered something, andinstantly the crowd took up a fierce cry, urging their leaders on.
But the men in front were not to be rushed into a reckless assault, anda fierce altercation ensued. Finally silence was restored, and TimCanfield spoke again, but there was a conciliatory note in his voicethis time.
"You ken open it, passon," he said. "We're talkin' fair. We ain'tnuthin' up agin you. We're astin' you to help us out some. Ef you openthat door, me an' Mike Duggan'll step in, an' no one else. We'll tellyou what's doin'. Ther' don't need be no shootin' to this racket."
The churchman considered. The position was awkward. His anger wasmelting, but he knew that, for the moment, he had the whip hand.However, he also knew if he didn't open the door, ultimately forcewould certainly be used. These were not the men to be scared easily.But Betty was in his thoughts, and finally it was Betty who decided forhim.
"Open it," she whispered. "It's our best course. I don't think theymean any harm--yet."
The man reluctantly obeyed, but only after some moments' hesitation. Hewithdrew the bars, and as the girl moved away beyond the stove, and satdown to her sewing, he stepped aside, covering the doorway with his tworevolvers.
"Only two of you!" he cried, as the door swung open.
The two men came in and, turning quickly, shut the rest of the crowdout and rebarred the door.
Then they confronted the churchman's two guns. There was somethingtremendously compelling in Chepstow's attitude and the light of battlethat shone in his eyes. He meant business, and they knew it. Theirrespect for him rose, and they watched him warily until presently helowered the guns to his side.
He eyed them severely. They were men he knew, men who were reallumber-jacks, matured in the long service of Dave's mills, men whoshould have known better. They were powerfully built and grizzled, withfaces and eyes as hard as their tremendous muscles. He knew the typewell. It was the type he had always admired, and a type, once they wereon the wrong path, he knew could be very, very dangerous.
"Well, boys," he demanded, in a more moderate tone, yet holding themwith the severity of his expression. "What's all this bother about?What do you mean by this intolerable--bulldozing?"
The men suddenly discovered Betty at the far side of the stove. Herattitude was one of preoccupation in her sewing. It was pretense, butit looked natural. They abruptly pulled off their caps, and for themoment, seemed half abashed. But it was only for the moment. The next,Canfield turned on the churchman coldly.
"You're actin' kind o' foolish, passon," he said. "It ain't no usetalkin' gun-play when ther' ain't no need whatever. It's like to makethings ridic'lous awkward, an' set the boys sore. We come along herepeaceful to talk you fair----"
"So you bring an army," broke in Chepstow, impatiently, "after holdinga meeting at the store, and considering the advisability of makingprisoners of my niece and me."
"Who said?" demanded Tim fiercely.
"I did," retorted Chepstow militantly.
The promptness of his retort silenced the lumberman. He grinned, andleered round at his companion.
&n
bsp; "Well?" The parson's voice was getting sharper.
"Well, it's like this, passon. Ther' ain't goin' to be noprisoner-makin' if you'll act reas'nable. Ther' ain't nuthin' up to younor the leddy but wot's good an' clean. You've see to our boys who'ssick, an' just done right by us--we can't say the same fer others. Wejust want you to come right along down to the camp. Ther's a feller binshot by that all-fired skunk Mason, an' I guess he's jest busy bleedin'plumb to death. Will you come?"
"Who is it?"
The shortness of Chepstow's tone was uncompromising.
The lumber-jack stirred uneasily. He glanced round at his companion.The churchman saw the look and understood.
"Come on, Mike Duggan, out with it. I'm not going to be played with,"he said. "Your mate doesn't seem easy about it. I suppose it's one ofthe ringleaders of your strike, and you want me to patch him up so hecan go on with his dirty work. Well? I'm waiting."
Duggan's eyes flashed.
"Easy, passon," he said sharply. "The feller's name is Walford. Youain't like to know him fer sure. He's kind o' runnin' things fer us.He's hit in the shoulder bad."
"Ah, it's that fellow who was speaking at your meeting. So he's got hismedicine. Good. Well, you want me to fix him up?"
The lumber-jacks nodded.
"That's it," said Duggan cheerfully.
Chepstow considered for a moment. Then he glanced over at Betty. Theireyes met, and his had a smile of encouragement in them. He turned backat once to the waiting men.
"I'll help you, but on one or two conditions. I demand my ownconditions absolutely. They're easy, but I won't change them ormoderate them by a single detail."
"Get to it, passon," said Canfield, as he paused. "Make 'em easy, an'ther' won't be no kick comin'."
"You must bring the fellow here, and leave him with us until he issufficiently recovered. Any of you can come and see him, if he's nottoo sick. Then you must give me a guarantee that my niece and I canvisit the sick camp to tend the boys up there without any sort ofmolestation. You understand? You must guarantee this. You mustguarantee that we are in no way interfered with, and if at any time weare out of this hut, no one will enter it without our permission. Weare here for peace. We are here to help your sick comrades. Youraffairs with your employers have nothing to do with us. Is it a deal?"
"Why sure, passon," replied Duggan. And Tim nodded his approval.
"It's folks like you makes things easy fer us," added the latter, withhearty good-will. "Guess we'll shake on it."
He held out his hand, and Chepstow promptly gripped it. He also shookthe other by the hand.
"Now, boys," he said genially, "how about those others outside? Howwill you guarantee them?"
"We'll fix that quick. Say, Mike, just open that door." Canfield turnedagain to Chepstow, while Mike obeyed orders. "I'll give 'em a fewwords," he went on, "an' we'll send right off for Walford. He's mightybad, passon. He's----"
The door was open by this time, and the two men hurried out. Chepstowsecured it behind them, and stood listening for what was to happen. Heheard Canfield haranguing the crowd, and his words seemed to have thedesired effect, for presently the whole lot began to move off, and intwo minutes the last sound of voices and receding footsteps had diedout. Betty drew a sigh of relief.
"Uncle," she said, smiling affectionately across at him as he left thedoor and came toward the stove, "you are a genius of diplomacy."
The man laughed self-consciously.
"Well, we have gained a point," he said doubtfully.
Betty let her eyes fall upon her sewing again.
"Yes, we have gained a point. I wonder how long that point will holdgood, when--when the drink begins to flow."
"That's what I'm wondering."
And their question was answered in less than twenty-four hours.
Half an hour later the wounded strike-leader was brought to the hut. Hewas in a semi-conscious state, and a swift examination showed him to bein a pretty bad way. The bullet had ploughed its way through theshoulder, smashing both the collar-bone and the shoulder-blade. Then,though no vital spot had been touched, the loss of blood had beenterrific. He had been left lying at the store ever since he was shot byMason, with just a rough bandage of his own shirt, which had been quitepowerless to stop the flow of blood.
It took Chepstow nearly two hours to dress the wound and set the bones,and by that time the man's weakness had plunged him into absoluteunconsciousness. Still, this was due solely to loss of blood, and withcareful nursing there was no real reason why he should not make asatisfactory recovery.
The rest of the night was spent at the sick man's bedside. Betty andher uncle shared the vigil in reliefs, and, weary work as it was, theynever hesitated. A life was at stake, and though the man was the causeof all the trouble, or instrumental in it, they were yet ready to spareno effort on his behalf. With the parson it was sheer love of his dutytoward all men that gave him inspiration. With Betty there may havebeen a less Christian spirit in her motives. All this man's efforts hadbeen directed against the man she loved, and she hated him for it; buta life was at stake, and a life, to her, was a very sacred thing.
The next day was spent between care for the sick at the fever camp andthe wounded man in their own quarters, and the guarantee of thestrikers was literally carried out. There were one or two visits totheir sick leader, but no interference or molestation occurred. Then atsundown came the first warning of storm.
Betty was returning to the dugout. She was tired and sick at heart withher labors. For both it had been a strenuous day, but it had found herstrength out a good deal more than it had her uncle's. Ahead of her sheknew there yet lay a long night of nursing the wounded man.
It was a gorgeous evening. The fog had quite passed away. A splendidsunset lit the glittering peaks towering about her with a cloak ofiridescent fire. The snow caps shone with a ruddy glow, while theancient glaciers suggested molten streams pouring from the heart ofthem to the darkling wood-belts below. The girl paused and for a momentthe wonder of the scene lifted her out of her weariness. But it wasonly momentary. The whole picture was so transient. It changed andvaried with kaleidoscopic suddenness, and vanished altogether in lessthan five minutes. Again the mountains assumed the gray cold of theirunlit beauties. The sun had gone, and day merged into night with almoststaggering abruptness. She turned with a sigh to resume her journey.
It was then that her attention was drawn elsewhere. In the direction ofthe lumber camp, in the very heart of it, it seemed, a heavy smoke wasrising and drifting westward on the light evening breeze. It was notthe haze of smoke from campfires just lit, but a cloud augmented bygreat belches from below. And in the growing dusk she fancied there waseven a ruddy reflection lighting it. She stared with wide-open,wondering eyes.
Suddenly a great shaft of flame shot up into its midst, and, as it litthe scene, she heard the shouting of men mingling with the crash offalling timber. She stood spellbound, a strange terror gripping herheart. It was fear of the unknown. There was a fire--burning what? Sheturned and ran for the dugout.
Bursting into the hut, she poured out her tidings to her uncle, who waspreparing supper. The man listening to her hasty words understood theterror that beset her. Fire in those forest regions might well striketerror into the heart. He held a great check upon himself.
"Sit down, child," he said gently, at the conclusion of her story. "Sitdown and have some food. Afterward, while you see to Walford, I'll cutthrough the woods and see what's doing."
He accomplished his object. Betty calmed at once, and obediently satdown to the food he set before her. She even forced herself to eat, andpresently realized she was hungry. The churchman said nothing untilthey had finished eating. Then he lit his pipe.
"It's drink, I expect," he said, as though he had been striving tosolve the matter during supper. "Likely they're burning the camp. Weknow what they are."
Betty took a deep breath.
"And if they're doing that here, what about the outlying camps?
"
She knew that such an event would mean absolute ruin to Dave, and againher terror rose. This time it was for Dave, and the feeling sickenedher.
Her uncle put on his hat. He had no answer for her. He understood whatwas in her mind.
"Don't leave this place, Betty," he said calmly. "Redress Walford'swound the way I showed you. Keep this door barred, and don't let anyone in. I'll be back soon."
He was gone. And the manner of his going suggested anything but thecalmness with which he spoke.
Once outside, the terror he had refused to display in Betty's presencelent wings to his feet. Night had closed in by the time he took to thewoods. Now the air was full of the burning reek, and he tried tocalculate the possibilities. He snuffed at the air to test the smell,fearful lest it should be the forest that was burning. He could nottell. He was too inexperienced in woodcraft to judge accurately. Intheir sober senses these lumber-jacks dreaded fire as much as a sailordreads it at sea, then there could be little doubt as to the cause ofit now. The inevitable had happened. Drink was flowing, scorching outthe none too acute senses of these savages. Where would their orgy leadthem? Was there any limit that could hold them? He thought not. If hewere inexperienced in the woodsman's craft, he knew these woodsmen, andhe shuddered at the pictures his thoughts painted.
As he drew nearer the camp the smoke got into his lungs. The fire mustbe a big one. A sudden thought came to him, and with it his fearsreceded. He wondered why it had not occurred to him before. Of course.His eyes brightened almost to a smile. If what he suspected hadhappened, perhaps it was the hand of Providence working in Dave'sinterest. Working in Dave's, and---- Perhaps it was the cleansing firesof the Almighty sent to wipe out the evil inspired by the erring mindof man.
He reached the fringe of woods which surrounded the clearing of thecamp, and in another few seconds he stood in the open.
"Thank God," he exclaimed. Then, in a moment, the horror of a pityingChristian mind shone in his eyes. His lips were tight shut, and hishands clenched at his sides. Every muscle strung tense with the forceof his emotions.
In the centre of the clearing the sutler's store was a blazing pile.But it was literally in the centre, with such a distance between it andthe surrounding woods as to reduce the danger of setting fire to themto a minimum. It was this, and the fact that it was the store where thespirits were kept, that had inspired his heartfelt exclamation. But hishorror was for that which he saw besides.
The running figures of the strikers about the fire were the figures ofmen mad with drink. Their shoutings, their laughter, their antics toldhim this. But they were not so drunk but what they had sacked the storebefore setting it ablaze. Ah, he understood now, and he wondered whathad happened to the Jew trader.
He drew nearer. He felt safe in doing so. These demented savages wereso fully occupied that they were scarcely likely to observe him. And ifthey did, he doubted if he were running much personal risk. They had noparticular animosity for him.
And as he came near, the sights he beheld sickened him. There wereseveral fights in progress. Not individual battles, but drunken brawlsin groups; mauling, savaging masses of men whose instinct, when roused,it is to hurt, hurt anyhow, and if possible to kill. These men foughtas beasts fight, tearing each other with teeth and hands, gouging,hacking, clawing. It was a merciless display of brute savagery inspiredby a bestial instinct, stirred to fever pitch by the filthy spiritserved in a lumber camp.
At another point, well away from the burning building, the merchandisewas piled, tossed together in the reckless fashion only to be expectedin men so inspired. Around this were the more sober, helping themselvesgreedily, snatching at clothing, at blankets, at the tools of theircraft. Some were loaded with tin boxes of fancy biscuits and cannedmeats, others had possessed themselves of the cheap jewelry such astraders love to dazzle the eyes of their simple customers with. Eachtook as his stomach guided him, but with a gluttony for things whichcan be had for nothing always to be found in people of unbridledpassions. It was a sight little less revolting than the other, for itspoke of another form of unchecked savagery.
Not far from this, shown in strong relief by the lurid fires, wasgathered a shouting, turbulent crowd round a pile of barrels and cases.Three barrels were standing on end, apart from the rest, and theirheads had been removed, and round these struggled a maddened crew withtin pannikins. They were dipping the fiery spirit out of the casks, anddraining each draught as hurriedly as the scorching stuff could passdown their throats, so as to secure as much as possible before it wasall gone. The watching man shuddered. Truly a more terrible display wasinconceivable. The men were not human in their orgy. They were wildbeasts. What, he asked himself, what would be the result when theliquor had saturated the brains of every one of them? It was tooterrible to contemplate.
The roar of the blazing building, the babel of shouting, the darklylurid light shining amidst the shadows of surrounding woods, thestarlit heavens above, the stillness of mountain gloom and solitude;these things created a picture so awful of contemplation as to beunforgettable. Every detail drove into the watching man's heart asthough graven there with chisel and hammer. It was a hellish picture,lit with hellish light, and set in the midst of gloom profound. The menmight have been demons silhouetted against the ruddy fire; theirdoings, their antics, had in them so little that was human. It wasawful, and at last, in despair, the man on the outskirts of theclearing turned and fled. Anything rather than this degrading sight; hecould bear it no longer. He sickened, yet his heart yearned for them.There was nothing he could do to help them or check them. He could onlypray for their demented souls, and--see to the safeguarding of Betty.
Betty heard her uncle's voice calling, and flung down the bars of thedoor. She looked into his ghastly face as he hurried in. She asked noquestion, and watched him as with nervous hands he closed and securedthe door behind him. Her eyes followed his movements as he crossed tothe stove and flung himself into a chair. She saw his head droopforward, and his hands cover his eyes in a gesture of despair. Stillshe waited, her breath coming more quickly as the moments passed.
She moved a step toward him, and slowly he raised a drawn haggard face,and his horrified eyes looked into hers.
"You must not leave this hut on any pretense, Betty," he said slowly.Then he raised his eyes to the roof. "God have pity on them! They aremad! Mad with drink, and ready for any debauchery. I could kill themen," he went on, shaking his two clenched fists in the air, "who havedriven them----"
"Hush, uncle!" the girl broke in, laying a restraining hand upon hisupraised arms. "One of them lies over there, and--and he is wounded. Wemust do what we can to help."