CHAPTER XXVII
AT BAY
In the dugout Tom Chepstow was standing with his ear pressed againstthe door-jamb. He was listening, straining with every nerve alert toglean the least indication of what was going on outside. His face waspale and drawn, and his eyes shone with anxiety. He was gripped by afear he had never known before, a fear that might well come to thebravest. Personal, physical danger he understood, it was almostpleasant to him, something that gave life a new interest. Butthis--this was different, this was horrible.
Betty was standing just behind him. She was leaning forward craningintently. Her hands were clenched at her sides, and a similar dread waslooking out of her soft eyes. Her face was pale with a marble coldness,her rich red lips were compressed to a fine line, her whole body wastense with the fear that lay behind her straining eyes. There wasdesperation in the poise of her body, the desperation of a brave womanwho sees the last hope vanishing, swallowed up in a tide of disastershe is powerless to stem.
For nearly a week these two had been penned up in the hut. But for thelast thirty-six hours their stronghold had actually been in a state ofsiege. From the time of her uncle's realization of the conditionsobtaining outside Betty had not ventured without the building, whilethe man himself had been forced to use the utmost caution in movingabroad. It had been absolutely necessary for him to make severalexpeditions, otherwise he, too, would have remained in their fortress.They required water and fire-wood, and these things had to be procured.Then, too, there were the sick.
But on the third day the climax was reached. Returning from one of hisexpeditions Chepstow encountered a drunken gang of lumber-jacks. Underthe influence of their recent orgy their spirit-soaked brains hadconceived the pretty idea of "ilin' the passon's works"; in otherwords, forcing drink upon him, and making him as drunk as themselves.In their present condition the joke appealed to them, and it was notwithout a violent struggle that their intended victim escaped.
He was carrying fire-wood at the time, and it served him well as aweapon of defense. In a few brief moments he had left one man stunnedupon the ground and another with a horribly broken face, and washimself racing for the dugout. He easily outstripped his drunkenpursuers, but he was quickly to learn how high a price he must pay forthe temporary victory. He had brought a veritable hornets' nest abouthis ears.
The mischief began. The attack upon himself had only been a drunkenpractical joke. The subsequent happenings were in deadly earnest. Themob came in a blaze of savage fury. Their first thought was forvengeance upon him. In all probability, up to that time, Betty'spresence in the hut had been forgotten, but now, as they came to thedugout, they remembered. In their present condition it was but a shortstep from a desire to revenge themselves upon him, to the suggestion ofhow it could be accomplished through the girl. They remembered herpretty face, her delicious woman's figure, and instantly they becameravening brutes, fired with a mad desire to possess themselves of her.
They were no longer strikers, they were not even men. The spirit takenfrom the burning store had done its work. A howling pack of demons hadbeen turned loose upon the camp, ready for any fiendish prank, readyfor slaughter, ready for anything. These untutored creatures knew nobetter, they were powerless to help themselves, their passions aloneguided them at all times, and now all that was most evil in them wasfrothing to the surface. Sober, they were as tame as caged wolves keptunder by the bludgeon of a stern discipline. Drunk, they were madmen,driven by the untamed passions of the brute creation. They were animalswithout the restraining instincts of the animal, they lusted for theexercise of their great muscles, and the vital forces which sweptthrough their veins in a passionate torrent.
Their first effort was a demand for the surrender of those in the hut,and they were coldly refused. They attempted a parley, and received noencouragement. Now they were determined upon capture, with loudlyshouted threats of dire consequences for the defenders' obstinacy.
It was close upon noon of the second day of the siege. The hut wasbarricaded at every point. Door and windows were blocked up with everyavailable piece of furniture that could be spared, and therepeating-rifles were loaded ready, and both uncle and niece were armedwith revolvers. They were defending more than life and liberty, andthey knew it. They were defending all that is most sacred in a woman'slife. It was a ghastly thought, a desperate thought, but a thought thatroused in them both a conviction that any defense brain could conceivewas justified. If necessary not even life itself should stand in theway of their defense.
The yellow lamplight threw gloomy shadows about the barricaded room.Its depressing light added to the sinister aspect of their extremity.The silence was ominous, it was fraught with a portend of disaster;disaster worse than death. How could they hope to withstand the attackof the men outside? They were waiting, waiting for what was to happen.Every conceivable method had been adopted by the besiegers to dislodgetheir intended victims. They had tried to tear the roof off, but theheavy logs were well dovetailed, and the process would have taken toolong, and exposed those attempting it to the fire of the rifles in thecapable hands of the defenders. Chepstow had illustrated hisdetermination promptly by a half dozen shots fired at the first movingof one of the logs. Then had come an assault on the door, but, hereagain, the ready play of the rifle from one of the windows had driventhese besiegers hurriedly to cover. Some man, more blinded with drinkthan the rest of his comrades, had suggested fire. But his suggestionwas promptly vetoed. Had it been the parson only they would probablyhave had no scruples, but Betty was there, and they wanted Betty.
For some time there had been no further assault.
"I wish I knew how many there were," Chepstow said, in a low voice.
"Would that do any good?"
The man moved his shoulders in something like a despairing shrug.
"Would anything do any good?"
"Nothing I can think of," Betty murmured bitterly.
"I thought if there were say only a dozen I might open this door. Wehave the repeating-rifles."
The man's eyes as he spoke glittered with a fierce light. Betty saw it,and somehow it made her shiver.
It brought home to her their extremity even more poignantly than allthat had gone before. When a brave churchman's thoughts concentrated insuch a direction she felt that their hopes were small indeed.
She shook her head.
"No, uncle dear. We must wait for that until they force an entrance."She was cool enough in her desperation, cooler far than he.
"Yes," he nodded reluctantly, "perhaps you're right, but the suspenseis--killing. Hark! Listen, they are coming at us again. I wonder whatit is to be this time."
The harsh voices of the drunken mob could be plainly heard. They werecoming nearer. Brutal laughter assailed the straining ears inside, andset their nerves tingling afresh. Then came a hush. It lasted someseconds. Then a single laugh just outside the door broke upon thesilence.
"Try again," a voice said. "Say, here's some more. 'Struth you're aheap of G---- d---- foolishness."
Another voice broke in angrily.
"God strike you!" it snarled, "do it your b---- self."
"Right ho!"
Then there came a shuffling of feet, and, a moment later, a scrapingand scratching at the foot of the door. Chepstow glanced down at it,and Betty's eyes were irresistibly drawn in the same direction.
"What are they doing now?"
It was the voice of the wounded strike-leader on his bunk at the farend of the room. He was staring over at the door, his expression one ofeven greater fear than that of the defenders themselves. He felt that,in spite of the part he had played in bringing the strike about, hisposition was no better than these others. If anything happened to themall help for him was gone. Besides, he, too, understood that these menoutside were no longer strikers, but wolves, whiskey-soaked savagesbeyond the control of any strike-leader.
He received no reply. The scraping went on. Something was being thrustinto the gaping crack which stood a
n inch wide beneath the door.Suddenly the noise ceased, followed by a long pause. Then, in thestrong draught under the door, a puff of oil smoke belched into theroom, and its nauseous reek set Chepstow coughing. His cough brought ananswering peal of brutal laughter from beyond the door, and some oneshouted to his comrades--
"Bully fer you, bo'! Draw 'em! Draw 'em like badgers. Smoke 'em outlike gophers."
The pungent smoke belched into the room, and the man darted from thedoor.
"Quick!" he cried. "Wet rags! A blanket!"
Betty sprang to his assistance. The room was rapidly filling withsmoke, which stung their eyes and set them choking. A blanket wassnatched off the wounded strike-leader, but the process of saturatingit was slow. They had only one barrel of water, and dared not waste itby plunging the blanket into it. So they were forced to resort to theuse of a dipper. At last it was ready and the man crushed it down atthe foot of the door, and stamped it tight with his foot.
But it had taken too much time to set in place. The room was dense witha fog of smoke that set eyes streaming and throats gasping. In recklessdespair the man sprang at one of the windows and began to tear down thecarefully-built barricade.
But now the cunning of the besiegers was displayed. As the last of thebarricade was removed Chepstow discovered that the cotton covering ofthe window was smouldering. He tore it out to let in the fresh air, butonly to release a pile of smouldering oil rags, which had been placedon the thickness of the wall, and set it tumbling into the room. Thewindow was barricaded on the outside!
The smoke became unbearable now, and the two prisoners set to work totrample the smouldering rags out. It was while they were thus occupiedthat a fresh disaster occurred. There was a terrific clatter at thestove, and a cloud of smoke and soot practically put the place indarkness. Nor did it need the sound of scrambling feet on the roof totell those below what had happened. The strikers, by removing thetopmost joint of the pipe, where it protruded through the roof, hadbeen able, by the aid of a long stick, to dislodge the rest of the pipeand send it crashing to the floor. It was a master-stroke of diabolicalcunning, for now, added to the smoke and soot, the sulphurous fumes ofthe blazing stove rendered the conditions of the room beyond furtherendurance.
Half blinded and gasping Chepstow sprang at the table and seized arifle. Betty had dropped into a chair choking. The strike-leader laymoaning, trying to shut out the smoke with his one remaining blanket.
"Come on, Betty," shouted the man, in a frenzy of rage. "You've gotyour revolver. I'm going to open the door, and may God Almighty havemercy on the soul of the man who tries to stop us!"