Mr. Willett and Hank Tims were guarded by a number of the vigilantes,
and with these men, who appeared to be rough but honest fellows, they
talked about their trying situation.
It will be remembered that Frank Shirley and Badger spent money freely
during that first rainy day in order to get the miners drunk, believing
that while they were in that state they could be led to destroy the
prisoners without even the appearance of a trial.
In addition to making two-thirds of the men drunk, Shirley poisoned
their minds by telling them what a very bad man Mr. Willett had been in
Detroit, and he intimated, in a way more powerful than a direct
accusation, that he had poisoned his wife.
The result of all this was that by the evening of that rainy day a great
mob, inflamed with liquor and driven into fury by lies, was shouting for
the lives of Mr. Willett and his companion.
The guards not having been subjected to the influence of the bars were
calm and determined to do what they believed to be their duty.
Soon after dark one of the guards, a tall, rugged man named Collins came
into the tent, and, turning up the lamp that hung from the pole in the
center, he said:
"I'm afraid, gents, we are goin' to have trouble."
"Trouble!" repeated Mr. Willett, as he rose from the blanket on which he
had been lying. "I don't see how our trouble can be increased."
"I'll tell you how," said Collins, evidently very much excited. "You
know those of us here at Hurley's Gulch that are in for doin' about
what's right, want to give you gents a fair show."
"That is what I want to believe," said Mr. Willett.
"Well, I'm very much afeerd that things has took a change for the
worst."
Collins hesitated, and Mr. Willett said:
"For the worse! What do you mean?"
"I mean that this man Frank Shirley, who says he's yer dead wife's
cousin, has made most of the men crazy drunk, for as it's been stormin'
and as the krik is up the boys couldn't work to-day. Then Shirley's give
out that he knowed you in Detroit, and that you was a very bad man back
there."
"If you men knew this Shirley as well as I do," said Mr. Willett, his
brown cheeks flushing with indignation, "you would not believe him under
oath. But what has this to do with my case? Have they not agreed to wait
till my son comes here with the papers to prove I paid Edwards in full
for his claim at Gold Cave Gulch?"
"Yes, they agreed to that when they was sober."
"But, surely, Mr. Collins, they do not think differently now," said Mr.
Willett.
"I'm afeerd they do. Hark! don't you hear 'em a-hollerin' and yellin'
and shootin' off their pistols?"
Mr. Willett and Hank Tims must have heard the noise even had their
hearing been less acute, for every minute it came nearer and nearer.
"When men get drunk," said Hank, "they become brutes. But you are here
to guard us, an' you are sober an' have yer judgment an' senses about
you. Now, Mr. Collins, do you know what I'd advise?"
"What?" asked Collins, who seemed at a loss what to do under the trying
circumstances.
"Either protect us till we've had a trial, or else give us back our
rifles and pistols and let us protect ourselves. What do you say?"
"I want to stand by you," said Collins, "but before I can 'gree to
anything I must see my friends."
He hurried out, and, blending with the yelling of the intoxicated mob,
the prisoners could hear the low tones of men in earnest conversation
just outside the tent.
"What do you think of the situation, Hank?" asked Mr. Willett, when they
were again alone.
"I think it is mighty bad," was the reply.
"But you surely do not think those men will shoot us down in cold
blood?"
"They've done such things before. If they was only sober they'd do near
right as they know how, but they ain't. Just hear how they yell! Talk
about Injuns an' savages, a drunken white man is meaner and more
bloodthirsty than all of 'em put together. Ah! It'd be a heap sight
better world if thar was never a drop of whisky in it," and Hank sighed
and shook his head.
He had but just ceased speaking when the flap of the tent was again
raised and Collins re-entered. This time he brought the rifles and
pistols that had been taken from the prisoners.
"Here!" he said, "we've agreed not to let you be kilt without a show.
But we may git you to a place where you'll be safe till the mob has a
chance to cool down. Quick! put on these things and foller me."
Mr. Willett and Hank fastened on their belts, and when they had done so,
Collins put out the lamp and led the way out of the tent.
It was very dark outside and the rain had been followed by a fierce
gale.
"Hang on to my arms, so's we won't git parted," said Collins as he
stepped between the two men whom he was gallantly determined to save
from the fury of the mob.
They hurried on through the darkness, the yelling of the crowd gradually
dying out behind them.
It seemed to Mr. Willett that they had walked several miles, and he was
wondering how their guide could be certain of his way in the inky
darkness, for from the time of starting he never hesitated for a moment,
when Collins came to a halt and said:
"This is the place. Now foller behind me and be very keerful, for the
path is steep and slippery, and if you should chance to lose your
footin' you'd shoot into the creek whar the water's forty foot deep
'bout this time."
Bracing themselves they followed Collins down a steep bank till they
came to the very edge of the seething torrent, then up along the uneven
shore they went for about a hundred yards and turned sharply to the
right.
At length they found themselves standing before a rock and wondering
what would happen next.
They were not long in doubt, for Collins lit a dark-lantern and its
glance of golden light revealed an opening in the rock very much like
the entrance to the old abode at Gold Cave Camp.
"This is whar me and Si Brill, my pardner, hold out," said Collins as he
led the way into the cave.
The place was somewhat contracted, but it had two beds, a fire-place and
cooking appliances, so that space was not a matter of any importance.
"I must thank you, my friend," said Mr. Willett with a great sense of
relief, "and I hope to be able to prove to you before long that your
kindness and courage have been exercised for innocent men."
"Yes," added Hank, "and for two men that would rather do a right, even
if it put them out of the way, than to think a wrong that paid big."
"I'll stand by you," said Collins, "and you must stand by me, for if it
was knowed I fotched you har, them fellers would make short work of me
and Si Brill. Si's back at the tent and I must go and hunt him up. But
what I was a goin' to say is, don't try to light out. Stay har till we
can have a fair trial. You'll find lots of grub in this corral, and I
don't want you to be hungry. When your son comes over from Gold Cave
Camp, Mr. Willett, I'll fotch him to you at once. And now, good-night,
for I won't be back again before sun-up."
"We certainly appreciate your kindness, Mr. Collins," said Mr. Willett
as he took the sturdy miner's hand, "and I can assure you that Hank and
I will remain here till you say we are free to leave."
"And if we get well out of this scrape an' you should chance to be in
the same fix," said Hank, "you ken bet your last cent we'll stand by you
as one good man should stand by another."
Putting out his lamp and warning them not to venture outside the cave
till they saw him again, Collins scrambled out and made his way back to
the tent in which the prisoners had been confined.
He found that the canvas had been torn down and slashed to pieces with
knives in the hands of the furious mob.
The shouting and the occasional pistol shots told that the mob had gone
back to the saloon, and while Collins was wondering whether he should go
there or not, he was joined by his partner, Si Brill.
"What's up now, Si?" asked Collins.
"I'm afeerd we're in for it," was the reply.
"What do you mean?"
"The mob believes we run the prizners off----"
"They do, eh?"
"Yes, and they swear if they ain't brought back by daylight, you and me
will have to fight for it."
"Well," said Collins slowly, "they ken have a fight."