A THREATENING STORM
“You’re right, Frank,” remarked Bob, after a searching look.
“I wonder if he expected us?” suggested the other, as they continued
to advance up the trail that led through the canyon.
“Why, how under the sun could he?” exploded Bob. “We didn’t send any
word about our visit, you know. And besides, only for your father’s
lame leg, he would have made the journey himself.”
“Oh! I know all that, Bob; but what I mean is this: You can see he is
waving at us as if in friendly greeting. Now, at such a time as this,
with a strike on at the mine, most likely, any stranger coming toward
the Cherry Blossom would be looked on with suspicion by the men who
were out.”
“I reckon you’re right,” declared Bob, eager to know all that was
passing in the active mind of his chum.
“Well, you can see that this party is beckoning as if he wanted to
have us speed up our horses still more on this sharp rise. He’s
anxious to have us join him. Can you guess why, Bob?”
“Say, d’ye suppose that he could have sent that queer note?” asked
the other.
“Just what I’ve been thinking,” replied Frank, nodding. “Look at it
yourself, and see if it doesn’t stand to reason.”
“Well, so far as I can see, the fellow who sent that letter without a
signature at the bottom would be the only one expecting somebody to
come over here from Circle Ranch,” Bob remarked.
“Sure. And as we get closer I’m beginning to think I know who he is,”
said Frank.
“Someone you met when over here before, I reckon.”
“Yes, now I’m sure of it,” the other answered, slowly. “His name is
Sandy McCoy, and he’s a young Scotchman who drifted to the mines a
year or so back. I remember he told me he used to be an engineer on
board a tramp steamer; but, getting tired of the sea, he started in
to try mining.”
“What did you think of him at the time?” asked Bob.
“As near as I can remember I was favorably impressed. He seemed to be
a bluff fellow, and his eyes were as steady as a rock. On the whole,
McCoy impressed me as a man to be trusted. My father thought the
same; because he said to me on the way home, that if he had to make
a change of overseers for any reason, he believed that Scotchman was
the chap for the job.”
“That was a year or more ago, Frank?”
“Yes, fully that; before you came, you know,” replied the prairie boy.
“But there has been no occasion for a change since then, eh?” Bob
continued.
“Things seem to have just drifted along somehow,” the other answered.
“Yet you heard grumblings every little while, didn’t you?” Bob asked.
“We sure did; but anybody who has a big gang of men working, expects
that sort of thing; and Gustave Riley seemed to know how to handle
the miners. He’s pretty much of a tyrant in some things; but then it
takes a strong hand to manage thirty or forty rough characters, such
as we employ.”
“Well, it looks now pretty much as if the cork had popped out of the
bottle. If the men have struck, the trouble is apt to be all the
harder to manage because it has held off so long, Frank.”
“I suppose that’s right,” remarked the other, gloomily.
“But see here,” Bob continued, as he watched the actions of the lone
sentinel who waited their coming; “McCoy doesn’t seem to be as much
tickled as he was. Fact is, Frank, he looks a bit disappointed.”
At that Frank laughed a little.
“Well,” he said, “wouldn’t you, if you had sent for help, and saw
only a couple of boys coming in answer to your letter?”
“Then you think he expected your father to hurry over here with
a dozen or twenty cowboys, to help put down the rebellion?” Bob
demanded.
“It strikes me that’s about the size of it,” Frank assented. “But
we’re nearly up to him now, and must soon know the facts.”
Bob was looking at the man who waited for them, and trying to read
something of his character from his countenance. It was a typical
Scotch face, with high cheekbones, freckles, a red mustache and
beard, and blue eyes. Bob told himself that Sandy McCoy was an
absolutely fearless kind of man, just the sort to knock around the
world, and fill many positions that required courage and honesty,
with credit.
“Hello! Sandy! how are you?” called Frank, as he and Bob drew close
to the spot where the other stood.
Although McCoy had a decided “burr” to his voice, he seemed to speak
decent English; and the first thing he said was:
“Where’s your father, Frank?”
“Back home on the ranch, nursing a broken leg,” replied the boy.
The man frowned, and seemed to gnaw at his stubby red mustache.
“I’m sorry for that,” he remarked. “But I suppose he sent some of the
men along with ye, Frank?”
Frank made a motion with his hand that included his companion.
“Here’s the crowd, Sandy,” he remarked; “just my chum, Bob Archer,
and myself. His father is interested in the Cherry Blossom along with
my dad. And we’ve come to see what the trouble is, and try to fix
things up.”
The other frowned, and then grinned, as he observed quaintly:
“I’ve heard how in one of the battles of your great war the Union
forces were retreating in a panic, and received reinforcements in the
shape of one man, and him General Phil Sheridan. But he coaxed his
men to face the other way, and they won the victory. Perhaps this may
be another Cedar Creek, Frank. But it looks like a tough proposition,
boy; a tough puzzle for a lad to work out.”
“Then there’s a strike on, Sandy?” questioned Frank.
“Yes, it came at last, after long threatening,” replied the other. “I
was just on the point of leaving the mine, to go back to the sea,
when the storm began to show signs of breaking; so I changed my mind,
and determined to see it through.”
“Are all the men against us, Sandy?” asked Frank, anxiously.
“Well, not all,” replied the other, with a humorous grin. “There’s
the foreman, Mr. Riley, the two water boys, one other man, and myself
standing by ye, Frank.”
The lad whistled, and looked at his chum.
“That looks pretty serious, eh, Bob?” he remarked. “And I reckon
it’ll be worse before it’s much better. But there’s always a way out
of these things. The men have a grievance, and Riley is inclined to
be a pig-headed man. Up to a certain point it’s a good quality in a
boss; but once in a while an overseer ought to know how to bend a
little.”
“Mr. Riley has done wonders here, Frank,” remarked the Scotch
engineer; “but as ye say he’s lacking in diplomacy. I tried to advise
him how this storm might have been headed off, but he snapped his
fingers in my face. Then I thought your father ought to get on the
ground to see for himself how matters were drifting.”
“You wrote that note, then, Sandy?” asked Frank.
“You’re right, I did,” replied the other, shrugging his shoulders,
as if to say that after all his trouble there did not seem to have
been much come from it; as an addition of two half-grown boys would
hardly help matters any.
“But you didn’t say as much as you might; how was that, Sandy?”
“I’ll tell you, Frank,” replied the other. “You must understand that
I feel for the men in this case. They have some cause for kicking.
There are a number of things that ought to be changed; but Mr. Riley
says no, and when he sets his face against a thing all heaven and
earth can’t make him back water.”
“Well, perhaps there may be a way out of that, Sandy,” remarked
Frank. “From what you say I imagine you wanted my dad on the ground,
believing that he would see what was wrong, and change it.”
“He is a just man, and believes in the square deal. Yes,” went on
the other, “I wanted him to come, and reason with the men. They are
feeling pretty bitter about it now, and it wouldn’t take much to make
them riot. The place is like a powder magazine, where a single spark
will bring an explosion. Perhaps the very fact of your coming may
bring that result, Frank!”
“Oh! I don’t think so, Sandy,” replied the boy, smilingly. “But come,
let’s head for the mine. I want to get at the bottom of this matter
as soon as I can. You’ve been watching the trail for an answer to the
note you sent by that Indian?”
“For two days, now, Frank. And all the while the pot has kept
simmering, getting hotter and hotter. The works are shut down because
there’s no man to run the stamps. And we never had as big a month as
the last has been. I heard Mr. Riley say it beat the record.”
He walked alongside Frank, talking as he went. Bob was keenly on the
alert, knowing now that exciting events were going to happen before
long.
In a little while they came to the brow of a small hill, and there,
just before them, the boys could see the straggling building that
represented one of the best paying gold mines in all Arizona. But no
sign of smoke arose above the crusher or the stamp mill. Everywhere
brooded a silence. It seemed like the ominous hush that often
precedes the breaking of the storm.
Men could be seen, big brawny fellows in rough mining costume,
lounging around in small knots, as though discussing the situation.
Immediately attention seemed to be drawn toward the three moving
figures, for hands were pointed toward them.
“Listen, would you, Frank?” said Bob, as loud cries began to be
heard, while the men started toward them, others coming out of
shacks to join the crowd.
Bob could not keep from viewing the coming of the mob with more or
less anxiety, for he saw weapons being brandished; and some of the
shouts seemed to have an angry ring about them, as though the miners
might welcome a chance to visit their wrath upon the son and heir of
the principal owner of the Cherry Blossom mine!