THE ATTACK.
The powder-house backed up against the rear wall of the laboratory.
It was small, constructed of stone, and was considerably dilapidated
through disuse. In earlier days it had answered very well as a
storing-place for high-explosives, but that was when the Three-ply
Mine was young, and had not expanded to its present dimensions. Now,
owing to the mine’s growth, the old powder-house was altogether too
close to the scene of operations for safety, and another storeroom
had been built farther up the hillside.
Very quietly Buffalo Bill, Nomad, and the baron took up their
quarters in the ruinous structure, swung the battered old door into
place, and seated themselves on the pounded-clay floor.
The scout and the baron had each a six-shooter, which had been given
to them by McGowan, together with a supply of cartridges.
By the time they were safely ensconced in their hiding-place, the sun
was on the rise and the camp was astir.
Peering through the chinks in the stone wall, the baron could look
at the chuck-shanty, and could see Frieda bobbing out and in while
making ready the miners’ breakfast.
“Ach, sooch a fine girl vat id iss!” he wheezed, with both hands on
his heart.
“Fergit et!” growled Nomad. “Ye’ve got somethin’ else ter think
erbout now, baron.”
“I can’t t’ink oof nodding but Frieda!”
“Ye ort ter hev said so afore we come inter camp; then we could have
left ye with Cayuse an’ ther hosses.”
“Nod on your life, Nomat!” murmured the baron vehemently. “I vant to
blay efen mit dot Pernritter und dot Chacops, who gold-bricked me und
almost got me in chail. Oof id hadn’t peen for Puffalo Pill I vould
haf peen in der chail dis minid, und dot vould haf fixed me for keeps
mit Frieda. She vouldn’t like some fellers ven he vas in der lock-up.”
The baron, gazing soulfully through the crack in the wall, continued
to watch for stray glimpses of Frieda.
“Thet Bernritter, Buffler,” said Nomad to the scout, “come purty
nigh hevin’ things his own way hyar. He had got McGowan’s darter ter
agree ter marry him, an’ then he went on bunkoin’ her daddy out o’
ther funds ter live on. What er fool ther super is! Ef he’d a-played
honest, he would prob’ly hev married ther gal; an’ then, sooner er
later, he’d hev got all the old man’s money.”
“He’s an out-and-out rascal, Nick,” said the scout; “no two ways
about that. But maybe McGowan is misinformed. Perhaps Bernritter’s
suit for the girl’s hand was only a blind to give him a better
‘stand-in’ with her father. That’s the only way I can account for it.”
Suddenly the mill-whistle blew a long blast. As soon as the echoes of
the whistle died away, the roar of the stamps ceased abruptly, and an
unnatural silence pervaded the valley.
The day-shift men could be seen running out of the bunk-house and the
night-shift men, grouped about a water-trough, began washing the
grime from their faces preparatory to breakfast.
The men skylarked among themselves like a lot of schoolboys.
Once more the whistle blew, and there was a general movement in the
direction of the chuck-shanty.
“I vish,” sighed the baron, “dot I vas going in dere mit der rest.”
Half an hour later another shrill blast called the day-shift in mine
and mill to their work, and the tired men of the night-shift came
out of the chuck-shanty and made for the bunk-house. The Mexicans
proceeded to their pick-and-shovel and wheelbarrow work about the
tanks, and Jacobs could be heard moving around in the laboratory.
With Jacobs astir so close at hand conversation between those in the
old powder-house could not be indulged in.
The hours dragged slowly. The mill was the heart of the camp, and it
was strange how lifeless the place seemed while the mill was out of
commission.
Occasionally Bernritter showed himself between the mill, where the
clean-up was going forward, and the office. Once he met Jacobs in the
open, and the two exchanged words. The scout and the trapper, peering
out from their place of concealment, noticed that both men seemed
furtive and apprehensive. When they separated, Jacobs skulked back to
his laboratory like a man who was fearful of what was to come.
The pards in the old powder-house munched their rations calmly.
They were there for “business,” and their one desire was to get the
business over as swiftly as possible.
A blast of the mill-siren told them that noon had come. Again was
there a flocking in the direction of the bunk-house, but there were
not so many men at dinner as there had been at breakfast. All the
miners and millmen on the day-shift had carried their dinners into
mine and mill with them.
As the miners on the night-shift loitered back toward the bunk-house,
McGowan, with a bundle under his arm wrapped in canvas, followed them.
“There, Nick,” whispered the scout in the trapper’s ear, “McGowan
is going to arm the miners and tell them to be on the lookout for
trouble.”
“Wonder ef he has posted ther millmen yet?” returned Nomad.
“If he hasn’t, he will. McGowan is mad clear through. When I showed
him that stolen amalgam I expected it would swing him around to our
side with a whole heart. That’s just what it did. I wouldn’t stand in
Bernritter’s shoes for all the gold in these hills.”
Some time later the pards could hear men coming into the laboratory
and going out again. They were not in a position to see what was
going on in the direction of the mill, as the laboratory shut off
their view, but they gathered that the clean-up had been finished,
and that the amalgam was being brought into the laboratory for Jacobs
to “retort” and run down into bar-bullion.
The movement of men from mill to laboratory ceased. At about the
same time Bernritter and McGowan left the office and made for the
laboratory.
As they drew close to the building, McGowan passed on ahead and
Bernritter dropped behind. The alert pards could see the super cast
an upward look at one of the hills that rimmed in the valley; and,
as he looked, he waved his hand.
Swerving his eyes to the hilltop, Buffalo Bill caught sight of a
white man’s head and shoulders just vanishing downward.
“That was a signal!” whispered the scout. “The thieves are making
ready for the attack.”
“Hadn’t ve pedder ged oudt und ged pizzy?” champed the impatient
baron.
“No,” answered the scout sharply. “Don’t make a move till I give you
the word. I’ll tell you what to do then, _and you do it.”_
McGowan and Bernritter could be heard entering the laboratory. An
instant after their heavy footfalls had sounded on the plank floor of
the small house there came sounds of a quick scramble, a sharp cry,
and a heavy fall.
Nomad leaped instinctively.
“Wait!” breathed the scout. “Wait for the attack!”
“But ther villains hev downed McGowan, Buffler!” gasped Nomad.
“Undoubtedly; but they won’t add murder to their crime, if they can
help it. McGowan is safe enough, for the present. I reckon that will
open his eyes as to Bernritter’s character!”
A tall man could be seen hurrying around the old powder-house toward
the laboratory door. That was Andy O’Connell. He had heard the
scuffle and the cry, and was not waiting for the mill-whistle to call
him to the counter-attack.
O’Connell, however, did not reach the laboratory door. Suddenly he
paused and whirled about, jerking a revolver from his pocket as he
did so.
At the foot of the hill, where Buffalo Bill had seen the
disappearing head and shoulders of Bascomb, was a pack of armed
Apaches, rushing like wolves in the direction of the laboratory
building. A white man was in the lead, springing over the ground with
long leaps.
“Nomad,” said the scout, starting up, “you and the baron will get
into the laboratory building and prevent the amalgam from being
taken. _Now!_”
The door was flung open and the three pards rushed out. The trapper
and the baron, bent only on carrying out orders, paid no attention to
O’Connell or the onrushing Bascomb and his Apaches. Their business
was to get into the laboratory--and they went at it.
O’Connell, whirling around and seeing the three issue from
the powder-house, made up his mind that they were part of the
attacking-force, and had been concealed in the powder-house for no
good.
He raised his revolver and would have sent a bullet after Nomad had
the scout not grabbed his arm and threw it upward.
“I’m Buffalo Bill!” cried the scout; “those men are my pards! We’re
helping McGowan. Get into the laboratory and help stand off those red
scoundrels. Quick!”
Without waiting for more, Buffalo Bill dashed around the end of the
laboratory and rushed for the cyanid-tanks.
Rushing up an incline that led to a plank toe-path along the rim of
the tanks, the scout pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and waved
it.
The engineer, faithful to instructions, was on the watch. The instant
the handkerchief began to wave, the mill-whistle took up its wild
clamor and sent ominous echoes through the camp.
The men poured out of the bunk-house and out of the mill.
Up to that moment not a shot had been fired, but the mill-whistle was
followed by a chorus of yells from the white defenders and a burst of
fierce whoops from the attacking reds.
A revolver cracked; then the popping broke suddenly into a
fusillade--and the fight for the Three-ply bullion was on.