A BALKED ARREST
For a moment Graham's spirits sank like lead. Nolan, the stanch old
soldier who had been his foremost trooper friend and guide, was the man
of all others on whom he pinned his faith, on whose help he had relied,
and upon whose loyalty and devotion he was ready to stake his every
hope of success. And now--so said this former soldier and comrade--now
Nolan was here in Argenta, instead of up at the mines, here with a mob
of strikers, their leader and spokesman, chief of the crew, possibly,
that had nearly done to death the son of one of the principal directors
of Silver Shield.
That Breifogle was his father's enemy, and a leading spirit in the plot
to rob him, Geordie Graham knew full well. That Breifogle the younger
had been sent to Denver to watch for the coming of Dr. Graham, McCrea,
or others of the officers, all of whom he knew by sight and name, there
was every reason to believe; but that Nolan should take part in or
countenance the mobbing of the Breifogles, or any others of the
mine-owners, was abhorrent, if not impossible.
Now for the moment Geordie longed for the presence of McCrea, who had
remained in Denver in hopes of bringing local officials to their senses
and his terms. And McCrea, for his part, was at the same moment wishing
to Heaven he had followed Geordie's lead and pushed ahead for the field
of battle. The Denverite members of the board, warned of his presence,
had easily managed to elude him, and with others were now on their way
to Argenta for a special meeting, while McCrea was still held at a
distance, lured by an appointment for a conference to come off that
very morning at eleven, long three hours after the other conferees had
vanished from town.
But no older head was there to advise. Graham alone, representing the
aggrieved shareholders, was at the scene of action. He could take
counsel with no man on the ground. Win or lose he must decide and act
for himself. Here he sat in the cab of the Mogul, impatient only five
minutes back to push ahead for the mines, to get away without
recognition. Now it might well be that the point at which to act was
right here in town.
"The mine is being operated at heavy expense and loss," had been the
latest wail from the secretary. "There is not ore enough in sight to
begin to pay the wages of the men. Yet every test convinces us that
abundant results must follow further development." Another assessment,
therefore, on top of all previous levies, had been the imperative
demand. Geordie did not know it, but that pound was the last that broke
the hold of three. They had sold their stock for what it would bring,
and Breifogle and his clique were laughing in their sleeves. They knew
there was ore in abundance, both in sight and touch. Geordie and McCrea
believed it, and believed that if the one could establish the fact,
and the other could bring the directors to book with proof of foul
measures to squeeze out the small shareholders, victory would be in
their hands.
But what was to be done now? By this time the fact that young Breifogle
had been fearfully beaten must be known to every man about the station,
and was swiftly racing to the opening doors of every shop, office, and
homestead in town. By this act the miners had destroyed every hope of
sympathy, or even, possibly, of justice. Whatever their grievance it
could not warrant murder. But what _was_ their grievance? What could
have precipitated trouble at the mines and a wholesale walkout at
Silver Shield? What could have brought the miners, nearly a hundred
strong, here to Argenta, with Nolan at their head--Nolan, who had been
the company's faithful servant, the best manager of men, the most
level-headed and reliable "boss" at the Silver Shield?
Toomey's friend had hurried away, for sound of increasing excitement
came from the groups, now merging into one, about the telegraph
office. Big Ben swung himself out of the cab once more, and with arms
akimbo stood watching the distant gathering, wishing Cullin would come
with orders or else with explanation of the delay. This left Graham and
Toomey alone in the cab, and Toomey's first question was, "What can you
do now, sir?"
"Find Nolan," was the brief answer, "and get to the bottom of this."
"Orders may come any minute," said Toomey, looking anxiously over his
shoulder. "We'll have to pull out and go ahead. You couldn't--stay here
at Argenta, could you?"
"I may _have_ to. Here's Cullin now."
"But no orders," said Toomey, with a gasp of relief, for from far over
the tracks, catching sight of his watchful engineer, Cullin had waved
his hand, palm towards them, twice to and fro, a gesture so like the
Indian sign "No go" that Geordie knew its meaning at a glance. Silently
they awaited his coming and listened, breathless, for his tidings when
he came.
"What's the row about?" asked Ben, as Cullin reached them, breathing
hard.
"Why, about their boss, it seems. The company gave him the bounce
yesterday, and ordered him off the premises. He demanded fair play and
a hearing, and then young Breifogle, who had gone up with the order for
his discharge, began abusing him. Nolan--that's the man's name--called
him down, and then Breifogle broke loose and cursed him, called him
traitor and all manner of names, and ordered some of his men to throw
him out. They did it, too, and brought on a fight. Breifogle and his
friends were armed and the men were not. They shot two miners, arrested
the 'ringleaders,' as they called 'em, and locked 'em up. Then the men
quit the mine and laid for Breifogle when he tried to get out. He hired
a rig and drove t'other way, out to Miners' Joy, slid out on the Narrow
Gauge last night, and there was a dozen of 'em headed him off down at
the Junction. Nolan and his crowd had come down here to see the
directors and get their rights. Of course some of them did it, and
there you are!"
"Where's Nolan now?" asked Toomey.
"Where _is_ he? Over at the company's office waiting for the directors,
when he ought to be making tracks for Mexico."
Graham's heart had been beating harder with every word. It bounded with
wrath as he listened to this, yet listened in silence and stern
self-control. But Toomey got a dig in the ribs that plainly said, "Make
him say why."
"'Twouldn't be like Long Nolan to be skipping when he's needed by his
friends," growled Toomey. "He's no quitter, if he _was_ at Powder
River," whereby it was Cullin's turn to get a dig, and little did he
relish it.
"That's another I owe you, Toomey," said he, "and we'll settle it
by-and-by. Just now I'm thinking for your friend, if you are not. I
knew him before ever you did, and would go ten miles to your one to
help him. What you haven't sense enough to see is, that it won't be an
hour before the sheriff's after him with a warrant, and if Breifogle
dies he'll swing, sure as death. He was raving when they threw him out
of the gate, and swore he would get even with Breifogle, and when it
comes to trial there'll be a dozen witnesses to swear that he _did_.
What kind of a trial do you think he'd have here at Argenta, with half
the town owned by Breifogle & Co.?"
This was, indeed, putting a new face on it, and still Graham listened
in silence, trying to control the quiver and tingle of his nerves.
There came a sudden call from the office. Shoving his way through the
little mass of miners on the platform, the station-agent stepped to the
edge and waved a hand to Cullin, but the hand was empty. The release
order had not come. The big Mogul and the freight were still held, and
now it was much after seven, and Argenta all astir. Cullin turned
doggedly away. He seemed to know what was coming and did not half like
it. Leaping down from the platform and striding over the
cinder-blackened ties, the agent met him before he crossed the second
track--met him and spoke in tone so low even Big Ben could not hear.
All three men at the cab, they could not help it, were listening
eagerly. It was easy to see, however, that the station-master was
seeking information Cullin could not or dared not give. Every gesture,
the upheaved shoulders, the sideward droop of the head, the forward
toss of the hands, palms to the front, all as much as said, "Don't ask
me." Then the agent turned slowly away, walked a dozen steps, looked
back, and called:
"I'll tell 'em what you say, but you'd better come yourself. Narrow
Gauge'll get 'the Old Man' on the wire presently, then you'll have to.
I'm betting they hold you here till you do."
"Not if I know myself or--my orders," growled Cullin, as he returned,
black-browed, to the cab.
"What's up?" asked Big Ben, presently, seeing that the conductor waited
to be asked.
"Why, those Narrow Gauge fellows--they're owned here, you know--claim
that two of their men were shot by the same gang that did up Breifogle.
They're wiring both ways from the Junction, up here for sheriff and
detectives, and down to the Springs for Bob Anthony. They say No. 4
and I both know things about the slugging we haven't told. They say No.
4 took three of the sluggers away, and that we're hiding some to take
up into the mountains and turn 'em loose where they'll be safe. The
only man with us is--this kid," and Cullin looked up darkly into the
cab, his gloomy eyes on Geordie's coal-blackened face.
Now, indeed, it was time for action, and, quietly as he could, Geordie
put the question:
"Did you tell them you had a stranger in the cab?"
"Told 'em you were the only thing--or kind--I had."
"But you told them I'd come all the way with you from Chimney Switch,
did you not?"
"I didn't tell 'em anything except what I said to Folder here--the
station-master. I told 'em, through him, if they wanted anything on
this train they needn't ask me. I wasn't responsible."
Graham and Toomey exchanged quick glances. A wretched end would it be
to all their planning if Geordie should now be dragged off the cab as
accessory to the assault on young Breifogle, his helpless charge and
patient of the early morning hours.
Yet that was just what now was likely to happen. Resentful of there
being a mystery about the cab, a secret he was not allowed to share--an
outsider made known by Cullin's superiors to Cullin's subordinates, yet
not presented to him--true to human nature Cullin had told what Geordie
would conceal. In less than no time the enemy would know 705 had
brought a stranger within their gates who was too wary to come by
passenger-train. In less than ten minutes they might be there with a
warrant for his arrest.
And at that very moment there went up a shout from the group of miners
at the office. One of their kind had come running in, breathless and
alarmed. Three or four words only had he spoken, but they were enough.
As one man the twoscore turned and ran for the broad street beyond the
passenger station, were swallowed up in the gap between the express and
baggage sheds and the passenger waiting-rooms, and could be heard
shouting loudly beyond the high board fence--a chorus of cheers that
seemed to start near the main entrance and went travelling on the wings
of the wind westward up the lively street.
And a moment later, even while they were wondering, out came "Folder
here," the agent--this time paper in hand and waving for Cullin.
"Orders at last," said Cullin, and sprang to get them. And this time
both Graham and Toomey swung from the cab and eagerly followed.
"Warrant out for Nolan!" they heard Folder say, "but they'll not get
him here. The gang has whisked him away to the Fort and beyond, I
reckon; and the sheriff who goes to Silver Shield takes his life in his
hands." Then his eyes fell on the two firemen. "One of _you's_ wanted,"
he added, "but I don't know which, and they're coming now."
He pointed down the yard toward the east entrance. Almost on the run,
two men came hurrying in. Toomey grabbed Geordie's sleeve. "They
sha'n't have you _here_, anyhow. Jump for the cab." And jump they did,
all three. Moved now by some indefinable sympathy he had not felt
before, Cullin urged them on, and thrust the order into Big Ben's hairy
fist as it swung from the window. Ben gave one glance, his left hand
grasping the lever; Toomey made a flying leap for the bell-cord;
Geordie scrambled in after; hiss went the steam-cocks; clang went the
bell, and with an explosive cough that shook her big frame almost free
of the rails the Mogul heaved slowly ahead. The shortened "Time
Freight" picked up its heels and came jerkily after, and with her
ponderous drivers rolling swifter and swifter, and the heavy panting
speedily changing to short, quick, and quickening puffs, faster and
faster big 705 swung clear of the switch-points, smoothly rounded to
the main line, and with its dozen brown chickens following close,
Indian file, after the fussy old hen in the lead, away went the fast
freight, flaunting its green flags at the rear in the face of the
pursuit, and the deputies drew up disgusted at the edge of the yard,
their signals and their shouts unheeded.