CHAPTER XXV
_A Divided House_
In her little alcove at the Blue Goose Elise was gaining informationevery day of the progress of affairs, but in spite of impatience, inspite of doubt, she had seen nothing, heard nothing that seemed todemand immediate action on her part. She had made up her mind that acrisis was approaching. She had also determined with whom she would castin her lot.
It was late when Hartwell's team pulled up at the Blue Goose. A crowd ofexcited men surrounded it, but the driver and his companions made noreply to loud questions as they sprang from the wagon and entered thedoor. Morrison was the first to halt them. The driver broke out with astring of oaths.
"It's so. Jack Haskins's gang is coming. Hartwell is taken care of allright. If his crowd try to make it through the canon, there won't ahundred show up, to-morrow." He ended with a coarse laugh.
Morrison listened till the driver had finished. Then he turned towardPierre. Pierre was standing just in front of the alcove, hiding Elisefrom Morrison. Morrison advanced, shaking his fist.
"Now you've got it, you trimmer. What are you going to do? I told youthey were coming, and I've fixed for it."
Pierre stood with his hands in his pockets. There was the old oily smileon his face, but his eyes were dangerous. Morrison did not observe them.
"Why don't you speak? You're called." Morrison glanced over his shoulderat the silent crowd. "He's got a frog in his throat! The last one heswallowed didn't go down."
Morrison was very near death. He noticed the crowd part hurriedly andturned in time to look into the muzzle of Pierre's revolver. The partingof the crowd was explained.
An unlighted cigar was between Pierre's teeth. They showed gleamingwhite under his black moustache. Only bright points of light marked hiseyes between their narrowed lids. Still holding his revolverpoint-blank, with thumb and finger he raised and lowered the hammer. Thesharp, even click pierced Morrison's nerves like electric shocks. It wasnot in man to endure this toying with death. Surprise gave place tofear, and this in turn to mortal agony. His face paled. Great dropsstood out on his forehead, gathered and streamed down his face. Hefeared to move, yet he trembled. His legs shook under him. There was afinal stagger, but his terrified eyes never left Pierre's face. With ashuddering groan, he sank helpless to the floor. Pierre's smilebroadened horribly. He lowered his weapon and, turning aside, thrust itin his pocket.
Morrison had died a thousand deaths. If he lived he would die a thousandmore. This Pierre knew. For this reason and others he did not shoot.Pierre also knew other things. Morrison had refused to take heed to hiswords. He had gone his own way. He had made light of Pierre before themen. Last of all, he had gained courage to taunt Pierre to his face withweakening, had bitterly accused him of using Elise as a means ofingratiating himself with the Rainbow crowd. Pierre was not above takinga human life as a last resort; but even then he must see clearly thatthe gain warranted the risk. Morrison had been weighed and passed upon.A dead Morrison meant a divided following. A living Morrison, cowed andbeaten and shamed before them all, was dead to Pierre. This was Pierre'sreasoning, and he was right. The first step had been taken. The next onehe was not to take; but this fact did not nullify Pierre's logic. Giventime, Pierre knew that Morrison would be beaten, discredited, do what hewould.
Luna helped the fallen Morrison to his feet. The first thing Morrisonnoticed was Pierre walking away toward the private office. Luna againapproached Morrison with a brimming glass of brandy.
"Take this down. Lord! That was a nerve-peeler! I don't blame you forgoing under."
Morrison swallowed the liquor at a gulp. The pallor died away and a hotflush mounted his face.
"I've got him to settle with, too. I'll make him squeal before I'mdone."
The crowd had surged to the door to meet a swarm of howling men who hadjust come down from the mine. Three or four remained with Luna aroundMorrison. His voice was hoarse and broken.
"He's thrown us over. You see that? It's up to us to play it alone. He'sput it up to your face that he's with you, but he's playing against you.He can't stop us now. It's gone too far. The first tug is coming,to-morrow. We'll win out, hands down. The Rainbow first, then Pierre."He ended with a string of profanity.
Luna took up Morrison's broken thread.
"There's fifty men with rifles in the canon. Hartwell's gang will neverget through. The boys are going to shoot at sight."
"Where's Firmstone?" Morrison's face writhed.
"Up to the mine. He's getting in his work." Luna looked over hisshoulder at the crowd of miners.
"That's so. The foreman's fired. So am I. He is going to die boss." Theman grinned, as he held out a time check.
"He'll die, anyway." Morrison's jaws set. "You're sure he's at themine?"
"Dead sure. He's got his work cut out to-night. Lots of scabs held out.He's put the night boss in foreman." The man grinned again.
Morrison laid a hand on his shoulder.
"You're game?"
"You bet I am!"
"Go back to the mine to-night----"
"And miss all the fun down here?" the man interrupted.
Morrison's hand rested more heavily on the shoulder.
"Don't get flip. Have some fun of your own up there. The supe will hearthe racket down here early. He'll start down with his scabs to help out.Two men can start a racket there that will keep him guessing. If he'sstarted it will fetch him back. If he hasn't he won't start at all."
"What kind of a racket, for instance?"
Morrison swung impatiently on his foot.
"What's the matter with letting off a box or two of powder under thetram?"
"Nothing. Is that our job?"
"Yes. And see that it's done."
"That's me. Come on, Joe. Let's have a drink first."
These two were the penitents whom Firmstone had taken back.
The greater number of the men were crowded around the gilded bar,drinking boisterously to the success of the union and death to scabs andcompanies. A few, more sober-minded, but none the less resolute,gathered around Morrison. They were the leaders upon whom he dependedfor the carrying out of his orders, or for acting independently of themon their own initiative, as occasion might demand. With logic fiendishin its cunning, he pointed out to them their right to organise, laidemphasis on their pacific intentions only to defend their rights, andhaving enlarged upon this, he brought into full play Hartwell's fatalerror.
"You see," he concluded; "right or wrong, the company's gone in to win.They ain't taking no chances, and the law's at their backs. You knowHaskins's gang. You know what they're here for. They're here to shoot,and they'll shoot to kill. Suppose you go out like lambs? That won'tmake no difference. It'll be too tame for them, unless some one'skilled. What if it is murder and one of the gang is pulled? They've gotthe whole gang at their back and the company's money. Suppose we go outone by one and shoot back? Self-defence?" Morrison snapped his fingers."That's our chance to get off. We've got to pull together. In a generalmix-up, we'll be in it together, and there ain't no law to string up thewhole push. Stick together. That's our hold. If Haskins's gang is wipedout to-morrow, and that glass-eyed supe with them, who'll get jumped? Ifthe mine and mill both get blowed up, who's done it? The fellows who didit ain't going to tell, and it won't be good medicine for any one elseto do it, even if he wants to."
"Who's going to open up?" one of the men asked, soberly.
Morrison turned carelessly.
"That's a fool question. Folks that ain't looking for trouble don't putcaps and powder in a bag to play foot-ball with. Both sides are puttingup kicks. Who's to blame?"
The man looked only half convinced.
"Well, we ain't, and we don't want to be. If we keep quiet, and theyopen up on us, we've got a right to defend ourselves. Unless," he added,meditatively, "we get out beforehand, then there won't be any questionsto ask."
Morrison turned fiercely.
"How much did you get?"
"Get
for what?"
"How much did the company put up to stand you off?"
"I haven't been bought off by the company," the man answered, fiercely;"and I ain't going to be fooled off by you."
Morrison lifted his hand, palm outward.
"That's all right. Go right on, first door right. Go right in. Don'tknock. You'll find Pierre. He's scab-herding now."
Morrison passed among the thronging men, giving suggestions and ordersfor the morning's struggle. His manner was forced, rather thanspontaneous. Pierre's leaven was working.
To Elise at her desk it seemed as if the revel would never end. She hadmade up her mind what to do, she was awaiting the time to act. She didnot dare to leave her place now; Morrison would be certain to notice herabsence and would suspect her designs. There was nothing to do but wait.It was after one o'clock when, slipping out from the alcove, sheostentatiously closed the office-door and, locking it, walked throughthe passage that led to the dining-room. Her footsteps sounded loudly asshe went upstairs to her room. She intended they should. In her room,she took down a dark, heavy cloak, and, throwing it over her shoulders,drew the hood over her head. A moment she stood, then turned andsilently retraced her steps.
As the outside door closed noiselessly behind her, there was a momentarytightening around her heart. After all, she was leaving the only friendsshe had ever known. They were crude, coarse, uncouth, but she knew them.She knew that they would not remain ignorant of her actions this night.It would cut her off from them forever, and what was her gain?
Only those she had known for a day, those whose very words of kindnesshad shown her how wide was the gulf that parted her from them. How wideit was she had never realised till now when she was to attempt to crossit, with the return for ever barred. She recalled the easy grace of MissHartwell, considerate with a manner that plainly pointed to theirseparate walks in life. And Firmstone? He had been more than kind, butthe friendly light in his eyes, the mobile sympathy of his lips, thesedid not come to her now. What if the steel should gleam in his eyes, thetense muscles draw the lips in stern rebuke, the look that those eyesand lips could take, when they looked on her, not as Elise of the BlueGoose, but Elise, a fugitive, a dependant?
The colour deepened, the figure grew rigid. She was neither a fugitivenor a dependant. She was doing right; how it would be accepted was noconcern of hers.
The shadow of the great mountain fell across the gulch and lay sharp andclear on the flank of the slide beyond. Overhead, in the deep blue, thestars glinted and shone, steely hard. Elise shivered in a hithertounknown terror as she crept into the still deeper shadow of the stuntedspruces that fringed the talus from the mountain. She did not lookbehind. Had she done so she might have seen another shadow stealingcautiously, but swiftly, after her, only pausing when she passed fromsight within the entrance to the office at the mill.
Zephyr had despoiled the Blue Goose of its lesser prey. He had nointention of stopping at that.
Elise had gained her first objective point. It was long before the lightin Miss Hartwell's room over the office descended the stairs andappeared at the outer door. Her face was pale, but yet under control.Only, as she clasped the hand that had knocked for admission, she couldnot control the grasp that would not let go its hold, even when the doorwas relocked.
"It was very good of you to come."
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