The train was held up on its way to the Canadian frontier by a wash-out farther along the track. Devereux Clay stood in the noon sunshine talking to Osborne at a small wayside station while groups of impatient passengers strolled about the line, stopping now and then to glance at a gap in the somber firs where the rails gleamed in the strong sunshine; the engineer, leaning out from his cab, had his eyes turned in the same direction. There was, however, nothing to be seen but climbing trees, whose ragged spires rose one behind the other far up the steep hillside, and the fragrance the hot noon sun drew out from them mingled with the sharp smell of creosote from the ties. Except for the murmur of voices and the panting of the locomotive pump, it was very quiet in the narrow clearing, and the sound of falling water came up faintly from a deep hollow where a lake glittered among the firs.

Clay leaned against the agent’s wooden shack, with his watch in his hand, for time was of value to him just then.

“Twenty minutes yet, from what that fellow said,” he grumbled. “Give me a cigar – I’ve run out – and you needn’t wait.”

“Oh, I’m in no hurry,” said Osborne, glancing toward his automobile, which stood outside the station. “I suppose it’s the labor trouble that’s taking you to Vancouver?”

“You’ve hit it,” Clay answered in a confidential tone. “I’m a bit worried about things; but I’ve spent the last two days wondering whether I’d go or not.”

He was seldom so undecided, but Osborne thought he understood.

“It looks as if the unions meant business,” he said, “and in this agitation against alien labor they seem to have public sympathy. Have you any Japs at the mill?”

“I believe so. That’s partly why I’m going. Until I read the papers this morning I thought I’d stay away. I figured it might be better to let the boy worry through alone and see what he could make of it.”

“Let him win his spurs?”

“That’s right. I told him to sit tight, and so long as he made good I’d foot the bill; but after the big row in Vancouver yesterday, I thought I’d go along. Still, my notion is to keep in the background unless I find I’m badly wanted.”

His manner was half apologetic, and Osborne smiled. Clay was not addicted to hovering in the background when things were happening; but Osborne knew the affection he bore his son.

“It might be wiser for you to be on the spot; the white mob seems to be in an ugly mood,” he said. “How is Aynsley getting on?”

“Better than I expected. The boy has the right grip and he’s taking hold.” Clay turned abruptly and fixed Osborne with his eyes. “I was a bit puzzled about his making up his mind all at once that he’d run the mill. Do you know of anything that might have helped to persuade him?”

“Since you ask, I have a suspicion,” Osborne answered.

“So have I; I guess it matches yours. It’s like the young fool that a word from a girl who knows less than he does should have more effect than all the reasons I gave him.”

“It’s not unnatural,” Osborne smiled.

“Then suppose we’re right in our idea of what this points to? You know my boy.”

“I like him. Perhaps I’d better say that if I found that Ruth shared my good opinion, I shouldn’t object. But I can’t guess her views on the matter.”

“I know Aynsley’s,” Clay said dryly. “We had a talk not long ago, and I offered to see what I could do.”

Osborne gave him a searching glance and his expression changed. He looked on his guard.

“So far, you have been able to get your son everything he wished for; but you must understand that you can’t dispose of my daughter. Ruth shall please herself.”

Clay’s eyes gleamed with rather hard amusement.

“It’s curious that my boy said much the same thing. In fact, he warned me off. He knows how I’ve indulged him and seemed to think I might put some pressure on you.”

“In the present instance it wouldn’t have much effect; but what you say gives me a better opinion of Aynsley than I already had.”

“That’s all right,” Clay rejoined, dropping his hand on the other’s arm in a friendly manner. “We certainly can’t afford to quarrel, and I don’t know that it’s unfortunate our children are more fastidious than we are. Anyway, we don’t want them to find us out. I’d feel mean if my son disowned me.”

Osborne winced at this allusion.

“Aynsley stands prosperity well,” he said.

“In my opinion, it’s considerably less damaging than the other thing. I’m thankful I’ve done the grubbing in the dirt for him. I’ve put him where it’s easier to keep clean. So far as I can fix it, my boy shall have a better time than was possible for me. I’ve put him into business to teach him sense – I don’t know a better education for any young man than to let him earn his bread and butter. He’ll learn the true value of men and things; and when he’s done that and shown he’s capable of holding his own, he can quit and do what pleases him. I’ve no near relations, and there was a time when my distant connections weren’t proud of me. Everything I have goes to the boy; and if your daughter will take him, I’d know he was in good hands. If she won’t, I’ll be sorry, but he must put up with it.”

Osborne felt reassured. Clay had his good points, though they were not always very obvious, and perhaps the best was his affection for his son. Before Osborne could reply, Clay glanced again at his watch and resumed his usual somewhat truculent manner.

“If they get me into Vancouver after the trouble begins, I’ll see the road bosses in Seattle and have the superintendent of this division fired!” he announced.

At that moment the telegraph began to tick in the shack, and shortly afterward the agent came up to Clay.

“They’re through. We’ll get you off in five minutes, and I have orders to cut out the next two stops,” he said.

While he gave the conductor his instructions a shrill whistle rang through the shadows of the pines and a big engine with a row of flat cars carrying a gravel plow and a crowd of dusty men came clattering down the line. As they rolled into the side-track Clay climbed to the platform of his car, and almost immediately the train started. His face grew hard and thoughtful when he leaned back in a corner seat; and he had emptied the cigar-case his friend had given him before he reached Vancouver, where he hired the fastest automobile he could find.

—

While his father was being recklessly driven over a very rough road which ran through thick bush, Aynsley sat on a pile of lumber outside the mill with his manager. It was getting dark, the saws which had filled the hot air all day with their scream were still, and the river bank was silent except for the gurgle of the broad, green flood that swirled among the piles. A great boom of logs moored in an eddy worked with the swing of the current, straining at its chains; there was a red glimmer in the western sky, but trails of white mist gathered about the thinned forest that shut the clearing in. Only trees too small for cutting had been left, but the gaps between them were filled with massive stumps. Tall iron stacks, straggling sheds, and sawdust dumps took on a certain harsh picturesqueness in the fading light; and the keen smell of freshly cut cedar came up the faint breeze. But Aynsley had no eye for his surroundings. He was thinking hard.

After a brief experience, he had found, somewhat to his surprise, that his work was getting hold of him. The mechanical part of it in particular aroused his keen interest: there was satisfaction in feeling that the power of the big engines was being used to the best advantage. Then, the management of the mill-hands and the care of the business had their attractions; and Aynsley ventured to believe that he had made few mistakes as yet, though he admitted that his father had supplied him with capable assistants. Now, however, he must grapple with a crisis that he had not foreseen; and he felt his inexperience. There was, he knew, an easy way out of the threatened difficulties, but he could not take it. He must, so far as possible, deal effectively with an awkward situation, and, at the same time, avoid injustice, though that would complicate matters. The problem was not a novel one: he wanted to safeguard his financial interests and yet do the square thing.

“You think the Vancouver boys will come along and make trouble for us to-night, Jevons?” he asked presently.

The young manager nodded.

“That’s what I’m figuring on; and it’s quite likely the Westminster crowd will join them. They’ve been making ugly threats. I found this paper stuck up on the door when I made my last round.”

Aynsley read the notice.

This is a white man’s country. All aliens warned to leave. Those who stay and those who keep them will take the consequences.

“I suppose our keeping the Japs on is their only quarrel with us?”

“It’s all they state.”

“Well,” Aynsley said slowly, “if we give way in this, I dare say they’d find something else to make trouble about. When you begin to make concessions you generally have to go on.”

“That’s so,” agreed Jevons. “It looks to me as if the boys were driving their bosses, who can’t pull them up; but those I’ve met are reasonable men, and when the crowd cools off a bit they’ll get control again. They’d give us leave to run the mill if you fired the Japs.”

Aynsley frowned.

“I have received their deputations civilly, and during the last week or two I’ve put up with a good deal. We pay standard wages and I don’t think there’s a man about the place who’s asked to do more than he’s able. But I can’t have these fellows dictating whom I shall employ!”

“You have some good orders on the books for delivery on a time limit,” Jevons reminded him. “You’ll lose pretty smartly if we have to stop the mill.”

“That’s the trouble,” Aynsley admitted. “I’d hate to lose the orders; but, on the other hand, I hired these Japs when I couldn’t get white men, and I promised their boss I’d keep them until we’d worked through the log boom.”

“You might call him up and ask what he’d take to quit. It might work out cheaper in the end.”

Aynsley pondered this. Though he had not suspected it until lately, he had inherited something of his father’s character. He had seldom thought much about money before he entered the mill, but since then he had experienced a curious satisfaction in seeing the balance to his credit mount up, and in calculating the profit on the lumber he cut. Now he found the suggestion that he should throw away part of his earnings frankly impossible. It was, however, not so much avarice as pride that influenced him. He had taken to business seriously, and he meant to show what he could do.

“No,” he said decidedly. “I don’t see why I should let the mob fine me for being honest. I’d rather fight, if I’m forced to; and I’m afraid you’ll have to stand in.”

Jevons laughed.

“I don’t know that I’m anxious to back out. I tried to show you the easiest way, as a matter of duty; but there’s a good deal to be said for the other course. I don’t think there are any union boys still in the mill, and my notion is that the rancher crowd don’t mean to quit.”

Labor had been scarce that year, and Aynsley had engaged a number of small ranchers and choppers, who, as often happens when wages are high, had come down from their homesteads in the bush. They were useful men, of determined character, and were content with their pay.

“Well,” he said, “we may as well ask what the Japs think of doing; but they’re stubborn little fellows, and seem to have some organization of their own. Anyway, they whipped the mob pretty badly in Vancouver a day or two ago.”

Their leader, being sent for, explained in good English that, as their honorable employer had hired them to do certain work which was not yet completed, they meant to stay. On being warned that this might prove dangerous, he answered darkly that they had taken precautions, and the danger might not be confined to them. Then, after some ceremonious compliments, he took his leave; and Aynsley laughed.

“That settles the thing! They won’t go and I can’t turn them out. I have some sympathy with the opposition’s claim that this is a white man’s country; but since they couldn’t give me the help I wanted, I had to get it where I could. Now, we’ll interview the white crowd.”

They found the men gathered in the big sleeping-shed where the lamps had just been lighted. They were sturdy, hard-looking fellows, most of whom owned small holdings which would not support them in the bush, and they listened gravely while Aynsley spoke. Then one got up to reply for the rest.

“We’ve seen this trouble coming and talked it over. So long as you don’t cut wages, we’ve nothing much to complain of and see no reason for quitting our job. Now, it looks as if the Vancouver boys were coming to turn us out. We’ll let them – if they can!”

There was a murmur of grim approval from the rest; and Aynsley, dividing them into detachments, sent them off to guard the saws and booms and engine-house. Then he turned to the manager with a sparkle in his eyes.

“I think we’re ready for anything that may happen. You’ll find me in the office if I’m wanted.”

On entering it he took down a couple of books from a shelf and endeavored to concentrate his attention on the business they recorded. It was the first serious crisis he had had to face, and he felt that hanging idly about the mill while he waited for the attack would be too trying. Somewhat to his surprise, he found his task engross him, and an hour had passed when he closed the books and crossed the floor to the open window.

It was a calm, dark night, and warm. A star or two glimmered above the black spires of the pines, but the mist that drifted along the waterside blurred the tall stacks and the lumber piles. There was no sign of the men; and the deep silence was emphasized by a faint hiss of steam and the gurgle of the river.

Leaning on the sill, Aynsley drank in the soft night air, which struck on his forehead pleasantly cool. He admitted that he was anxious, but he thought he could keep his apprehensions under good control.

As he gazed into the darkness, a measured sound stole out of the mist, and, growing louder, suggested a galloping horse. It approached the mill, but Aynsley did not go down. If anybody wanted him, it would be better that he should be found quietly at work in his office; and he was seated at his table with a pen in his hand when a man was shown in. The newcomer was neatly dressed except that his white shirt was damp and crumpled. His face was hot and determined.

“I’ve come to prevent trouble,” he explained.

“I’m glad to hear it, because, as we both have the same wish, it ought to simplify things,” Aynsley responded. “Since yours is the party with a grievance, you’d better tell me what you want.”

“A written promise that you won’t keep a Jap here after to-morrow morning.”

“I can’t give it,” said Aynsley firmly. “I’ll undertake to hire no more and to let these fellows go when they have finished the work I engaged them for, if that will do.”

“It won’t; I can’t take that answer back to the boys. You must fire the Japs right off.”

Aynsley leaned forward on the table with a patient sigh.

“Don’t you understand that when two parties meet to arrange terms they can’t both have all they want? The only chance of a settlement lies in a mutual compromise.”

“You’re wrong,” said the stranger grimly. “The thing can be settled straight off if one of them gives in.”

“Is that what you propose to do?”

“No, sir! I don’t budge an inch! The boys wouldn’t let me, even if I thought it wise.”

“Then, as I can’t go as far as you wish, there’s no use in my making a move,” Aynsley answered coolly. “It looks as if we had come to a standstill and there was nothing more to be said.”

“I’ll warn you that you’re taking a big responsibility and playing a fool game.”

“That remains to be seen. I needn’t keep you, though I’m sorry we can’t agree.”

He went down with the man, and as they crossed the yard the fellow raised his voice.

“Come out from the holes you’re hiding in, boys!” he cried. “Are you going to back the foreigners and employers against your friends?”

Aynsley touched his shoulder.

“Sorry, but we can’t allow any speeches of that kind. You have an envoy’s privileges, so long as you stick to them, but this is breaking all the rules.”

“How will you stop me?” the fellow demanded roughly.

“I imagine you had better not satisfy your curiosity on that point,” Aynsley answered. “The man yonder has your horse. I wish you good-night.”

The envoy mounted and rode away into the darkness; and Aynsley sought his manager.

“I suspect his friends are not far off,” he said. “We had better go round again and see that everything’s ready.”

CHAPTER XIII – THE REPULSE

The night was dark and the road bad, and Clay leaned forward in the lurching car, looking fixedly ahead. The glare of the headlamp flickered across wagon ruts and banks of tall fern that bordered the uneven track, while here and there the base of a great fir trunk flashed suddenly out of the enveloping darkness and passed. Where the bush was thinnest, Clay could see the tiny wineberries glimmer red in the rushing beam of light, but all above was wrapped in impenetrable gloom. They were traveling very fast through a deep woods, but the road ran straight and roughly level, and talking was possible.

“You had trouble in the city lately. How did it begin?” Clay asked the driver. “I’m a stranger, and know only what’s in your papers.”

“The boys thought too many Japs were coming in,” the man replied. “They corralled most of the salmon netting, and when there was talk about prices being cut, the white men warned them to quit.”

He broke off as the car dropped into a hole, and it was a few moments later when Clay spoke.

“The Japs wouldn’t go?”

“No, sir; they allowed they meant to hold their job; and the boys didn’t make a good show when they tried to chase them off. Then, as they were getting other work into their hands, the trouble spread. The city’s surely full of foreigners.”

“You had a pretty big row a day or two ago.”

“We certainly had,” the driver agreed, and added, after a pause during which he avoided a deep rut, “The boys had fixed it up to run every blamed Asiatic out of the place.”

“I understand they weren’t able to carry their program out?”

“That’s so. I’ve no use for Japs, but I’ll admit they put up a good fight. Wherever the boys made a rush there was a bunch of them ready. You couldn’t take that crowd by surprise. Then they shifted back and forward and slung men into the row just where they were wanted most. Fought like an army, and the boys hadn’t made much of it when the police whipped both crowds off.”

“Looks like good organization,” Clay remarked. “It’s useful to know what you mean to do before you make a start. Have the boys tried to run off those who are working at the outside mills?”

“Not yet, but we’re expecting something of the kind. They’d whip them in bunches if they tried that plan.”

This was what Clay feared; it was the method he would have used had he led the strikers. When a general engagement is risky, one might win by crushing isolated forces; and Aynsley’s mill was particularly open to attack. It stood at some distance from both Vancouver and New Westminster, and any help that could be obtained from the civic authorities would probably arrive too late. There was, however, reason to believe that the aliens employed must have recognized their danger, and perhaps guarded against it. Clay knew something about Japs and Chinamen, and had a high respect for their sagacity.

He asked no more questions, and as the state of the road confined the driver’s attention to his steering, nothing was said as they sped on through the dark. Sometimes they swept across open country where straggling split-fences streamed back to them in the headlamps’ glare and a few stars shone mistily overhead. Sometimes they raced through the gloom beside a bluff, where dark fir branches stretched across the road and a sweet, resinous fragrance mingled with the smell of dew-damped dust. The car was traveling faster than was safe, but Clay frowned impatiently when he tried to see his watch. It was characteristic that although he was keenly anxious he offered the driver no extra bribe to increase the pace. He seldom lost his judgment, and the possibility of saving a few minutes was offset by the danger of their not arriving at all.

Presently they plunged into another wood. It seemed very thick by the way the hum of the engine throbbed among the trees, but outside the flying beam of the lamps all was wrapped in darkness. Clay was flung violently to and fro as the car lurched; but after a time he heard a sharp click, and the speed suddenly slackened.

“Why are you stopping?” he asked impatiently.

“Men on the road,” explained the driver. “I’m just slowing down.”

Clay could see nothing, but a sound came out of the gloom. There was a regular beat in it that indicated a body of men moving with some order.

“Hold on!” he cautioned, as the driver reached out toward the horn. “Let her go until we see who they are. I suppose there’s no way round?”

“Not a cut-out trail until you reach the mill.”

“Then we’ll have to pass them. Don’t blow your horn or pull up unless you’re forced to.”

The car slid forward softly and a few moments later the backs of four men appeared in the fan-shaped stream of light. As it passed them another four were revealed, with more moving figures in the gloom beyond. Most of them seemed to be carrying something in the shape of extemporized weapons, and their advance was regular and orderly. This was not a mob, but an organized body on its way to execute some well-thought-out plan. As the car drew nearer a man swung round with a cry, and the rearmost fours stopped and faced about. There was a murmur of voices farther in front; and, seeing no way through, the driver stopped, though the engine rattled on.

“Let us pass, boys; you don’t want all the road,” he called good-naturedly.

None of them moved.

“Where are you going?” one asked.

“To the Clanch Mill,” answered the driver before Clay could stop him.

The men seemed to confer, and then one stood forward.

“You can’t go there to-night. Swing her round and light out the way you came!”

Clay had no doubt of their object; and he knew when to bribe high.

“They’ll jump clear if you rush her at them,” he said softly. “A hundred dollars if you take me through!”

The car leaped forward, gathering speed with every second; and as it raced toward them the courage of the nearest failed. Springing aside they scrambled into the fern, and while the horn hooted in savage warning the driver rushed the big automobile into the gap.

For a few moments it looked as if they might get through. There was a confused shouting; indistinct, hurrying figures appeared and vanished as the shaft of light drove on. Some struck at the car as it passed them, some turned and gazed; but the men ahead were bolder, or perhaps more closely massed and unable to get out of the way in time.

“Straight for them!” cried Clay.

A man leaped into the light with a heavy stake in his hand.

The next moment there was a crash, and the car swerved, ran wildly up a bank, and overturned.

Clay was thrown violently forward, and fell, unconscious, into a brake of fern. When he came to, he was lying on his back with a group of men standing round him. He felt dazed and shaky, and by the smarting of his face he thought it was cut. When he feebly put up his hand to touch it he felt his fingers wet. Then one of the men struck a match and bent over him.

“Broken any bones?” he asked.

“No.” Clay found some difficulty in speaking. “I think not, but I don’t feel as if I could get up.”

“Well,” the man said, “it was your own fault; we told you to stop. Anyhow, you had better keep still a bit. If you’re here when we come back, we’ll see what we can do.”

Glancing quickly round, Clay saw the driver sitting by the wrecked car; and then the match went out. In the darkness the nearest men spoke softly to one another.

“What were you going to the mill for?” one man asked him.

“I had some business there,” Clay answered readily. “I buy lumber now and then.”

The men seemed satisfied.

“Leave them alone,” one suggested; “they’ll make no trouble and it’s time we were getting on.”

The others seemed to agree, for there was some shouting to those in front, and the men moved forward. Clay heard the patter of their feet grow fainter, and congratulated himself that he had obviously looked worse than he felt. Now that the shock was passing, he did not think he was much injured, but he lay quiet a few minutes to recover before he spoke to the driver.

“How have you come off?” he asked.

“Wrenched my leg when she pitched me out; hurts when I move it, but I don’t think there’s anything out of joint.”

“As soon as I’m able I’ll have to get on. How far do you reckon it is to the mill?”

“About two miles.”

Clay waited for some minutes and then got shakily up on his feet.

“You’ll find me at the C.P.R. hotel to-morrow if I don’t see you before,” he said; and, pulling himself together with an effort, he limped away along the road.

For the first half-mile he had trouble in keeping on his feet; but as he went on his head grew clearer and his legs steadier, and after a while he was able to make a moderate pace. There was no sign of the strikers, who had obviously left him well behind, but he pushed on, hoping to arrive not very long after them, for it was plain that he would be wanted. He was now plodding through open country, but there was nothing to be seen except scattered clumps of trees and the rough fences along the road. No sound came out of the shadows and all was very still.

At last a dark line of standing timber rose against the sky, and when a light or two began to blink among the trees Clay knew he was nearer the mill. He quickened his speed, and when a hoarse shouting reached him he broke into a run. It was long since he had indulged in much physical exercise, and he was still shaky from his fall, but he toiled on with labored breath. The lights got brighter, but there was not much to be heard now; though he knew that the trouble had begun. He had no plans; it would be time to make them when he saw how things were going, for if Aynsley could deal with the situation he meant to leave it to him. It was his part to be on hand if he were needed, which was his usual attitude toward his son.

An uproar broke out as he ran through an open gate with the dark buildings and the lumber stacks looming in front. Making his way to one of the huge piles of lumber, he stopped in its shadow, breathing hard while he looked about.

The office was lighted, and the glow from its windows showed a crowd of men filling the space between the small building and the long saw-sheds. They were talking noisily and threatening somebody in the office, behind which, so far as Clay could make out, another body of men was gathered. Then the door opened, and he felt a thrill as Aynsley came out alone and stood where the light fell on him. He looked cool and even good-natured as he confronted the hostile crowd; nothing in his easy pose suggested the strain Clay knew he must be bearing. As he fixed his eyes on the straight, handsome figure and the calm face, Clay felt that his son was a credit to him.

“I’d hate to see you get into trouble for nothing, boys,” Aynsley said in a clear voice. “If you’ll think it over, you’ll see that you have nothing against the management of this mill. We pay standard wages and engaged foreigners only when we could get nobody else. They’ll be replaced by white men when their work is done.”

“We’ve come along to see you fire them out to-night!” cried one of the strikers.

“I’m sorry that’s impossible,” Aynsley replied firmly.

“See here!” shouted another. “We’ve no time for foolin’, and this ain’t a bluffin’ match! The boys mean business, and if you’re wise, you’ll do what they ask. Now, answer straight off: Have we got your last word on the matter?”

“Yes,” said Aynsley; “you can take it that you have.”

“That’s all right,” said the spokesman. “Now we know how we stand.” He raised his voice. “Boys, we’ve got to run the blasted Japs off!”

There was a pause and a confused murmuring for nearly a minute. Clay, remaining in the shadow of the lumber, wondered whether it might not have been wiser had he struggled back to Vancouver in search of assistance; but, after all, the police had their hands full in the city, and he might not have been able to obtain it. Besides, he had been used to the primitive methods of settling a dispute in vogue on the Mexican frontier and in Arizona twenty years ago, and, shaken, bruised, and bleeding, as he was, his nerves tingled pleasantly at the prospect of a fight.

When the strikers began to close in on the office Clay slipped round the lumber stack, and was fortunate in finding Jevons, the manager.

“Mr. Clay!” exclaimed Jevons, glancing at his lacerated face.

“Sure,” said Clay. “Don’t mention that I’m here. My boy’s in charge so long as he can handle the situation.”

“It’s ugly,” declared Jevons. “Are you armed?”

“I have a pistol. Don’t know that I can afford to use it. What’s the program?”

Before Jevons could answer, there was a rush of dark figures toward the office, and a hoarse shout.

“The Japs first! Into the river with them!”

“Steady, boys!” Aynsley’s voice rang out. “Hold them, saw gang A!”

A confused struggle began in the darkness and raged among the lumber stacks. Groups of shadowy figures grappled, coalesced into a fighting mass, broke apart, surged forward, and were violently thrust back. There was not much shouting and no shots were fired yet, but Clay was keenly watchful as he made his way from place to place, where resistance seemed weakest, and encouraged the defenders, who did not know him. With rude generalship he brought up men from the less threatened flank and threw them into action where help was needed; but he realized that the garrison was outnumbered and was being steadily pushed back.