He had no idea what might be happening in and about the shack, but he realised that only within its walls was his small force formidable. Only he and Williams possessed rifles. The revolvers of the others were of small service except at closer range than was apt to offer. He knew the bohunks well enough to feel certain that an attack at close quarters would be attempted only when defence was practically beaten down.

 

The silence told him that no immediate danger threatened; he did not doubt that the Indian was somewhere on guard. Uncertain, however, how closely the shack was invested, he crept carefully forward to reconnoitre.

 

It gave him time to canvass the situation. As far as the curve of the river behind the shack were too few trees to cover serious attack from that direction. Probably the survey for the grade had chosen this line of contact between prairie and forest because of the small expense of clearing the right of way.

 

It was certain, therefore, that the danger lay in front, where the forest across the grade, and the elevation of the grade itself, protected the besiegers. The bohunks would be slow to expose themselves. Indeed, there was no need that they should, since escape was impossible. Not only was there nowhere to flee, but without its defenders the trestle would be at the mercy of the I.W.W.

 

Mahon did not trouble to speculate as to the end of the affair. His duty was to fight to the last, to protect life first and then the work of the contractors. Only when he remembered Tressa did his thoughts pass beyond the immediate future. Fortunately his wife, alone three miles away, did not enter his mind as a matter for anxiety.

 

Arrived within a stone's throw of the shack, and having heard no sound, he knew that his conclusions as to the disposition of the bohunks were correct. Swinging out wide of the grade, he skirted about in the darkness in search of isolated prowlers. The stable was reached without incident.

 

The late moon was rising, low still but clear enough to throw a dim light and touch the tops of the evergreen trees with a cold radiance so wild and pure that Mahon found it hard to believe in the perils urging him on. In an hour the light would be strong enough to expose movement within the danger zone, though the size of the moon and a thin autumn mist limited it; and the low arc promised long shadows. Far to the south drifted the running echo of coyotes on the hunt, a shriek and a howl that never failed to stir the Sergeant's blood though he had lived with it for years. For a moment he longed for the old prairie life--the coyotes--the feeding cattle--the cowboys and the sweeping open spaces.

 

As he crawled from the stable to the back door a dim shadow moved round the corner of the shack and disappeared toward the trestle. Though no sound went with it, he was not alarmed. He challenged in a low voice. No reply. He stood erect to expose his uniform and called again. But the thing he had seen filtered into the vague moon shadows and was gone.

 

Knocking at the door, he waited for a reply. Not a sound reached him, yet he felt that ears were listening. He tried the latch, found it caught, and whispered his name. Immediately the door opened and Tressa Torrance seized his arm.

 

"All right here?" he enquired.

 

"Where's Adrian?" Calm and undisturbed was the tone, but he could feel her hand tremble on his arm.

 

"He'll be all right," he replied cheerily. "No mere bohunk ever got the better of Adrian Conrad. Who went out just now?"

 

"The Indian. He's been waiting for you."

 

"Oh!"

 

"Tell me, is it true--what he told us?"

 

"Only too true. They fired on us up the track."

 

She heaved a deep breath. "That was what we heard. Nothing more. I was afraid--Conrad hasn't come. . . . And the Indian wouldn't let any one leave the shack."

 

He took her hands in his and held them tight. "Miss Torrance, much of the outcome of to-night depends on you. We're going to fight harder for you than for everything else lumped together. I must ask you to forget Adrian for the time being. May we trust you?"

 

Her reply was a return squeeze to the hands that held hers.

 

"I'll not flinch," she said. "But I'm not giving up hope."

 

He laughed. "Adrian will be proud of you."

 

He dropped her hand and turned back to the door. "Lock it behind me," he ordered. "In fifteen minutes exactly I'll knock twice. Open without a word. I have Williams and the train crew."

 

He found his companions lying where he had left them. Certain unmistakable signs of life among the trees over the grade they had heard, but that was all. Murphy was growling into the loose sand beneath his chin.

 

"Mother o' Mike! Why don't ye rush thim? There's bunches jist over there. Fir-rst thing ye know they'll get away. A good scr-rap going to waste, it is. And sure why are we lying here like a gang o' thieves? I got hould of a shillalah that fits me hand like a glove, glory be! The Lord put it there, He did. Sure He intinds me to use it. Mollie'd be ashamed o' me."

 

"You'll have your stomach full of fighting before you're through," promised Mahon.

 

"Be gad, I don't belave ye know an Oirishman's appetite at all."

 

"Keep low," ordered Mahon, crawling forward, "and quiet."

 

"The m'anest koind o' foighting I iver took a hand in, it is," grumbled Murphy, shaking the sand from his whiskers. But he fastened his eyes to the dim movement of Constable Williams' heels and crawled after him.

 

Thirty yards they had advanced on hands and knees, and Mahon was searching for a depression to lead off back of the shack, when Murphy whispered huskily:

 

"Any chance up there, Sergeant, o' nading a gun? 'Cause I left mine back there. But, praise be, I got the shillalah," he added brightly.

 

Mahon sighed. "You idiot! Lord"--to Constable Williams--"I'll be glad when I have him locked in. . . ."

 

A string of muttered oaths told them of Murphy's return.

 

"Another mouthful o' sand! Darn their hides! If iver I get me hands on a bohunk in this wor-rld again--" He spat noisily. "And all for a gun I don't know how to use. But it'll make a n'ise. Maybe it'll do to disthract their attintion till I get me shillalah swinging."

 

Torrance received them with a burst of joy, shaking each by hand in turn, scarce knowing what he was doing.

 

"Keep an eye on Tressa," he cried, and made for the front door.

 

Mahon grabbed him. "Here, they have that door covered. Conrad will be all right. Anyway, it's throwing yourself away searching for him now."

 

"Conrad!" The contractor's bull voice was full of disgust. "Conrad to hell! It's the trestle."

 

Mahon swung him away with a rougher thrust than was necessary. "Damn the trestle! It's life we have to think of first."

 

"But it's the trestle they want. They're only keeping us in here--"

 

"Do as you're told. I'm in charge."

 

A rifle shot split the silence without. There followed a sharp cry of pain and a fusillade from the trees beyond the grade. The Indian was in action.

 

"Praise be!" chortled Murphy. "Somebody got it where it hurts. That Indian, he's a man afther me own hear-rt. Oh, mother, for me shillalah about the heads o' thim!"

 

Ten minutes of complete silence--fifteen. Murphy's impatience was becoming vociferous; he began to be jealous of Huggins up there with Mollie, with a fight at hand any time he wanted it. Torrance was scarcely less clamorous.

 

Relief came from a second shot from beside the trestle. And after it a cry as before, and a volley of wild firing. The Indian was wasting no shots; his night eyes were exacting toll.

 

Mahon decided to investigate. Also he wis............