The night was dark and the road bad, and Clay leaned forward in the lurching car, looking fixedly1 ahead. The glare of the headlamp flickered3 across wagon4 ruts and banks of tall fern that bordered the uneven5 track, while here and there the base of a great fir trunk flashed suddenly out of the enveloping6 darkness and passed. Where the bush was thinnest, Clay could see the tiny wineberries glimmer7 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 salmon8 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 spoke9.
“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 fixed2 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 slung10 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 risky11, one might win by crushing isolated12 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 civic13 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 steering14, 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 mistily15 overhead. Sometimes they raced through the gloom beside a bluff16, where dark fir branches stretched across the road and a sweet, resinous18 fragrance19 mingled20 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 bribe21 to increase the pace. He seldom lost his judgment22, and the possibility of saving a few minutes was offset23 by the danger of their not arriving at all.
Presently they plunged24 into another wood. It seemed very thick by the way the hum of the engine throbbed25 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 extemporized26 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 murmur27 of voices farther in front; and, seeing no way through, the driver stopped, though the engine rattled28 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, gathering29 speed with every second; and as it raced toward them the courage of the nearest failed. Springing aside they scrambled30 into the fern, and while the horn hooted31 in savage32 warning the driver rushed the big automobile33 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 shaft34 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 swerved35, 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 standing36 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 bent37 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 wrecked38 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 lumber39 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 joint40.”
“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 plodding41 through open country, but there was nothing to be seen except scattered42 clumps43 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 hoarse44 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 toiled45 on with labored46 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 uproar47 broke out as he ran through an open gate with the dark buildings and the lumber............