It was a low, spreading affair, of several dates of construction. Once Gaviller's residence, it was now used to house the white employees of the company and chance travelers.

Greer's room was in the end of the building nearest the store. The policeman slept at the other side, separated by several part.i.tions.

The room they were making for had a door opening directly on the yard.

It was not locked. Ambrose merely lifted the latch and walked in with his five men at his heels.

Inside, in the thick darkness they heard the sound of deep breathing.

Ambrose flashed his light around. A typical boy's room was revealed, with college banners, colored prints, photographs and firearms.

On a bed in the corner lay the owner, a good-looking blond boy sleeping on his back with an arm flung above his head. He was a hearty sleeper.

Not until the command was twice repeated in no uncertain tones, did he waken. It was to find himself looking into the blazing white eye of the electric torch.

"What time is it?" he murmured, blinking.

One of the men chuckled.

"Time to get up," said Ambrose grimly.

"Hey, what's the matter?" cried the voice from the bed in accents of honest alarm.

"Get up and dress," commanded Ambrose.

"What for?" stammered the boy.

"I have five armed men here," said Ambrose. "Do what you're told without asking questions. If you make a racket you'll be cracked over the head with the b.u.t.t of a gun."

As he spoke Ambrose flashed the light from one to another of his men.

The sight of the quiet dark-skinned breeds, each with a Winchester on his arm was sufficiently intimidating. The boy swung his legs out of bed.

"All right," he said, philosophically. "Throw your light on my clothes, will you?"

He commenced to dress without more ado. Presently he asked coolly; "What do you want me for, and who are you anyway?"

"I'm Ambrose Doane," said Ambrose. "I've seized the flour mill.

You've got to run it."

"There's no grain there," said Greer.

"I brought my grain with me," said Ambrose.

A sound like a chuckle escaped the boy. No doubt he was well-informed as to the situation. "You didn't lose much time," he said.

They started back to the mill, a breed on either side of Greer with a hand upon his shoulder.

"If you make a break, you'll be knocked down and carried in," warned Ambrose.

Apparently Greer had no such intention. He was a matter-of-fact youth and p.r.o.ne to laughter. He laughed now. "Golly! the old man will be in a wax when he hears of it! How many men have you got?"

"Twenty-five," said Ambrose.

"Well, he can't blame me if I'm forced to work by overwhelming numbers!

Oh, golly! but there'll be a time to-morrow!"

Ambrose breathed more freely. This which had promised to be the most difficult part of his plan was proving easy.

Entering the mill, Greer looked around the dim place with its little crowd of still, silent, armed men, and chuckled again. "Darned if it isn't as good as a melodrama!" he said.

"Go to it!" said Ambrose, pointing to the machinery. He lit plenty of lanterns, careless now if the fort were aroused. They had to wake up sooner or later. "You can smoke," he said to his men.

Matches were quickly struck, and coals pressed into pipe bowls with guttural grunts of satisfaction.

Greer lit a cigarette, and picked up his oil can and wrench as a matter of course. He set to work, whistling softly between his teeth.

Ambrose, watching him, could not make up his mind whether this was due to pluck or sheer light-headedness. Either way, he was inclined to like the boy.

"I say, Ambrose," Greer said cheekily. "Give us a hand with these bolting frames, will you? Do you want fine flour or coa.r.s.e?"

"The most in the least time," said Ambrose.

"We'll leave in the middlings then. It's wholesome."

They worked amicably together. Greer in his simplicity explained everything as they went, and Ambrose cannily stored it away.

Fortunately, the mill had lately been operated, grinding the grain from the Crossing, and all was practically in readiness to start. Within an hour after the landing of the party, Tole turned on his steam.

The wheels began to revolve, Greer threw in the clutch, and presently a veritable stream of flour began to issue from the mouth of the machine.

Ambrose repressed an inclination to cheer.

CHAPTER XIX.

WOMAN'S WEAPONS.

The steady hum of machinery was more effective to awaken the inhabitants of the Fort than any scattered noises.

The sounds of movement began to be heard among the houses. Lights were lit, and doors opened. No one who looked out of doors could mistake what was going on, for a stream of sparks was now issuing from the engine-house stack.

The first notice of attack came in a single shot from across the road.

A bullet sang through the doorway, flattening itself with a whang on the iron wall. Those around the opening fell back.

Some one crashed the door to. Ambrose as quickly opened it, and stooping low, peered out. He was in time to see a crouching figure disappear around the corner of the store. Something in the bulk of it, the neat outline gave him a clue.

"Strange, by gad!" he said to himself.

Aloud, Ambrose said: "The door must be open. We've got to see and hear what they're up to. Let every man keep out of range. Make a wall of the bags of grain on this side of the machine, and put the lanterns behind it, so Greer will have light."