The boys went on up the street to their boarding house to dinner. There was little conversation at the meal, for every man felt that the calm before the storm was upon them.

Shortly after one o'clock the men began strolling toward the "ore bridge." This was a structure of steel and concrete that the company had erected across a mountain gorge, and over which the ore was carried by train to the lakes. The ore bridge was the key to the situation. Without it no ore could be shipped from either the Cousin Jack or the Red Rock Mines.

By two o'clock there were more than a thousand men gathered in the vicinity of the bridge. They seemed impervious to the biting cold of the winter's day. It was not apparent that the men had any particular purpose in gathering about the bridge, but there was little doubt that their leader had put the thought in their minds at the noonday meeting, whether or not they realized that fact.

Suddenly the men set up a cheer. Cavard, m.u.f.fled to the ears in an expensive fur coat, was seen approaching. He was shaking hands with the men right and left as he strolled on toward the bridge.

The men began cheering. Somehow Cavard's appearance seemed to exert a strange influence over the miners. His sway over them was absolute.

They began to shout for him to talk to them. Half a dozen men hoisted him to a stump. The leader waved his cap.

"Men, you are making a n.o.ble fight!" he shouted. "You will yet down the bosses and make them come to your terms. We've got them on the run already. Their feet are on your necks and on the necks of your families, but you will throw the weight off, and when you do, there will be a terrible retribution. And what a little thing stands between you and that retribution. For instance, men, that bridge there is the key to the ore output. That represents the bosses. Of course we cannot interfere with their property, but that structure of steel and cement was made possible by the sweat of your brows. It was you who mined the ore for the steel from which the bridge was constructed. It was you who made its building a possibility. And now it rises up as if to mock you. Do not misunderstand me; I warn you against violence, but there are limits to man's endurance, especially if that man have dependent upon him a wife and children."

A low murmur ran over the a.s.semblage. The murmur increased in volume until it became a roar.

"Men, men; I beg of you to be calm!" shouted Cavard.

"The bridge! The bridge!" thundered the mult.i.tude.

"Down with the bridge!"

"Down with the bosses!"

The mob surged toward the structure as one man.

"Dynamite! Get dynamite. We'll blow it up! We'll teach the bosses a lesson that they won't forget!"

Half a dozen men had started away on a run. After a time, amid the clamor and the shouting, these same six miners were seen crawling up the ravine toward the bridge itself.

"Look! Look!"

The men above had seen them.

"They're going to dynamite the bridge!"

It was true. The great structure that meant so much to the mining company seemed doomed to destruction. The ground fairly shook with the roar that arose when those above discovered the purpose of their fellows. Cavard had disappeared.

At that moment a lad dashed through the mob and out on to the bridge, running along the ties a hundred feet in the air.

"Stop! Back, every man of you!" he shouted. "It will be prison for years for every man who has a hand in this affair! Call them off! Stop them while there is still time!"

"Get off the bridge, unless you want to be blown to kingdom come!"

roared the crowd.

"Let him blow up! It's what he deserves."

"If you destroy the bridge I shall go with it. That will be murder.

Those men down there will be hanged for my death. Now, will you call them off?"

The mob hesitated.

"_No!_"

Every man of the hundreds took up the cry. Steve Rush stood calmly on the bridge, his attention divided between the men creeping up the ravine and the mob on the surface. He held a piece of railroad iron in his hands, but this was the only weapon he had for his own defence, in case the men should decide to rush upon him from the end of the structure.

The dynamiters were nearing the danger spot. Just then a woman fairly flew down the short incline that led to the bridge. She did not stop, but dashed full speed out to the bridge. Reaching it, she ran with all speed to where Steve Rush was standing, exhorting the crowd and pleading and threatening.

"Miss Cavard!" he gasped. "You must not stay here. Run for your life.

Don't you see what the men are going to do?"

"Yes, I'll run, but I would rather stay. Here!"

She thrust something toward Steve--something that she had been carrying concealed under her long, black coat. Steve uttered an exclamation of joy. It was a rifle. Pa.s.sing it quickly to him with a box of cartridges, the girl sped on across the bridge to the opposite side.

None had seen the rifle change hands. Steve waited until she had reached a place of safety; then he stooped over and pretended to pick the weapon up from the track. This time he made no effort to conceal it.

"He's got a gun!" roared the miners.

"Yes, and I'm going to use it," shouted the boy. "Call off your dynamiters!"

"Hurry! Fire the powder!" was the answer of the strikers.

Rush stepped to the edge of the bridge and looked down. The men were attaching the fuses to the sticks of dynamite as they ran.

Steve raised the rifle, took careful aim and fired. The foremost man dropped his dangerous burden and uttered a yell. A ball had pa.s.sed through his arm.

"Back, you hounds; or I'll riddle every man of you."

Once more the rifle spoke, but the bullet missed its mark. It had the effect of stopping the man who was trying to reach the bridge to plant the explosive and touch off the fuse.

The dynamiters backed off. They had not bargained for this. The men on the surface made a hostile movement toward Steve, whereupon he threw the muzzle of the rifle about, covering them

"Come on; come on, if you want some of the same medicine!" he cried.

Bang!

A yell floated up from the mountain gorge. The Iron Boy had fired just in time to head off another man of that little party below. Now he kept menacing them with his weapon. Now and then he would send a shot close to them when he thought they were getting ready for another charge. This continued for fully half an hour, when the dynamiters drew back for a consultation. A man was sent to the surface to urge the miners to rush the bridge and throw the boy over. But the strikers up there had no mind to face his ready weapon at short range. Jeers, howls and cat-calls were hurled at the plucky boy who stood there in that wind-swept spot a hundred feet in the air with the temperature below zero, unmindful of taunts, but alert and watchful.

Five o'clock came, and he was still there. It was getting dark. A few minutes more and it would be so dark that the men below would have plenty of opportunity to carry out their desperate plan. Steve had six cartridges left in his magazine chamber.

He waited and watched. At last he could no longer see the bottom of the gorge. Aiming his weapon as nearly as he could judge at the spot where he had last seen the dynamiters, he began shooting at intervals, varying his aim somewhat with each shot. He hoped to hold them off.

One more sh.e.l.l was left in the gun. Steve was making his last stand. It would be a matter of but a short time now before they would have accomplished their purpose.

Suddenly a shout rent the air. There was a new note in it. It was not a shout of triumph, but of anger and alarm. The boy on the bridge did not understand it.

"Run for it. It's the soldiers!" was the shout that was suddenly taken up and pa.s.sed from lip to lip.

"Hurrah!" shouted the lad.