He tramped on with a slow wonder at the magnitude of his own activities. Here and there, individual buildings stimulated poignant memories of the occasion that brought them forth. The sulphur plant a.s.sumed an aspect of derision. Beneath the huge dimensions of the head-race he seemed to discern the obliterated ca.n.a.l over which St.

Marys came to grief. Was he himself to be brought down by its t.i.tanic successor? He stared up the lake, comparing himself with the voyageur who had once floated out of this wide immensity to trade at St. Marys.

He, too, had been trading at St. Marys. "Big magic!" old Shingwauk had said, when his dark eyes beheld the works. Was it, after all, barely possible they were nothing but magic?

XXIII.--CONCERNING THE RIOT

Next morning came a rap at his office door and Baudette entered, treading very lightly. Clark looked up and shook his head.

"I haven't got any money yet."

"I don't want any money."

The gray eyes softened a little. "You're the only man I've met who doesn't. What is it?"

Baudette pointed out of the window.

Clark got up and glanced at the open s.p.a.ce in front of the administration building. There lounged some fifty men, the pick of Baudette's crew, big and broad shouldered, in light colored woollen jackets, shoepacks and blazing shirts. Each toyed with an ax handle that swung lightly between strong, brown fingers. They were a loose-jointed lot, active as cats, and moved with the superlative ease of the skilled woodsman. Clark's jaw thrust out and he glanced grimly at his visitor.

"If they think they can get it that way, they're mistaken."

"You don't understand," came the even voice. "These are my friends, and yours. St. Marys is full of people who are after you. They are hungry for money, and they're coming for it. This crowd reckons their money is all right and will help you talk back."

Clark drew a long breath and caught the clear blue of Baudette's eyes.

Then he nodded and began to smile.

"Thank you, friend," he said with a catch in his breath. "I might have known it."

Hours dragged by. That night there was looting in Ironville, and the local grocers suffered a sudden depletion of stock. Morning broke, gray and threatening, while through shack and cabin an ugly temper spread steadily. Clark perceived that the real thing was coming now.

Once or twice he thought of Semple, who must already be closeted with the Premier.

Just before midday a howling mob gathered swiftly outside the big gates, when instantly Baudette and his fifty axemen ran up and joined the guards. The crowd increased, and there went out an imperative summons to Manson who, with his thirty police, ranged himself half a mile away on the road to St. Marys. But for this the town was utterly unprotected. Came the pad pad of flying feet, and Fisette dashed up, swinging a prospecting pick. He grinned at the big constable.

"By Gar!" he panted, "I guess we catch h.e.l.l now."

Followed a little pause, broken only by the deep threatening note of the crowd. Then Belding felt a touch on his shoulder.

"Open the gates," said Clark evenly, "I want to speak to them."

The engineer stared at the set face. His chief's eyes were like polished steel, and his jaw thrust out. There was no fear here.

"Stay inside, sir. They'll kill you."

The front rank caught sight of the erect figure. Then silence fell over them and spread slowly through the dark-browed mult.i.tude, Clark raised an imperative finger. The gates opened a fraction, and in front of them stood the man in whom the rioters perceived the head of their present world.

"I want to tell you that your money is coming, and that I stay here till you are paid," rang the clear voice.

For an instant there came no answer, but presently from the rear ranks rose again a bull-like roar.

"You tell us that last week."

Followed a murmur that ran through the packed ma.s.s of broad shoulders.

"I tell you again--and it's true!"

For reply, a short iron bolt came hurtling through the air. It took Clark on the cheek. He seemed not to feel it, but stood undaunted, while a trickle of blood crept down his smooth face. The sight of it seemed to rouse some latent fury in the mob, and a deep growl sounded ominously. He felt himself jerked suddenly back, and Belding and Baudette jumped in front of him. The woodsman balanced a great shining axe, and the engineer's automatic gleamed dully.

"Get inside, sir, quick!"

For the first time in his life, Clark felt himself pa.s.sed from hand to hand, and landed, fuming, on the other side of the big gates. The voice of the mob lifted to an infuriated howl. Simultaneously the rear ranks pressed forward.

Fighting began the next instant. Belding's revolver barked viciously, while he shot low at legs and feet. Three men went down to be engulfed in the oncoming tide. Baudette was standing firm, his cold blue eyes alight with the fire of battle. His broad axe was cutting swift circles around him, while he dodged a shower of missiles. To right and left of him fifty axe handles rose and fell like flails, and behind them was all the skill and sinew of those who dwell amongst big timber.

Then a jagged fragment of iron casting took Baudette on the knee, and he went down.

The battle grew, while the faithful ranks thinned visibly. Just through the big gates lay the battlemented works, and toward them pressed the mob, now drunk with the hunger to destroy. At the moment when it seemed that the living barrier must collapse, the rioters wheeled to meet a new attack. With the sound of fighting, Manson pushed on and now struck hard. His thirty constables set their batons going, and there came the heavy crack of loaded wood on thick skulls.

Fisette, his eyes gleaming, was tapping like a deadly woodp.e.c.k.e.r with his pick, and the impetus of this onslaught drove a formidable wedge into the surging ma.s.s. Manson's great voice bellowed unspeakable things in the l.u.s.t of combat, his dark visage distorted, his mighty body gathered into a great, human battering ram.

Presently the constable too went down with a shattered arm, and the line of police shortened and curved. Fisette found himself throttled by a muscular arm which shot round his neck, and two minutes later they were surrounded and fighting for their lives.

The battle surged and palpitated. What remained of Baudette's axemen were behind the big gates, where Belding had dragged the prostrate foreman. Clark stood in absolute calmness, though he knew that presently this barrier would be battered down.

Belding drew a long breath and shot a fascinated glance at his chief.

It flashed into his mind that Clark was getting punishment now, not only in the eyes of the world, but also in the eyes of the man from whom he had taken that which was dearest and best. But his leader's gaze was as clear as ever.

"It can't last much longer, sir," he shouted through the uproar. His automatic was empty, and he could only watch the front rank of rioters pick up a great baulk of timber and balance it opposite the gates.

Then a sudden chill struck to his very soul. What would happen in St.

Marys?

Clark, staring at him, just as suddenly perceived what was in his mind.

"Take my launch," he called into his ear. "You can land at the house.

Hurry! Don't mind about me."

Belding hung for a moment in frantic uncertainty, and shook his head.

He was next in command here, but a short mile away was his heart's desire, defenseless, save for what resistance could be hastily organized in the town. It was questionable what that was worth, and his whole soul commanded him to go to her. For an instant he felt sick, then over him flooded the cold conviction that, even though he saved Clark for Elsie, he must stay and see this thing through.

Suddenly from far down the road came a sharp rattle, that pierced the uproar and brought a grim, inflexible message. Clark heard it, and over his face stole an expression of relief. The mob heard it, and through their surging ranks ran that which sobered and cooled their fury. Manson, prostrate and b.l.o.o.d.y, heard it, and Fisette, and all the others who had fought, it seemed, their last fight. The rioters began to dissipate like blown leaves in autumn, and a rippling line of infantry in open formation moved rhythmically up the road from St.

Marys.

Clark drew a long breath and looked curiously at his engineer.

"You saved my life, Belding." He hesitated a moment, and added thoughtfully, "Now, why should you want to do that?"

Belding stared and a lump rose in his throat. He had lost and yet he had won,--been defeated and yet had risen to something bigger than he had ever achieved before. He could face the future now, even though it were written that he should face it alone. He tried to speak, then turned on his heel and walked towards the dock, where Clark's fast launch lay glinting in the sun.

The gray eyes followed him in profound contemplation. Presently Clark smiled, it seemed a little sadly, and advanced to the officer commanding the troops. Baudette was sitting up. Manson, his face gray with pain, was nursing a dangling arm, and round them the derelicts of battle were strewn grotesquely. But it was Fisette who spoke first.