"Come out from the holes you're hiding in, boys!" he cried. "Are you going to back the foreigners and employers against your friends?"

Aynsley touched his shoulder.

"Sorry, but we can't allow any speeches of that kind. You have an envoy's privileges, so long as you stick to them, but this is breaking all the rules."

"How will you stop me?" the fellow demanded roughly.

"I imagine you had better not satisfy your curiosity on that point,"

Aynsley answered. "The man yonder has your horse. I wish you good-night."

The envoy mounted and rode away into the darkness; and Aynsley sought his manager.

"I suspect his friends are not far off," he said. "We had better go round again and see that everything's ready."

CHAPTER XIII-THE REPULSE

The night was dark and the road bad, and Clay leaned forward in the lurching car, looking fixedly ahead. The glare of the headlamp flickered across wagon ruts and banks of tall fern that bordered the uneven track, while here and there the base of a great fir trunk flashed suddenly out of the enveloping darkness and pa.s.sed. Where the bush was thinnest, Clay could see the tiny wineberries glimmer 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 j.a.ps were coming in," the man replied. "They corralled most of the salmon 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 spoke.

"The j.a.ps 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 fixed 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 j.a.ps, 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 slung 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 risky, one might win by crushing isolated 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 civic 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 j.a.ps 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 steering, 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 mistily overhead. Sometimes they raced through the gloom beside a bluff, where dark fir branches stretched across the road and a sweet, resinous fragrance mingled 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 bribe to increase the pace. He seldom lost his judgment, and the possibility of saving a few minutes was offset by the danger of their not arriving at all.

Presently they plunged into another wood. It seemed very thick by the way the hum of the engine throbbed 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 extemporized 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 murmur of voices farther in front; and, seeing no way through, the driver stopped, though the engine rattled on.

"Let us pa.s.s, 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, gathering speed with every second; and as it raced toward them the courage of the nearest failed. Springing aside they scrambled into the fern, and while the horn hooted in savage warning the driver rushed the big automobile 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 shaft of light drove on. Some struck at the car as it pa.s.sed them, some turned and gazed; but the men ahead were bolder, or perhaps more closely ma.s.sed 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 swerved, 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 standing 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 bent 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."