“That’s the deuce of a fight.  We ’ain’t got so much as a cold sore among us.”

“We have captured fourteen,” another announced, “and there may be more out yonder in the brush.”

Glenister noted with growing surprise that not one of the prisoners lined up beneath the glaring torches wore the army blue.  They were miners all, or thugs and ruffians gathered from the camp.  Where, he wondered, were the soldiers.

“Didn’t you have troops from the barracks to help you?” he asked.

“Not a troop.  We haven’t seen a soldier since we went to work.”

At this the young leader became alarmed.  Had this whole attack miscarried?  Had this been no clash with the United States forces, after all?  If so, the news would never reach Washington, and instead of accomplishing his end, he and his friends had thrust themselves into the realms of outlawry, where the soldiers could be employed against them with impunity, where prices would rest upon their heads.  Innocent blood had been shed, court property destroyed.  McNamara had them where he wanted them at last.  They were at bay.

The unwounded prisoners were taken to the boundaries of the Midas and released with such warnings as the imagination of Dextry could conjure up; then Glenister assembled his men, speaking to them plainly.

“Boys, this is no victory.  In fact, we’re worse off than we were before, and our biggest fight is coming.  There’s a chance to get away now before daylight and before we’re recognized, but if we’re seen here at sun-up we’ll have to stay and fight.  Soldiers will be sent against us, but if we hold out, and the struggle is fierce enough, it may reach to Washington.  This will be a different kind of fighting now, though.  It will be warfare pure and simple.  How many of you will stick?”

“All of us,” said they, in unison, and, accordingly, preparations for a siege were begun.  Barricades were built, ruins removed, buildings transformed into blockhouses, and all through the turbulent night the tired men labored till ready to drop, led always by the young giant, who seemed without fatigue.

It was perhaps four hours after midnight when a man sought him out.

“Somebody’s callin’ you on the Assay Office telephone—­says it’s life or death.”

Glenister hurried to the building, which had escaped the shock of the explosions, and, taking down the receiver, was answered by Cherry Malotte.

“Thank God, you’re safe,” she began.  “The men have just come in and the whole town is awake over the riot.  They say you’ve killed ten people in the fight—­is it true?”

He explained to her briefly that all was well, but she broke in: 

“Wait, wait!  McNamara has called for troops and you’ll all be shot.  Oh, what a terrible night it has been!  I haven’t been to bed.  I’m going mad.  Now, listen, carefully—­yesterday Helen went with Struve to the Sign of the Sled and she hasn’t come back.”