“Suppose he can’t locate these fellows in Cortez?”

“Then—­Let’s not think about that.”

XXIV

GORDON’S FALL

The news of O’Neil’s attitude spread quickly, and excitement grew among the workmen.  Up through the chill darkness of early evening they came charging.  They were noisy and eager, and when the gong summoned them to supper they rushed the mess-house in boisterous good humor.  No attempt was made to call out the night crew:  by tacit consent its members were allowed to mingle freely with their fellows and plan for the morrow’s departure.  Some, envious of the crowd from Omar which had profited by an early start, were anxious to be gone at once, but the more sober-minded argued that the road to White River was so long that a day’s advantage would mean little in the end, and the advance party would merely serve to break trail for those behind.

These men, be it said, were not those who had struck, earlier in the season, at the behest of Gordon’s emissary, Linn, but fellows whose loyalty and industry were unquestioned.  Their refusal to stampede at the first news was proof of their devotion, yet any one who has lived in a mining community knows that no loyalty of employee to employer is strong enough to withstand for long the feverish excitement of a gold rush.  These bridge-workers were the aristocracy of the whole force, men inured to hardship and capable of extreme sacrifice in the course of their work; but they were also independent Americans who believed themselves entitled to every reward which fortune laid in their paths.  For this reason they were even harder to handle than the unskilled, unimaginative men farther down the line.

Long before the hour when O’Neil appeared the low-roofed mess-house was crowded.

Natalie and Eliza, knowing the importance of this crisis, refused to go home, and begged Murray to let them attend the meeting.  Mr. Blaine, who also felt the keenest concern in the outcome, offered to escort them, and at last with some difficulty he managed to wedge them inside the door, where they apprehensively scanned the gathering.

It was not an ideal place for a meeting of this size, but tables and benches had been pushed aside, and into the space thus cleared the men were packed.  Their appearance was hardly reassuring:  it was a brawny, heavy-muscled army with which O’Neil had to deal—­an army of loud-voiced toilers whose ways were violent and whose passions were quick.  Nevertheless, the two girls were treated with the greatest respect, and when O’Neil stepped to a bench and raised himself above their heads his welcome was not unduly boisterous.  Outside, the night was clear and cold; inside the cramped quarters the air was hot and close and fetid.

Murray had no skill as a public speaker in the ordinary sense; he attempted no oratorical tricks, and addressed his workmen in a matter-of-fact tone.