Clark got up and glanced at the open space 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 hell 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."