“If that’s all!” he said. “I guess we can spare three men. If no more than that leave us, it shows the men are pretty well contented. Has Mr. Schofield or Mr. Plumfield been here?”
“No,” Stanley answered, “and from what I hear, they ain’t likely to be. They’ve both got their hands full. Somebody tried to set fire to the stock-yards the other night and pretty near succeeded—in fact, did start a lively blaze, but it was discovered and put out before much damage was done—and mighty lucky it was that the night wasn’t a windy one. But ever since, Mr. Schofield has had to patrol the whole approach to Cincinnati, a matter of five or six miles.”
“Yes—and what about Mr. Plumfield?”
“Well,” said Stanley, “the same night, one of the track walkers happened to find a big dynamite bomb on the Parkersburg bridge and dumped it over into the river just in time. That means more patrollin’ at that end.”
“But who did it? Who started the fire and who placed the bomb?”
“You can search me! The strikers say it wasn’t them, and the brotherhood is offering a reward of a thousand dollars for the arrest and conviction of the guilty parties. I guess, though, their money’s in no danger,” Stanley added, with a grin.
“You mean you think the strikers did it?” asked Allan, quickly.
“I don’t suppose anybody’s doin’ it fer their health.”
“But if that’s their game, what’s to prevent them from blowing up a bridge or culvert somewhere out on the line any time they want to? We can’t guard the whole right of way.”
“There ain’t a thing on earth to prevent them,” answered Stanley, cheerfully. “You know as well as I do, that there never is any thing to prevent any tramp or bum or scoundrel blowin’ up a bridge at any time—but they never do—at least, mighty seldom, though to hear some of ’em talk, you’d think all they wanted was half a chance t’ blow up the whole world. So I don’t look for anything of that sort now. In the first place, scoundrels of that kind won’t operate far from a base of supplies, which means a grog-shop. An’ in the second place, they’ve got to operate in a mob, for they’re the biggest cowards on earth—and that means a big town. I take back what I said a while ago. I don’t think the strikers put that bomb on the bridge—I think it was some Russian or Italian anarchist from the Parkersburg coal mines or steel works. There’s plenty of ’em there. An’ I ain’t so dead sure they started the stock-yards fire, either. I had a talk with Simpson, their special delegate, yesterday, and he seems to be a pretty decent sort of feller. I really believe he’s tryin’ to prevent trouble, and I could see that he was considerable down in the mouth about the strike. I think he’s gittin’ cold feet and would be glad to back out, if he could. I figger it out this way—the brotherhood’s split up. The old, conservative men, headed by Simpson, want to avoid trouble; the young, hot-headed ones, headed by Bassett, are sp’ilin’ for a fight. And they’re roundin’ up all the toughs they can find to help them.”