“I believe you, Sandy,” replied Frank.
There was really little time for saying anything more. The surging mob had by now drawn close to them. Bob could see the ugly faces of the men, and he found himself wondering whether the fact of their carrying repeating rifles was going to help matters any.
Frank had made not the slightest move looking toward his gun. He sat in the saddle, and smiled, as he waved a hand toward the approaching miners.
“Hello! men,” he called out.
A perfect howl went up, so that if Frank had intended saying anything more it would have been drowned in the racket. He sat there, still smiling, as though waiting for a chance to speak. A few of the miners were seen to be turning on their point, and several scowled at Sandy, as though trying to enforce silence. Above the clamor Bob heard one fellow say:
“Keep still, and let the boy have a chance! Give him a square deal, and listen to what he’s got to say afore ye howl him down. Silence!”
By slow degrees the noise began to subside. Some stopped shouting because they were influenced by these arguments, and a sense of fair play; others on account of a shortage of breath.
Then the last shout died out, and silence ensued.
“Men,” said Frank, as firmly as he could, though doubtless his heart was beating like a trip-hammer under the excitement, “A good friend of yours, Sandy McCoy here, managed to send word to my father that there was some trouble at the mine, and asked him to come on to talk matters over with you, so that if anything was wrong it might be righted.”
A few angry cries interrupted Frank at this point, and several scowled at Sandy, as though they suspected him of having sought to betray them.