Corrigan laughed. “Appoint a receiver to operate the mine, pending the Supreme Court decision. Appoint Braman. Graney has no case, anyway. There is no record or deed.”
“There is no need of haste,” Lindman cautioned; “you can’t get mining machinery here for some time yet.”
Corrigan laughed, dragging the Judge to a window, from which he pointed out some flat-cars standing on a siding, loaded with lumber, machinery, corrugated iron, shutes, cables, trucks, “T” rails, and other articles that the Judge did not recognize.
The Judge exclaimed in astonishment. Corrigan grunted.
“I ordered that stuff six weeks ago, in anticipation of my victory in your court. You can see how I trusted in your honesty and perspicacity. I’ll have it on the ground tomorrow—some of it today. Of course I want to proceed legally, and in order to do that I’ll have to have the court order this morning. You do whatever is necessary.”
At daylight he was in the laborers’ camp, skirting the railroad at the edge of town, looking for Carson. He found the big Irishman in one of the larger tent-houses, talking with the cook, who was preparing breakfast amid a smother of smoke and the strong mingled odors of frying bacon and coffee. Corrigan went only to the flap of the tent, motioning Carson outside.
Walking away from the tent toward some small frame buildings down the track, Corrigan said:
“There are several carloads of material there,” pointing to the flat-cars which he had shown to the Judge. “I’ve hired a mining man to superintend the erection of that stuff—it’s mining machinery and material for buildings. I want you to place as many of your men as you can spare at the disposal of the engineer; his name’s Pickand, and you’ll find him at the cars at eight o’clock. I’ll have some more laborers sent over from the dam. Give him as many men as he wants; go with him yourself, if he wants you.”
“What are ye goin’ to mine?”
“Coal.”