Now for the moment Geordie longed for the presence of McCrea, who had remained in Denver in hopes of bringing local officials to their senses and his terms. And McCrea, for his part, was at the same moment wishing to Heaven he had followed Geordie's lead and pushed ahead for the field of battle. The Denverite members of the board, warned of his presence, had easily managed to elude him, and with others were now on their way to Argenta for a special meeting, while McCrea was still held at a distance, lured by an appointment for a conference to come off that very morning at eleven, long three hours after the other conferees had vanished from town.
But no older head was there to advise. Graham alone, representing the aggrieved shareholders, was at the scene of action. He could take counsel with no man on the ground. Win or lose he must decide and act for himself. Here he sat in the cab of the Mogul, impatient only five minutes back to push ahead for the mines, to get away without recognition. Now it might well be that the point at which to act was right here in town.
"The mine is being operated at heavy expense and loss," had been the latest wail from the secretary. "There is not ore enough in sight to begin to pay the wages of the men. Yet every test convinces us that abundant results must follow further development." Another assessment, therefore, on top of all previous levies, had been the imperative demand. Geordie did not know it, but that pound was the last that broke the hold of three. They had sold their stock for what it would bring, and Breifogle and his clique were laughing in their sleeves. They knew there was ore in abundance, both in sight and touch. Geordie and McCrea believed it, and believed that if the one could establish the fact, and the other could bring the directors to book with proof of foul measures to squeeze out the small shareholders, victory would be in their hands.
But what was to be done now? By this time the fact that young Breifogle had been fearfully beaten must be known to every man about the station, and was swiftly racing to the opening doors of every shop, office, and homestead in town. By this act the miners had destroyed every hope of sympathy, or even, possibly, of justice. Whatever their grievance it could not warrant murder. But what was their grievance? What could have precipitated trouble at the mines and a wholesale walkout at Silver Shield? What could have brought the miners, nearly a hundred strong, here to Argenta, with Nolan at their head—Nolan, who had been the company's faithful servant, the best manager of men, the most level-headed and reliable "boss" at the Silver Shield?
Toomey's friend had hurried away, for sound of increasing excitement came from the groups, now merging into one, about the telegraph office. Big Ben swung himself out of the cab once more, and with arms akimbo stood watching the distant gathering, wishing Cullin would come with orders or else with explanation of the delay. This left Graham and Toomey alone in the cab, and Toomey's first question was, "What can you do now, sir?"
"Find Nolan," was the brief answer, "and get to the bottom of this."
"Orders may come any minute," said Toomey, looking anxiously over his shoulder. "We'll have to pull out and go ahead. You couldn't—stay here at Argenta, could you?"
"I may have to. Here's Cullin now."
"But no orders," said Toomey, with a gasp of relief, for from far over the tracks, catching sight of his watchful engineer, Cullin had waved his hand, palm towards them, twice to and fro, a gesture so like the Indian sign "No go" that Geordie knew its meaning at a glance. Silently they awaited his coming and listened, breathless, for his tidings when he came.
"What's the row about?" asked Ben, as Cullin reached them, breathing hard.