They walked over to the window. "Two companies arrive to-night," Spence continued. "By to-morrow they'll proclaim martial law for the entire mountain district...." His tone grew shrilly significant. "That includes the place where the boys live now."
"What can we answer?"
The lawyer lifted wearied shoulders. "Do what we can. We won't quit, but——I saw what they did in '04, remember."
"No chance for justice from the soldiers? I know some of the boys in the local company——"
"My dear man, the company gave 'em new brass buttons, new rifles, new bullets! Where will they put those bullets, do you suppose? It's irony for you: most of the soldiers were once laborers; labor's money pays for their food and their rifles; and labor receives their fire. Of course, if we can avoid trouble——It's our only hope; we can win, if we can prevent a smash-up."
"What about Jensen?"
"I'm appealing; that'll tie it up for a year. But the cards are marked, and they are dealing."
Pelham escaped from the headquarters of suffering for a hurried trip out to the miners' tent settlement. On the way back, he saw in the state road ahead a familiar boyish figure; as he reached it, fourteen-year-old Ned turned and saw him.
"Hey, give us a lift, Pell!" The brother climbed in impetuously. "Didn't expect to see me, did you? Father's going to let me be a deputy, next year! Does the company let you use these roads?"
"This is a state road, Ned; it's as much mine as the company's."