Opposite him, and a few hundred yards to the right, were the stills; lofty iron towers, under which a dull glow showed that the furnaces were still doing their work. When he had left Steam City, the strike was complete; but the oil still ran through the pipe-lines, and stokers had still been found to feed these refining fires. He turned sharp to the left; and the dull light was soon hidden behind the storage-tanks.
There was sure to be a watcher in the “tail-house,” if the stills were at work, to mark the runs of oil; and Starbuck walked more slowly. But his steps were muffled in the drifts of snow; moreover, he was close by the blower, and the rapid whirling of the iron fans would drown all other noise. When he got to the steps that led to the door of the tail-house, there were fresh foot-prints in the snow; and he ascended cautiously until his head was at the level of the window and then looked in. The light inside came from a small tubular stove of ridged iron, white-hot; and by its comfortable warmth a man sat in an old armchair, his head upon his breast, asleep. Starbuck studied his features for a few seconds and then opened the door and entered.
“Who is it?” cried the man, starting up.
“It’s only I, Ned,” answered Starbuck. “Don’t be so nervous.”
“Oh, is that all,” returned the other. “I was afraid it might be some feller come to do a mischief,” he added, with a grin.
“I wanted to make sure it was your watch,” said James. “You don’t keep a good one—if anything happens to-night I shall have to report you.”
“The h—l you will,” laughed the other.
“I’m pretty sure I heard a boat land, down by the end of the pier.”
“No?” said the other.
“I did indeed,” added Starbuck. “I wish you’d go down and see. I got rumors of a plot in town, and came over to warn you.”