“I understand they weren’t able to carry their program out?”
“That’s so. I’ve no use for Japs, but I’ll admit they put up a good fight. Wherever the boys made a rush there was a bunch of them ready. You couldn’t take that crowd by surprise. Then they shifted back and forward and slung men into the row just where they were wanted most. Fought like an army, and the boys hadn’t made much of it when the police whipped both crowds off.”
“Looks like good organization,” Clay remarked. “It’s useful to know what you mean to do before you make a start. Have the boys tried to run off those who are working at the outside mills?”
“Not yet, but we’re expecting something of the kind. They’d whip them in bunches if they tried that plan.”
This was what Clay feared; it was the method he would have used had he led the strikers. When a general engagement is risky, one might win by crushing isolated forces; and Aynsley’s mill was particularly open to attack. It stood at some distance from both Vancouver and New Westminster, and any help that could be obtained from the civic authorities would probably arrive too late. There was, however, reason to believe that the aliens employed must have recognized their danger, and perhaps guarded against it. Clay knew something about Japs and Chinamen, and had a high respect for their sagacity.
He asked no more questions, and as the state of the road confined the driver’s attention to his steering, nothing was said as they sped on through the dark. Sometimes they swept across open country where straggling split-fences streamed back to them in the headlamps’ glare and a few stars shone mistily overhead. Sometimes they raced through the gloom beside a bluff, where dark fir branches stretched across the road and a sweet, resinous fragrance mingled with the smell of dew-damped dust. The car was traveling faster than was safe, but Clay frowned impatiently when he tried to see his watch. It was characteristic that although he was keenly anxious he offered the driver no extra bribe to increase the pace. He seldom lost his judgment, and the possibility of saving a few minutes was offset by the danger of their not arriving at all.
Presently they plunged into another wood. It seemed very thick by the way the hum of the engine throbbed among the trees, but outside the flying beam of the lamps all was wrapped in darkness. Clay was flung violently to and fro as the car lurched; but after a time he heard a sharp click, and the speed suddenly slackened.
“Why are you stopping?” he asked impatiently.
“Men on the road,” explained the driver. “I’m just slowing down.”
Clay could see nothing, but a sound came out of the gloom. There was a regular beat in it that indicated a body of men moving with some order.