“About two miles.”
Clay waited for some minutes and then got shakily up on his feet.
“You’ll find me at the C.P.R. hotel to-morrow if I don’t see you before,” he said; and, pulling himself together with an effort, he limped away along the road.
For the first half-mile he had trouble in keeping on his feet; but as he went on his head grew clearer and his legs steadier, and after a while he was able to make a moderate pace. There was no sign of the strikers, who had obviously left him well behind, but he pushed on, hoping to arrive not very long after them, for it was plain that he would be wanted. He was now plodding through open country, but there was nothing to be seen except scattered clumps of trees and the rough fences along the road. No sound came out of the shadows and all was very still.
At last a dark line of standing timber rose against the sky, and when a light or two began to blink among the trees Clay knew he was nearer the mill. He quickened his speed, and when a hoarse shouting reached him he broke into a run. It was long since he had indulged in much physical exercise, and he was still shaky from his fall, but he toiled on with labored breath. The lights got brighter, but there was not much to be heard now; though he knew that the trouble had begun. He had no plans; it would be time to make them when he saw how things were going, for if Aynsley could deal with the situation he meant to leave it to him. It was his part to be on hand if he were needed, which was his usual attitude toward his son.
An uproar broke out as he ran through an open gate with the dark buildings and the lumber stacks looming in front. Making his way to one of the huge piles of lumber, he stopped in its shadow, breathing hard while he looked about.
The office was lighted, and the glow from its windows showed a crowd of men filling the space between the small building and the long saw-sheds. They were talking noisily and threatening somebody in the office, behind which, so far as Clay could make out, another body of men was gathered. Then the door opened, and he felt a thrill as Aynsley came out alone and stood where the light fell on him. He looked cool and even good-natured as he confronted the hostile crowd; nothing in his easy pose suggested the strain Clay knew he must be bearing. As he fixed his eyes on the straight, handsome figure and the calm face, Clay felt that his son was a credit to him.
“I’d hate to see you get into trouble for nothing, boys,” Aynsley said in a clear voice. “If you’ll think it over, you’ll see that you have nothing against the management of this mill. We pay standard wages and engaged foreigners only when we could get nobody else. They’ll be replaced by white men when their work is done.”
“We’ve come along to see you fire them out to-night!” cried one of the strikers.
“I’m sorry that’s impossible,” Aynsley replied firmly.