Dennis O’Day had been her slave since babyhood. She had always had her way, and had done as she had threatened. He knew, too, that she was the only one who had a bit of tenderness for him. The men outside cared little for him. Fear of the consequences was the sole reason that many a miner had not quietly assisted him into the next world.
Nora came up to him again. She rested her head against his shoulder. “Listen, daddy, to what I tell you,” she said gently, her anger disappearing. In a few words she told him of her isolation at school, and how Elizabeth Hobart had befriended her. Her eyes filled as she talked. Her hearer, too, was moved. When she had finished, she kissed him again. “I’ll be to you the best daughter a man ever had. Go now,” pushing him toward the door. “And tell them that I have brought you news which changes the program. I’ll go with you, daddy. If they harm you, I’ll bear the blows too.”
He told her to stay, but she followed close after him. He had no fear of bodily harm. There would be growls and snarls, and perhaps threats, but the trouble would end there. Gerani, Colowski, Raffelo, Sickerenza, were the bell-sheep. He could control them.
Pushing his way to the front of the saloon, he stood in the doorway and shouted with the full force of his lungs. He spoke Slavic, and they listened. There were mutterings and growls as might have been expected. He gave no reason for the delay of the attack, but his words suggested much.
Gerani, in the background, in low tones was urging a group of Slavs to answer O’Day, and declare that they would go on. O’Day’s eyes were on the big Slav. He understood the conditions. Nothing would please Gerani better than to have the miners rush upon the speaker and kill him.
O’Day understood. He called out, “Take my word for it, Gerani. We won’t get into this to-night. They’ve filled the cars on the incline with dynamite. The moment we set foot there, down comes the car. Do you want your men blown to pieces? Besides, my daughter,” he drew her against him, “brings news of the militia close at hand. Go back to your homes, men—back to bed. Let the National Guards find you all asleep, and their work for nothing. If they see all quiet, they’ll leave. Then will come our time. While I think of it, Gerani, Father O’Brady still keeps safe in the church those papers you know of.
“Sickerenza, you haven’t forgotten, have you, about the breakers being burnt up at Wilkes-Barre? Seeing you, put me in mind of them.
“Colowski, I know a man who’s looking for Sobieski.”
The three men thus addressed swore beneath their breath. Thus O’Day forever kept the noose about their necks. They slunk from sight.
“Speak to the men, you curs,” commanded O’Day in English which but a few understood. “Tell them to go back home, Gerani.”