Half an hour later another shrill blast called the day-shift in mine and mill to their work, and the tired men of the night-shift came out of the chuck-shanty and made for the bunk-house. The Mexicans proceeded to their pick-and-shovel and wheelbarrow work about the tanks, and Jacobs could be heard moving around in the laboratory.
With Jacobs astir so close at hand conversation between those in the old powder-house could not be indulged in.
The hours dragged slowly. The mill was the heart of the camp, and it was strange how lifeless the place seemed while the mill was out of commission.
Occasionally Bernritter showed himself between the mill, where the clean-up was going forward, and the office. Once he met Jacobs in the open, and the two exchanged words. The scout and the trapper, peering out from their place of concealment, noticed that both men seemed furtive and apprehensive. When they separated, Jacobs skulked back to his laboratory like a man who was fearful of what was to come.
The pards in the old powder-house munched their rations calmly. They were there for “business,” and their one desire was to get the business over as swiftly as possible.
A blast of the mill-siren told them that noon had come. Again was there a flocking in the direction of the bunk-house, but there were not so many men at dinner as there had been at breakfast. All the miners and millmen on the day-shift had carried their dinners into mine and mill with them.
As the miners on the night-shift loitered back toward the bunk-house, McGowan, with a bundle under his arm wrapped in canvas, followed them.
“There, Nick,” whispered the scout in the trapper’s ear, “McGowan is going to arm the miners and tell them to be on the lookout for trouble.”
“Wonder ef he has posted ther millmen yet?” returned Nomad.