“Sure. We had to. The other people shadowed us, and it’s come to a point where it’s life or death to one side or the other. I told McNamara we’d have bloodshed before we were through, when he first outlined the scheme—I mean when the trouble began.”
She wrung her hands. “That’s what uncle feared before we left Seattle. That’s why I took the risks I did in bringing you those papers. I thought you got them in time to avoid all this.”
Struve laughed a bit, eying her curiously.
“Does Uncle Arthur know about this?” she continued.
“No, we don’t let him know anything more than necessary; he’s not a strong man.”
“Yes, yes. He’s not well.” Again the lawyer smiled. “Who is behind this Vigilante movement?”
“We think it is Glenister and his New Mexican bandit partner. At least they got the crowd together.” She was silent for a time.
“I suppose they really think they own those mines.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“But they don’t, do they?” Somehow this question had recurred to her insistently of late, for things were constantly happening which showed there was more back of this great, fierce struggle than she knew. It was impossible that injustice had been done the mine-owners, and yet scattered talk reached her which was puzzling. When she strove to follow it up, her acquaintances adroitly changed the subject. She was baffled on every side. The three local newspapers upheld the court. She read them carefully, and was more at sea than ever. There was a disturbing undercurrent of alarm and unrest that caused her to feel insecure, as though standing on hollow ground.