“WE must have money,” said Glenister a few days later. “When McNamara jumped our safe he put us down and out. There’s no use fighting in this court any longer, for the Judge won’t let us work the ground ourselves, even if we give bond, and he won’t grant an appeal. He says his orders aren’t appealable. We ought to send Wheaton out to ’Frisco and have him take the case to the higher courts. Maybe he can get a writ of supersedeas.”
“I don’t rec’nize the name, but if it’s as bad as it sounds it’s sure horrible. Ain’t there no cure for it?”
“It simply means that the upper court would take the case away from this one.”
“Well, let’s send him out quick. Every day means ten thousand dollars to us. It ’ll take him a month to make the round trip, so I s’pose he ought to leave to-morrow on the Roanoke.”
“Yes, but where’s the money to do it with? McNamara has ours. My God! What a mess we’re in! What fools we’ve been, Dex! There’s a conspiracy here. I’m beginning to see it now that it’s too late. This man is looting our country under color of law, and figures on gutting all the mines before we can throw him off. That’s his game. He’ll work them as hard and as long as he can, and Heaven only knows what will become of the money. He must have big men behind him in order to fix a United States judge this way. Maybe he has the ’Frisco courts corrupted, too.”
“If he has, I’m goin’ to kill him,” said Dextry. “I’ve worked like a dog all my life, and now that I’ve struck pay I don’t aim to lose it. If Bill Wheaton can’t win out accordin’ to law, I’m goin’ to proceed accordin’ to justice.”
During the past two days the partners had haunted the court-room where their lawyer, together with the counsel for the Scandinavians, had argued and pleaded, trying every possible professional and unprofessional artifice in search of relief from the arbitrary rulings of the court, while hourly they had become more strongly suspicious of some sinister plot—some hidden, powerful understanding back of the Judge and the entire mechanism of justice. They had fought with the fury of men who battle for life, and had grown to hate the lines of Stillman’s vacillating face, the bluster of the district-attorney, and the smirking confidence of the clerks, for it seemed that they all worked mechanically, like toys, at the dictates of Alec McNamara. At last, when they had ceased, beaten and exhausted, they were too confused with technical phrases to grasp anything except the fact that relief was denied them; that their claims were to be worked by the receiver; and, as a crowning defeat, they learned that the Judge would move his court to St. Michael’s and hear no cases until he returned, a month later.
Meanwhile, McNamara hired every idle man he could lay hand upon, and ripped the placers open with double shifts. Every day a stream of yellow dust poured into the bank and was locked in his vaults, while those mine-owners who attempted to witness the clean-ups were ejected from their claims. The politician had worked with incredible swiftness and system, and a fortnight after landing he had made good his boast to Struve, and was in charge of every good claim in the district, the owners were ousted, their appeals argued and denied, and the court gone for thirty days, leaving him a clear field for his operations. He felt a contempt for most of his victims, who were slow-witted Swedes, grasping neither the purport nor the magnitude of his operation, and as to those litigants who were discerning enough to see its enormity, he trusted to his organization to thwart them.
The two partners had come to feel that they were beating against a wall, and had also come squarely to face the proposition that they were without funds wherewith to continue their battle. It was maddening for them to think of the daily robbery that they suffered, for the Midas turned out many ounces of gold at every shift; and more maddening to realize the receiver’s shrewdness in crippling them by his theft of the gold in their safe. That had been his crowning stroke.
“We MUST get money quick,” said Glenister. “Do you think we can borrow?”