“Stand back!—all of you!” cried Morehouse. “Don’t lay a hand on that gate. Boys, pick your men.”
He called this last to his clerks, at the same instant whipping from behind the counter a carbine, which he cocked. The assayer brought into view a shot-gun, while the cashier and clerks armed themselves. It was evident that the deposits of the Alaska Bank were abundantly safeguarded.
“I don’t aim to have any trouble with you-all,” continued the Southerner, “but that money stays here till it’s drawn out right.”
The crowd paused at this show of resistance, but Glenister railed at them:
“Come on—come on! What’s the matter with you?” And from the light in his eye it was evident that he would not be balked.
Helen felt that a crisis was come, and braced herself. These men were in deadly earnest: the white-haired banker, his pale helpers, and those grim, quiet ones outside. There stood brawny, sun-browned men, with set jaws and frowning faces, and yellow-haired Scandinavians in whose blue eyes danced the flame of battle. These had been baffled at every turn, goaded by repeated failure, and now stood shoulder to shoulder in their resistance to a cruel law. Suddenly Helen heard a command from the street and the quick tramp of men, while over the heads before her she saw the glint of rifle barrels. A file of soldiers with fixed bayonets thrust themselves roughly through the crowd at the entrance.
“Clear the room!” commanded the officer.
“What does this mean?” shouted Wheaton.
“It means that Judge Stillman has called upon the military to guard this gold, that’s all. Come, now, move quick.” The men hesitated, then sullenly obeyed, for resistance to the blue of Uncle Sam comes only at the cost of much consideration.
“They’re robbing us with our own soldiers,” said Wheaton, when they were outside.