The place was lit by an oil lamp suspended on a hook in one of the timber joists supporting the floor of the house above, and by its dim, yellow light four white-robed figures, with their sugar-loaf hoods, pierced with eye-holes, were revealed lounging on such of the upturned packing-cases as afforded reasonable security. A fifth was standing, leaning in his immaculate garment against the rusted side of the derelict furnace.
It was a spectacle for humour to witness these queer, ghostly figures in their secret haunt, holding solemn conclave in a cellar which in ordinary life probably nothing on earth would have induced any of them to enter. But their purpose was utterly and completely serious. They formed the Supreme Executive of the “Council of the Northern Lights,” which was the whole control of the great body of the men of the Aurora Clan.
The big man at the furnace was clearly the leader and prime moving spirit of the organisation, and he was talking in the cold, hard fashion which so much suggested his position. His whole manner was that of keen command, but for all the coldness of his tone there was neither roughness of language nor the least vaunting display of authority.
“We needed this council right away,” he said. “We need to take a clear decision before the sun gets up. That’s why I sent you boys word when maybe you were yearning to make good the sleep you’re needing. We’ve had a busy night. And I reckon, as a result of it, we’ve a busy time in the future.”
He paused. His hooded head was raised so that its eye-holes were directed at the lantern above him, which had begun to splutter. As the flame settled again to its business he went on:
“Our job is primarily to clean up some of the muck lying about our city. I know that. But I never had any doubts, from the moment of our foundation, that an endeavour like ours might easily lead us into other work—other responsibilities. The logic of the whole position is simple. If we reckon to clean up the muck of the city, we also need to set its furniture into decent order. It’s no use setting hogs to live in a palace. If we’re cleaning up morals, let’s look to folks’ rights.”
He paused again. This time he was listening acutely. There was a sound drifting somewhere out over the bosom of the lake. It was the rising of the wind as the sun approached the horizon.
“Now, boys,” he went on, speaking more hastily, “I don’t want to keep you from the sleep you’re all needing, but this is the proposition as a result of this night’s work. Beacon stands right at the crossways to-day. Maybe soon there’ll be a flood of oil come to its rescue through those folks on the Alsek River. That, I guess, is in the lap of the gods and the feller running it. Then there’s the other thing—gold. It was gold that raised this city. Well, Beacon can go up, or further down, as a result of those two things. A big gold strike or a big oil strike, can send her sky high. That’s all right. But it seems to me our work demands that whether it’s the feller, McLagan, with his oil, or any other boy with gold, we need to see that Beacon gets its due success as a result of any strike in its neighbourhood. I guess McLagan’ll play white. If he don’t the remedy is with our Clan. But the gold boys are more difficult.”
He stood up from the rusty stove, and his white robe was sadly besmirched, but he gave no heed and went on sharply and with obvious feeling.
“It’s that feller, Cy Liskard, we’ve been dealing with to-night. I believe he’s made a strike that looks like transforming Beacon from a derelict city to a hive of prosperity.”