A RAID
Austin Leyburn was well enough satisfied. More than that, he felt he had earned these moments of satisfaction.
He had taken a big chance in rushing down in his automobile from Calford to Everton at the moment when the newly started strike of the railroad required his whole attention, and the sympathies of other forms of transport required to be brought into line. So many things might go wrong with his greater plans, and though his working staff and fellow-leaders were men of capacity, and fully able to deal with affairs, he knew that, in all emergency, his was the organizing brain, his was the final word.
But the risk had been worth while. Anything was worth while that gave him opportunity of satisfying something of his almost lifelong hatred of Alexander Hendrie. This new toy of his, this organization of agricultural labor, had assumed proportions far greater in his mind than any of his other interests, and the reason of it lay in the fact that at last, after years of waiting, it had brought him into contact with the man, Leo. Better still, Leo, the Leo he had at last found out, was worth while. He was a great man, a man head and shoulders above all his fellows in the world's affairs, and his ultimate fall would be something worth while having brought about.
His delight was manifest as he rode along the trail in the direction of Everton. His good humor left his narrow eyes smiling his satisfied thought. His men had worked well; and he—well, he had never worked harder, or with a more satisfactory result. These men of the soil were far easier to influence than town-bred workers. It was natural—as they were. Yes, for once in his life he felt grateful to those who had served him. The men who had been sent ahead to agitate had never worked with such successful results. He would remember them, and mark them out for promotion.
Then there was young Frank Smith. He smiled more broadly down at his horse's ears. Leo's son—working for his father's downfall. It was a pretty touch, and the humor of it tickled him. Oh, Leo should know of it—later on, when the work was completed.
Frank. He wondered where he was just now. The smile died out of his eyes. He had purposely kept his meeting secret. He had had no desire that the boy should witness it. He had a perfect estimate of the youngster's prejudices and feelings which might have militated against his, Leyburn's, success had Frank listened to his urging of those drink-sodden creatures to violence. But where was he? He had received no word from the boy for nearly a week. He made a mental note to set inquiries afoot—that is, if no word were awaiting him on his return to Calford.
At that moment his horse, an old roadster, hired at the livery barn in Everton, threw up its head and snuffed at the light, southern breeze. Leyburn glanced up expectantly and turned his eyes in the direction in which his uneasy horse was staring. In an instant Frank was forgotten, and his whole attention became fixed upon what he beheld. He drew rein sharply, and the animal stood fidgeting and fretful.
Away to the southwest behind him a ruddy glow shone upon the night sky. It was the direction whence the night breeze sprang, and he knew that it was at the point where he had held his meeting. He rubbed his hands gleefully and chuckled. While he watched the glow spread along the southern horizon, and as it spread so the stars in the sky above were obscured, and he knew that a great fog of smoke had intervened to hide them.
His horse continued to fidget, and again and again its gushing nostrils strove to expel the taint of smoke, now plainly to be noticed in the fresh air of the plains.