With signs and what words he could make use of, Hugh tried to find out from the injured striker whether there were others still on the battlefield who would be in need of rescue. Perhaps the man had a smattering knowledge of English, or else Hugh’s signs were wonderfully illuminating; at least he comprehended what the boy was trying to ask, for he pointed back, and then held up the fingers of both hands.
The boys exchanged horrified looks. Hugh hoped there was some mistake on the part of the man. It would be a dreadful thing if they found the field covered with dead and wounded strikers; such a calamity had not been known in the state for many a long year, and the slaughter must create a wide sentiment in favor of arbitration in these unfortunate labor disputes. “Come on, boys! No matter what is waiting for us there, we must go on,” Hugh told his two chums who carried the homely but useful stretcher.
“I can see the buildings of the cement works right ahead of us, Hugh!” exclaimed Alec, shortly after they had parted company with the limping striker who was trying his best to get back among his own people so that his wounds could be cared for.
“Steady again, everybody!” said Hugh. “We must be careful not to do anything to make them fire on us. Of course they’re bound to see that we don’t belong to that crowd, and so I don’t think we run much danger, if we keep our heads, and they do the same.”
As they drew near the stockade that had been built of heavy planks all around the works where labor troubles had possibly been of frequent occurrence, the boys could see that men were watching their approach, crouching on some sort of platform that gave them a chance to see over the barricade.
“Oh! there are some of the strikers lying about here, for there’s a man right now, hugging his knees as though he might be suffering terribly!” declared Bud.
“I see another—two, three of them!” burst out Alec, in a voice that trembled; “and, Hugh, what do you think, there’s a little child playing over there alongside—yes, it must be a woman. Oh! I wonder if the poor thing is dead, and the baby doesn’t know it?”
“No, for I saw her raise her arm, then, to pull at the child,” said Hugh. “We must attend to her first of all. But while you’re heading that way I’ll go straight on a little, and try to get in touch with the party in command of the guards back of the stockade,” and waving his white flag, the scout master strode bravely forward.
CHAPTER XI.
A TRAGEDY OF THE STRIKE.
“Stop where you are!”