And even as the speaker finished, over in the yards, beyond the long line of brown freight cars, went up a yell of wrath, a savage sort of cheer that seemed to carry a shudder with it, a sound as of the rush of a thousand feet, and presently men came darting under or scrambling upon the cars, and gazing eagerly through or over the high picket-fence that separated them from the shop enclosure. Catching sight of the gathering at the main entrance, and recognizing some familiar form, many among them began to gesticulate, and cries were heard of "There he is!" "Traitor!" "Scab!" "Scoundrel!" And fists were clinched, and clubs were brandished, and more men clambered to the car roofs, and boys beat upon the fence with stones, and shouted shrill taunt and insult.
"You hear?" said the stranger. "They're talking about you now, and the traitor work you've done this day. Will you go to your home and stay there, and see to it that Fred makes no attempt to join his regiment? Will you promise—promise to pull no throttle, handle no tool, until this trouble's ended?"
"Will I deal or dicker with such as you, do you dare to think?" burst in old Wallace, mad with indignation. "Out of my way, or I'll handle a tool to some purpose. Stand aside and let me go where I belong," he ordered, for the man stood at the doorway as though to oppose his passage, but the fire and fury in the Scotchman's eye appalled him, and instinctively he drew aside. Then with something like the snort of a Highland stag, in sheer contempt the foreman strode by and into the gloomy, unlighted shops, just as Jim, with alarm and misery in his face, came panting to the spot.
"For goodness sake, don't let them touch the old man, fellows! Think how he's worked for the road for years before we were born. It's like home to him. You'd feel as he does if you'd worked for it so long. Stoltz has been making a speech inciting them to mob him. They're coming now. Speak to them, Mr. Steinman," he implored the stranger. "Speak to them, and stand them off."
"It's his own folly," said Steinman, waving Jim aside, and starting to get out of the road. "I've pleaded with him—warned him to no purpose. He insulted me—threatened to split my skull. Ask these men here," he continued, and the nodding heads and murmured words of the by-standers gave quick assent. "I promised him protection if he'd simply agree to go home and stay there, and keep that fool of a brother of yours from joining his regiment."
"He couldn't promise that," protested Jim, all breathless with anxiety and grief. Already a crowd of rioters were surging through the gate a hundred yards away, and coming threateningly towards them. "The moment Fred could get his head dressed he left. He's gone two hours ago."
"Gone!" cried Steinman; "to join men who'd shoot us down like dogs! Then let the old man swallow his pill," and turning to the coming throng the furious leader shouted, "Come on!"
To Jim Wallace's side came running now, trembling, weeping with excitement and fear, a little boy of nine. With one grab the burly freight conductor seized and fairly slung him through the doorway into the dark interior, sprang after him, turned and barred the heavy oaken door, then seizing again the little fellow's hand, rushed him through a long lane of half-completed cars, through dim and gloomy aisles, and a maze of work-benches, until they reached the north end of the shops, a long block away.
"Now, Billy boy," he cried, straining his little brother one instant in his arms, "be a man for daddy's sake. Run like the wind for the avenue. Fred's regiment can't be six blocks away. Tell the Colonel they're killing father at the shops. Away with you, laddie!"
And like an arrow from the bow the little fellow sped, even as the sound of battering beams thundered through the resounding arches of the dark deserted shops, and Jim went groping back to find his gray-haired father.