“Fall in!” he shouted, and at least a hundred men fell in behind him, marching two abreast. Here and there, as they moved along, a man would forsake the line to disappear into his own gate. When he rejoined his neighbors he invariably carried an axe, pick, or crowbar.
From the square they turned into Main Street, and from Main Street into the north road, and presently the head of the procession halted before a cluster of small frame houses resting in a hollow to their right.
“These must come down first,” said McClintock. “Now we want no noise, men. We'll pass out their stuff as quietly as we can, and take it back to the square.”
He swung open a gate as he spoke. “Williams keeps a team. A couple of you fellows run around to the barn and hook up.”
Just then the front door opened, and Williams himself appeared on the threshold. A dog barked, other doors opened, lights gleamed in a score of windows, and the North End threw off its cloak of silence and darkness.
“Keep quiet, and let me do the talking,” said McClintock over his shoulder. Then to the figure in the doorway:
“We have come to help you move, John. I take it you will be wanting to leave here shortly.”
“The hell you have!” responded Williams, roughly.
“We'll give you a hand!” and the master mechanic pushed through the gate and took a step down the path.
“Hold on!” cried Williams, swinging out an arm. “I got something to say about that!”