"Come on, men," called Olsen. "I'll do the talkin'. An' if I say shoot, why, you shoot!"
It was necessary to go around the long line of box-cars. Olsen led the way, with Kurt just back of him. The men spoke but little and in whispers. At the left end of the line the darkness was thick enough to make objects indistinct.
Once around the corner, Kurt plainly descried a big dark crowd of men whose faces showed red in the glow of the huge pile of embers which was all that remained of the elevators. They did not see Olsen's men.
"Hold on," whispered Olsen. "If we get in a fight here we'll be in a bad place. We've nothin' to hide behind. Let's go off—more to the left—an' come up behind those freight-cars on the switches. That'll give us cover an' we'll have the I.W.W.'s in the light."
So he led off to the left, keeping in the shadow, and climbed between several lines of freight-cars, all empty, and finally came out behind the I.W.W.'s. Olsen led to within fifty yards of them, and was halted by some observant member of the gang who sat with the others on top of a flat-car.
This man's yell stilled the coarse talk and laughter of the gang.
"What's that?" shouted a cold, clear voice with authority in it.
Kurt thought he recognized the voice, and it caused a bursting, savage sensation in his blood.
"Here's a bunch of farmers with guns!" yelled the man from the flat-car.
Olsen halted his force near one of the detached lines of box-cars, which he probably meant to take advantage of in case of a fight.