A COWARDLY BLOW
A TRAINLOAD of miners was brought into the town on the following morning. Not half a dozen of them got to the mines. Pickets halted the men at the station and "argued" to such good purpose that the newcomers joined the union then and there, save for a few who slipped through the ranks of the pickets and made their way to the mines.
This kept up for several days. As fast as the company sent new men into the mining region the strikers would "gobble" them up. The strike was being strengthened every day.
The face of Cavard, the walking delegate, wore a self-satisfied smile. All his well-laid schemes were working out according to programme. The only real opposition that he had had, that of the Iron Boys, had apparently wholly disappeared.
Steve and Bob were not idle, however. Aside from their daily work in the mines, they had set for themselves the difficult task of gathering sufficient evidence against Cavard to prove to the striking miners that their leader was merely using the strike for his own selfish purposes.
There was more or less work done in the mines, though no large quantity of ore was being mined. However, the company was making a very respectable showing, owing to the efforts of the Iron Boys, who accomplished the greater part of the executive work that was done. Mr. Penton's time was largely taken up on the surface, while the mine captains spent most of their hours at the mouths of the shafts, looking out for the safety of the shafts and the machinery.
The striking miners had held themselves well in check so far as the company's property was concerned. They made no attempt to damage it, but the loyal men had suffered. Of late the strikers had taken to beating the men as they came from work, whenever the strikers could lure a man out of the sight of others.
This caused some of the workers to quit. They had become frightened. Threats were being circulated that the workers would be even more roughly handled if they did not stop working and join the strikers.
Steve had not seen Miss Cavard since the evening when she had halted him and warned him against attending the meeting. He had thought over that warning several times since. It told him that the attack on himself and companion at the hall had been part of a prearranged plan.Miss Cavard evidently had learned of it through her brother, and she had sought to dissuade Steve from attending the meeting.
"There must be some good in the girl, or she wouldn't have done that," Steve decided as he was passing the Cavard home one evening.
The strike had been on for about six weeks, and thus far the Iron Boys had avoided coming into conflict with the strikers, though the lads had been goaded almost to the point of desperation every time they showed themselves at the shaft, or where the strikers were congregated in the village. The strikers often sought to draw the boys into a fight, so that they might have a good excuse to beat the lads.
Rush and Jarvis were too shrewd to be caught in the trap. By this time they had become more and more a thorn in the side of Cavard. They were interfering with his plans. Their activity was too great to suit him, and the walking delegate planned to rid himself of his young foes in a way that would effectively dispose of them.
As Steve was passing the Cavard home on the evening in question, he glanced up and saw Miss Cavard standing on the front door step.
"Good evening, Mr. Rush," she greeted him. "Won't you come in?"
"No, thank you."
"I wish you would. I want to talk to you."
"You will excuse me, but I could not think of entering your brother's home, Miss Cavard."
"He is not at home. He is away much of the time now. I feel that I may trust you, Mr. Rush. I do not approve of my brother's actions, but he is my brother, just the same."
"I understand," murmured the boy.
"You remember an occasion, some time ago, when I begged you not to attend a certain meeting, do you not?"
"I do, indeed."
"You saw that my warning was not idle chatter?"
"I did."
"I like you, Mr. Rush. You are a fine young man, and I am going to warn you again."
"What, more trouble?" smiled Steve.
"There may be."
"What is it this time?"
"I cannot tell you, for I do not know. I do know that you have enemies who are plotting to do you harm. They will get you yet."
"I am not afraid of them," answered Steve, drawing himself up proudly.
"I know that. That is what worries me. What can you, a boy, do against a great crowd of men who are getting desperate? Oh, what terrible things these strikes are! How my heart aches for some of the wives and children of thestriking miners! They are actually suffering. I am doing what I can for the worst cases, and——"
"Can I help you, Miss Cavard? I should like to help someone who is suffering," said Rush quickly, evincing a sudden interest in what the girl was saying.
"Perhaps you might, but that is not what I wanted to speak with you about. I want to warn you again."
"Well, I am listening. What is the great danger that threatens me this time?"
"I told you I did not know. But you must leave town. You can take a vacation. I am sure your employers will be glad to give you one. Why not go home and visit your mother until this strike is ended?"
Rush gazed at the girl suspiciously. For the moment he harbored a suspicion that the girl herself was a part of the plot she said was being hatched against him. But he put the thought aside as unworthy.
"I couldn't do that, Miss Cavard. I should be a coward if I did, and no one shall accuse me of cowardice. I am going to stay here as long as the company has use for my services. If I am assaulted I shall do the best I can to defend myself. You may tell your brother that I do not fear him, if you choose."
"I shall do nothing of the sort," answered the girl sharply, flushing. "I wish I might say something that would change you, that would make you heed me."
"I appreciate your kindness; believe me, I do, Miss Cavard, but my duty is to my employers, and here I shall remain. If I get the worst of it, I shall know that I have done my duty——"
"There comes my brother. You must go."
Steve swung down the street at once. Half way down the block he met Cavard face to face.
The walking delegate stopped directly in front of the young man.
"Well, my friend, what do you think of the strike now?" demanded Cavard in a mocking tone.
"What do I think? I think it is the greatest outrage that was ever perpetrated on a body of men who have not the power to think for themselves. You will have much to answer for at the day of reckoning, Mr. Cavard."
"I'll pass all that, Rush. I have been talking with the men lately. They express themselves as being sorry for the way they used you. They want to make amends——"
"So I should judge from the way they act toward me when they meet me outside," interrupted Steve.
"That has all been a mistake. The men who have annoyed you are not the representative miners. They are the men who have been brought in here by the company. A pretty tough crowd——"
"I know who they are. You need not try to tell me."
"Our members have commissioned me to ask you to attend our meetings."
"What for? So they can give me another drubbing?" demanded the lad.
"No, no; you do not understand. They want to apologize. They want you to come back into the union. Believe me, it is the best thing you can do. Should you refuse I cannot answer for the consequences. The men are getting worked up to a high pitch. I do not know how long I shall be able to control them."
"You must think me a fool!" replied the Iron Boy. "Of course I shall not join the union. I have had enough unionism to last me for the rest of my life, if all unions are like this one. I do not believe they are, however."
"Take my advice and join."
"I took your advice once, and as a result I have some of the marks on my body still. I understand your purpose. You think I am a little too active, and you take this as the best way to rid yourself of the annoyance," addedthe boy shrewdly. "No, thank you. My activity will continue until I have shown you to your blind followers in your true colors."
Steve started to pass Cavard, whereupon the latter quickly stepped in front of him, barring the Iron Boy's progress.
Steve's eyes snapped dangerously.
"Are you going to let me pass?"
"Not until I have finished what I have to say to you."
"Are you going to let me pass, or have I got to knock you down first? It must be one or the other."
For a moment the man and the boy stood looking into each other's eyes. Cavard towered half a head above the Iron Boy, and he was strong in proportion. There were few men in the mines possessing greater strength than the president of the union.
A sudden flush suffused the face of Cavard. Without an instant's warning he let go a powerful blow straight at the head of Steve Rush.
LAMB CHOPS FOR THE BABY
QUICK as the blow had been, the Iron Boy had not been caught unawares. He had been watching the eyes of the walking delegate, and he had read the man's purpose some seconds before the blow was struck.
Steve swerved his head an inch to one side, permitting the blow to shoot over his shoulder.
The lad leaped lightly back in order to have more room in which to swing his body, then drove his fist straight out from the shoulder. The fist landed squarely on the point of the walking delegate's jaw.
Cavard had been caught off his guard. He had not looked for such a sudden return, and the failure of his own blow to land had thrown him off his poise.
The walking delegate turned half way about under the force of the blow, wavered for a brief instant, then measured his length on the wooden sidewalk, flat on his face.
"I'm sorry I did that," muttered Steve, with a revulsion of feeling. "But I had to, or I should have been roughly handled."
He turned Cavard over, looking into the man's pale face. Cavard was dazed, but Steve saw that he was not seriously hurt and would recover in a minute.
The boy's inclination was to hurry away. He conquered it. He was too much of a man to do a thing like that, so he stepped back a few paces, where he stood with folded arms waiting for his victim to recover.
This Cavard quickly did. He staggered to his feet unsteadily, still dazed and uncertain. All at once he fixed his eyes on the face of the Iron Boy.
"You—you whelp! You—you'll suffer for that cowardly blow. I'll—I'll hound you out of the camp, or else I'll——"
"Get run out yourself," finished Steve. "Good night."
With that the lad turned and walked briskly down the street. Cavard stood gazing after him for a moment, then started unsteadily for his own home. Could Steve Rush have seen the expression on the face of the walking delegate at that moment, he might possibly have thought better of his determination to remain in the mining town and fight his unequal battle.
The lad also had started for home, but he was destined to be still further delayed. His experiences for that night were not yet at anend. A heavy hand was all at once laid on his shoulder with a grip so powerful that the boy winced.
He whirled about, expecting to find himself face to face with Cavard, and ready to do battle.
Instead, Rush found a giant form towering over him, peering down into his face.
"Hello, Olsen; is that you?"
The man nodded.
Segunder Olsen was an Icelander, a veritable giant in stature, and known to be a man possessing great strength. He had been forced out with his fellows when the strike was called. Steve had never passed half a dozen words with the Icelander. The latter was a taciturn man, but one who could do a day's work that was the wonder of the men who worked with him.
"What do you want, Olsen?" demanded Steve, trying to release himself from the other's grip.
"You make this strike, huh?"
"What—why certainly not. What made you think I did?"
"Men say you tell bosses not to pay us money. Then we must strike and get more. Huh?"
"They have told you lies, Olsen. I tried to prevent the strike. I knew how much you would all suffer if there were a strike, but the menwould not listen to me. You may go to work if you wish to. There is nothing to hinder your doing so."
"Not have me."
"Oh, yes, they will."
"You come with me, huh?"
"Where to?"
"Come; I show you what strike does. You come home with me, you see what strike does."
Without waiting for the boy to assent, Olsen, with his grip still on Steve's shoulder, started, fairly dragging the Iron Boy along with him.
Rush no longer offered any resistance. Something about the Icelander impressed the boy strongly. There was a note of hopelessness in the man's tone, though his face was impassive, which told Steve that the fellow was suffering great mental anguish.
"You need not hang to my shoulder, Olsen. I will go with you if you want me to," said the boy in a kindly tone.
But Segunder gave no heed. He held tightly to Steve's shoulder. The two hurried on, the Icelander taking long strides. He led the way to the outskirts of the village, coming to a halt before a dilapidated, one-storied cottage, the door of which Olsen pushed open, thrusting Steve Rush in. Olsen followed, closing the door.
A solitary candle furnished all the light therewas in the room. There was no fire in the stove, though the weather was cold, the snow falling early in that far northern region.
A woman sat holding a baby close to her to give the child some of the warmth from her own body. She was pale and thin, but Steve noted that her eyes lighted up as they fixed themselves upon the face of Olsen.
On a bed lay a girl of some ten years. The child was thin and emaciated, and the Iron Boy saw at once that she was in a high fever.
"Him make strike," announced Olsen, pointing to Steve Rush.
"Madame, are you Mrs. Olsen?" asked the lad.
"Yes, sir," answered the woman in good English. "Who are you?"
"My name is Rush. Your husband has brought me here, for what purpose I do not know."
"He says you are responsible for this terrible strike. Are you?"
"I am not. I have had no more to do with bringing it on than you. I did all I could to prevent it. Your husband is in error. The men have told him untruths about me. If your husband wishes to leave the union and go to work, I will see that he begins work to-morrow. Has he tried?"
"Yes, sir. He has been to the mine nearly every day, but they would not take him."
"Whom did you ask for work?" demanded Steve, turning to Olsen.
"Little captain, Red Rock."
"You mean Mr. Barton, mining captain of the Red Rock Mine?"
Olsen nodded.
"And he would not take you back?"
"Him no take me."
"He will to-morrow," said Steve.
"Oh, if you will do that for my husband, I shall bless you!" exclaimed the woman. "Segunder, this young man is a good man. Surely he could not have brought this terrible thing upon us."
Segunder's face relaxed a little.
"Are you in need of assistance, Mrs. Olsen?"
The woman hesitated. Her pride was battling with her love for her little family.
"Oh, yes, sir; we are. We do not care for ourselves, my husband and myself, but our children! Just look at them!"
"Have you been to the union, Olsen, and asked them to give you money?"
Olsen shrugged his shoulders.
"No help."
"What is the matter with the little girl on the bed there?"
"She has pneumonia."
"Have you had a doctor?"
"Yes; but he would not come again because we had no money to pay him."
"The cur!" muttered Steve under his breath.
"We have not had a thing in the house to eat since yesterday morning, and then there was scarcely a mouthful apiece."
Segunder smote the table a terrible blow with his fist. The baby asleep in its mother's arms awakened and began crying loudly.
"I kill bosses. I kill them!" shouted Olsen in a terrible voice. "I bring you here to kill you. Maybe you lie to me. Then I kill you, anyhow!"
"Segunder, Segunder!" cried the woman aghast. "This young man is going to help you. He is going to give you work. Don't you understand?"
Olsen grabbed Steve by both shoulders, and, pushing him over to the light, peered long and earnestly into the eyes of the Iron Boy. Then the huge Icelander drew a deep breath that seemed to come from his boots.
"You no lie? You speak true? You give me work?"
"To-morrow morning. And I will do more than that. Cheer up, Mrs. Olsen. I am going away now, but I shall be back within an hour.You shall have a doctor, and you shall have something else. Olsen, you stay here until I return," commanded Rush sternly. "Mrs. Olsen, see to it that he remains in the house."
Steve was out of the place with a bound. He did not walk this time, but started away on a run. He knew where there was a doctor, not far away, and he made straight for the doctor's house.
"There is a sick child in one of the strikers' homes," said the lad, as the doctor opened the door. "I wish you would go and look after the child."
"One of the strikers?"
"Yes."
"Who is it?"
"Olsen—Segunder Olsen."
"Oh! Who will pay me for attending the case?"
Steve gazed at the doctor in amazement.
"You see, these fellows think we doctors can work for nothing. They make all sorts of promises, but when they are out of work they really expect us to not only keep them, but to furnish them medicines and treat them in the bargain. I know the kind. However, I'll go if you say it is all right. I don't want to appear inhuman," added the doctor, half apologetically.
"Never mind, doctor; I couldn't think of allowingyou to work for nothing," answered Rush sarcastically. "I know someone who will be glad to do so—a man who has some human sympathy left. Good night."
Steve dashed down the steps and ran to the office of the company doctor.
"Why, certainly I will go. Why did they not send for me?" demanded the physician, after Steve had explained the case.
"I guess they were too much upset to think of it, after another doctor had refused to attend the case. Can you go at once?"
"This very minute, my lad. Are you going that way?"
"Not now. I have something else to attend to, but I shall be there soon. Perhaps I shall see you. Thank you very much."
"No thanks necessary. I am glad you came to me."
"I will see that your fee is paid, sir."
"You will do nothing of the sort. The idea!"
"I knew I'd find a real man," muttered Steve, as he left the house.
He hurried to his boarding house, where he routed out Bob Jarvis.
"You come with me; I want you."
"What, more trouble?" jeered Jarvis.
"Yes, but not for us. There is a family in distress. The family of Olsen, the big Icelander.They are starving, and one of their children is dying of pneumonia, I believe."
Rush was hurrying down the street, with Bob doing his best to keep up with his companion.
Half an hour later the Iron Boys staggered into the squalid Olsen home under the weight of heavy burdens. Bob Jarvis carried a bag of coal on one shoulder; Steve Rush a huge bundle of kindling wood, with a heavy basket in his right hand.
"Here we are again," he cried cheerily, as the lads dumped their burden to the floor. The doctor was already there, working over the sick girl.
"I must have some hot water, and at once," he said.
"We have no fire, sir," wailed the woman.
"Never mind; we're going to have a fire in two jerks of a lamb's tail," exclaimed Jarvis. "Give me that kindling wood."
Bob was full of importance. He dumped the contents of the bag of coal on the floor while Steve was placing the kindling in the stove. In a moment the kindling was crackling cheerfully in the stove.
Olsen sat blinking in his chair. Events were moving rather too rapidly for his slow-moving brain to follow them, while Mrs. Olsen appeared to be dazed by the sudden turn of events.
Steve had dived into the kitchen, returning with a battered teapot, a frying pan and some other articles.
"Don't put much coal on, Bob, or you'll smother the fire. This is going to be a quick-lunch affair. Where's the forks? Here, Bob; you set the table. Why are you standing there doing nothing?"
Mrs. Olsen suddenly realized that she must do something.
"Let me do it, sir. Such work is not for a man."
"You never mind, Mrs. Olsen; you just 'tend the baby. I never had any experience minding a baby, but I have had in cooking. I've got some of the finest lamb chops here you ever saw, and some other things."
Rush drew from the basket a package of chops. In another package was a liberal quantity of steak, which he intended should carry the family over for another day. The Olsens looked on in dazed surprise as one thing after another was taken from the basket. There were bread, butter, vegetables, coffee, tea, canned meats, canned peaches and lastly a can of condensed milk. Such a display of good things probably never before had gladdened the hearts of the Olsens at one time.
Steve set Bob at work paring and slicing thepotatoes they had brought, while he proceeded to cook the chops and set the water boiling for the coffee. Rush went at the work as if it had been his daily task for years. As a matter of fact, he had gotten the meals at home many times when his mother had been too ill to do the work, or was engaged at other tasks.
"We didn't bring you much coal to-night," said Steve apologetically, "because we could not carry any more. You will receive half a ton in the morning, and that will keep you going until your husband can earn money to buy more."
Mrs. Olsen did not answer, for her emotion was too great for words.
"This child must go to the hospital, if we expect to pull her through," announced the doctor at this juncture.
"All right, doctor; when do you want to take her?" questioned Rush.
"She must go to-night."
"Segunder," said Steve, "we are going to take your little girl to the hospital and make her well. You will let the doctor have her for a few days, won't you?"
Olsen nodded, and his wife, with a half-startled look, rose and, going over to the bed, kissed the feverish face of the sick child.
"You will let her go?" urged Steve.
"I will do whatever you advise."
"That's right," nodded the doctor. "We will have her out safe and sound in a few days."
Steve did not know whether they would or not, but he aided in bringing cheer to all the household that night.
"Now I think we are ready for supper. These chops are done to a turn, and——"
"Here, the kiddie's going to have first shot at the chops!" exclaimed Bob.
Picking up a fork, Jarvis speared a steaming hot chop from the pan, and, running across the room, held it out for the baby in Mrs. Olsen's arms.
The child extended a chubby fist for the hot morsel, whereat its mother uttered a cry of protest and quickly drew the child out of harm's way.
"Mercy! Don't do that! It would kill the little one."
"What, a lamb chop kill anybody? Why, I've eaten hundreds of them, and they have never killed me yet."
"What on earth are you trying to do, Bob?" demanded Steve Rush, turning on his companion.
"Oh, he wants the baby to eat a chop," answered Mrs. Olsen, half laughing, half crying.
"Well, of all the mutton heads!" exclaimedSteve. "Does the baby drink milk, Mrs. Olsen?"
"Yes, when we have it."
"Oh, that's too bad. But never mind; I'm going out in a few minutes, and I will send in some fresh milk for the little one. Come, now; sit up and have something to eat."
The family gathered at the table. The doctor, in the meantime, had wrapped the child in blankets, and, telling Mrs. Olsen she might call at the company's hospital in the morning to see it, the kind-hearted physician strode out of the house with his little burden. It was but a short distance to the company's hospital, and he believed he would be able to get the child there much more comfortably in his own arms than in the hospital ambulance.
With a gladness in her eyes that had not been seen there for many days Mrs. Olsen seated herself at the table. Segunder had to be fairly pushed there by Steve. Even when the big Icelander had taken his place at the table he did not eat. He sat with his big eyes fixed wonderingly on the face of Steve Rush.
"Now, you are all fixed and we will leave you. I'll send the milk in for the baby as soon as I can find it. I'll get it, even if I have to milk somebody's cow on the sly. Segunder, you come to me at the mine in the morning, and I will seethat you get to work. Good night, all. Come on, Bob."
All at once Segunder Olsen's face was buried on his arms on the table and his huge frame was shaking with sobs of joy. He understood at last. All that had been so unreal to him for the last hour had now become sudden, sweet realities.
The Iron Boys hastily left the house, and though neither would have admitted it, there was a suspicious moisture in the eyes of each.
THE ICELANDER ON THE TRAIL
ON the following morning Olsen reported to the mine, as directed by Steve. The latter had made some inquiries and the results had aroused his suspicion. Barton, the mine captain of the Red Rock, denied that Olsen had applied to him for work. He grew suddenly red under Steve's questioning. But Steve had Mr. Penton's authority for putting the Icelander to work, and the big man, after gripping Rush's hand until the boy felt like crying out, went to work with a will.
When Steve went home for lunch he found a note from Miss Cavard in which she wrote:
"You offered to help me relieve some of our poor, suffering people. I am taking you at your word. There is a family in dire distress on Cave Street. Their name is Allison. If you will meet me there to-night at eight o'clock, we will see what can be done for them. I wish to consult with you about some other charitable work, and that is one of the reasons I am asking you to meet me as stated above."Sincerely,Marie Cavard."
"You offered to help me relieve some of our poor, suffering people. I am taking you at your word. There is a family in dire distress on Cave Street. Their name is Allison. If you will meet me there to-night at eight o'clock, we will see what can be done for them. I wish to consult with you about some other charitable work, and that is one of the reasons I am asking you to meet me as stated above.
"Sincerely,Marie Cavard."
Steve decided that he would go. There was no good reason why he should not, and his heart really ached for the suffering families of the striking miners. If there were anything he could do to relieve their sufferings he would willingly do it. Already no small part of his wages had been devoted to this very work. Bob Jarvis also had contributed liberally to the cause.
Nothing of moment occurred during the day. When evening arrived Rush, dressed in his best, slipped out, not telling his companion where he was going. He found the house of the Allisons without difficulty. Steve knocked and was admitted. The hall in which he found himself was dark, and the house was as silent as if deserted. The lad did not even see any one who might have opened the door.
"Hello, is anybody at home?" he called.
For answer he was struck a sudden and powerful blow. It sent the boy to the floor in a heap, where he lay as one dead.
Unseen hands lifted the unconscious lad from the floor, carried him down a flight of stairs and threw him upon a pile of straw.
Steve was young and strong, and nature reasserted herself in a few moments. He got to his feet unsteadily and began groping about him.
"I—I wonder where I am?" he muttered.
After groping for some time, Rush decided that he must be in a cellar, but he seemed unable to find any way out of the place. There were no stairs, so far as he could determine, and he had no matches to light that he might look about him.
Rush sat down on the pile of straw to think matters over. He understood at once that someone had struck him down in the dark hall, but as to the identity of his assailant he could not make up his mind. He had a pretty clear idea why the attack on him had been made. Yet the more he thought over the matter the more perplexed did he become as to certain features of it.
All at once the thought of the letter he had received from Miss Cavard entered his mind.
"It was a trick!" almost shouted Steve Rush. "She tricked me here for that scoundrel brother of hers. They wanted to get me here, so they could do me up, and they've won. What a fool I was! But I'll outwit them yet. I'll——"
Steve paused as he heard the sound of footsteps over his head.
"Hello, up there!" he shouted.
There was no answer. The boy shouted again and again, but no attention was paid to his shouts. Apparently they had not been heard, although Steve doubted this to be the case.
Once more Rush tried to find some way out of his prison, but, as before, he failed to do so. After what seemed hours of waiting he decided that there was nothing to be gained by exciting himself, so he threw himself down on the heap of straw, and after a time went to sleep. Being young and vigorous, he was not kept awake by his worries.
Steve was awakened in the morning by the sounds of someone shaking a stove on the floor above. He listened, and understood that the people above were preparing breakfast.
Then the lad realized that he was hungry.
"Hello, up there! Pass down some breakfast, even if you won't let me out." Then, in a lower tone: "If anyone comes down here with my breakfast, I'll walk over him and out pretty quick. I smell breakfast, and it seems to be right here. Whew, but it makes me ravenously hungry!"
Steve's foot at that moment kicked against something that he was sure had not been there on the previous night. He stooped over, when all at once his hands came in contact with a tin pan.
Rush investigated with more than ordinary curiosity.
"Meat, as I live! And hot, too! Why, the stuff must have been placed here within a veryshort time. And potatoes? Well, Iamin luck, after all. Evidently my jailers do not intend to starve me to death."
Steve ate with relish, though the meat was tough and the potatoes were not overdone. After he had finished the meal he felt better, though he would have appreciated a wash. He walked back and forth for an hour or so, feeling that he needed the exercise, after which he lay down for another nap.
In the meantime an alarm had been sent out for the Iron Boy. Bob Jarvis was sure that something had happened to his companion, as Steve never had remained away from home over night before. Jarvis reported the absence to the superintendent and a search was made. Late in the afternoon Bob, worried and irritable, met Olsen. To the latter he explained that Steve was missing.
Segunder listened attentively, but without change of expression.
"Where you think he go?" demanded the Icelander, after Bob had finished.
"I'll tell you, Segunder, I believe that man Cavard has had something to do with this affair."
"Huh!" was the only comment made by the giant.
After his day's work had been finished, however, Segunder started off downtown. He walked along with lowered head, gazing suspiciously into every face he met, as though in search of someone. Olsen continued his slow tramping about the village until the supper hour had passed. He had no thought for this. His mind was possessed of a singleness of purpose that would permit of the entrance of no other thought there.
"You know where boss he stay?" demanded Segunder of the secretary of the union, whom he finally met.
"Who do you mean—the superintendent?"
Olsen shook his head.
"Cavard."
"Oh, Cavard, you mean? I left him at Liberty Hall just now. He is attending to some of the union's affairs there. You will find him if you go there. He isn't going home to supper. What do you want? You're a scab! They'll serve you as they did those two scabs Rush and Jarvis, if you go there."
"No throw Segunder out of window," grunted the Icelander.
The information that he had obtained did not seem to elate him. He turned toward the hall, plodding along with lowered head and set, inexpressive countenance.
There was no one to bar his progress up the stairs, and it was well for such that there was none. Segunder was going up to the meeting room regardless of any obstacles that might obstruct his path.
The Icelander strode into the hall where, with head still lowered, he gazed at Cavard with dull, listless eyes. The walking delegate and head of the union was absorbed in a litter of documents on his desk. At first he did not see Olsen, and there was no one else in the room to inform him of the other man's presence.
Finally the big Icelander coughed to attract the other man's attention.
Cavard glanced up; then a scowl overspread his face.
"What do you want here?" demanded the leader, half irritably.
Segunder did not answer.
"I say, what do you want?"
"I want you. I come speak with you."
"Get out of here! I want nothing to do with a scab!"
"I go when get ready."
"You will go now. If you do not move fast enough I will throw you out—yes, I'll throw you downstairs head first, or whichever way you chance to start. Now go!"
Cavard arose to give emphasis to his words.
"Where you put boy?"
"What?"
"Where you put boy?"
"What boy are you talking about?"
"Where you put Segunder's friend Rush?" demanded the big miner, still preserving his stolid expression.
Cavard laughed.
"You must be a fool!" he sneered.
"No. Segunder not fool. You big fool. Where you keep boy?"
"See here, my man; I've heard all I wish to hear from you. I demand that you leave this hall at once. I don't know what you are talking about. I don't know where the boy Rush is. Furthermore, I don't care where he is. If I did know I wouldn't tell you, for it would be none of your business."
Olsen nodded reflectively while digesting the words of the walking delegate.
"Where you put Segunder's friend, Steve Rush?" persisted the big man.
"I have told you once that I do not know where he is," answered Cavard, his face flushing with anger.
"You lie!"
THE BATTLE OF THE GIANTS
CAVARD uttered a roar and started to spring from the platform on which he had been sitting. In his haste he overturned the table and went sprawling on his face with the table on top of him.
At that moment a crowd of union men came trooping up the stairs with Mike Caldert at their head.
"Hello, what's going on here?" shouted Caldert.
"It's Olsen."
"Scab! Scab!" yelled the miners.
"He's killed the boss! Down him!"
Segunder did not appear to have heard them. His eyes were fixed on the form of the walking delegate, wriggling beneath the table. Cavard released himself, and, leaping to his feet, looked about for the man who had given him the lie.
"Where is the hound? Let me at him. He called me a liar!" shouted the leader.
With a growl the miners surged toward the Icelander, getting between him and Cavard as they did so.
"You scab! Where'll I hit you first?" jeeredCaldert, making a vicious swing at the head of Segunder Olsen.
That was the last conscious moment of Mike for a full half hour. Olsen took a step forward, his long arm shot out and Caldert went to the floor in a heap.
Olsen faced the crowd, his eyes flashing as they had not done in a long time before. With distended nostrils he quietly awaited the rush of the crowd of miners.
"Come on, I vait for you!" growled Olsen.
"Sail in, fellows; we'll down the seal-eater. It was a chance blow that laid Mike out. Go for him!"
The speaker made a leap for Olsen, then went tottering backward with a sledge-hammer blow over his heart.
Still another miner closed in and clinched. Segunder's fists played a terrible tattoo on the man's body, causing the assailant to totter away groaning.
"Come on, you dogs!" bellowed the Icelander, the spirit of battle having by this time taken full possession of him. "I lig you all!"
"Slug him! Slug him all at once!" shouted a voice.
"We can't get near enough. His arms are too long."
Bang!
Segunder received a blow in the side that caused him to writhe with pain. He whirled on his assailant with surprising quickness considering the Icelander's bulk. His ponderous fist smote the other man between the eyes, sending the fellow hurtling clear across the room.
Attracted by the uproar, Bob Jarvis, who had come in search of Olsen, had run up the stairs. His eyes quickly took in the situation. Bob could scarce restrain himself from rushing into the fray. But as yet there appeared no need for him to do so. Segunder was holding his own; in fact, thus far he had the better of the argument.
The enemy backed away and consulted for a few brief seconds, then with one movement they charged the big man. Men went down like nine-pins. The long arms of the Icelander swung wildly but with telling effect. The sound of the blows was heard out in the street. It seldom required more than one blow from those ponderous fists to unfit the man on whom they had landed for further participation in the fight.
"Get into him! Use a club or a knife!" howled a man.
At this juncture Cavard, who had been watching the progress of the fight with pale face and blazing eyes, leaped from the platform and began forcing his way through the crowd.
Cavard was a big and powerful man. He could hit hard and sure, as some of the men there were well aware from personal experience. Segunder saw him coming, and a gleam of savage joy lighted up the eyes of the Icelander.
The Russian walked more slowly as he neared his adversary. The two men eyed each other steadily. All at once the labor leader's right fist shot out with lightning-like speed. It caught Segunder on the side of the head, spinning him about. Before he could catch his balance Cavard was upon him.
Instantly the two men became a whirling, tumbling tangle, arms striking, feet kicking, breath coming in quick, short gasps. First Olsen would be under; then it would be Cavard's turn.
The others in the room had instinctively drawn back when the battle between the two giants commenced.
Cavard loosed his grip on Olsen, endeavoring to get in a telling blow, with which he hoped to put his adversary out. But before he could strike, Segunder's fist was jammed into his face with awful force. The labor leader staggered back with the blood flowing freely.
With a growl of rage Olsen was upon him.
The men clinched and both went to the floor.But, as they fell, Cavard had managed to slip a revolver from his pocket. It was now his one purpose to bring the weapon into position where he could use it.
"Look out, Segunder—he's got a gun!" shouted Bob Jarvis.
But the Icelander did not need the warning. He had seen the movement and he was now struggling to get possession of the weapon before it could be turned against him. Cavard was on his back, with his cheek pressed tightly against the cheek of his opponent, the Icelander's left hand pinioning Cavard's right hand and the weapon to the floor.
With a sudden powerful upward movement of his body Cavard threw his adversary off and leaped to his feet. In getting up, however, the Russian's weapon was knocked from his hand.
A lithe young figure sprang through the crowd at the instant when the miners, believing their leader was seriously hurt, were making a rush for Olsen.
The figure was Bob Jarvis. Quick as a flash he snatched the revolver from the floor and sprang back again the wall.
"Jarvis! Jarvis! Throw him out of the window.Killthe scab!"
Slowly the weapon in the hand of the Iron Boy was raised to a level with the men's heads.
"Stand back, every mother's son of you, or I'll make you look like nutmeg graters!" warned the boy.
The men hesitated, then slowly fell back. They saw that the boy meant exactly what he had said.
"This is going to be a fair fight, and somebody is going to get good and properly pounded. There won't be any foul tactics as long as I've got a grip on this revolver," Jarvis warned the crowd.
The combatants were at each other with a rush. Once more they clinched. The two desperate men swayed from side to side, neither seeming to be able to obtain advantage over the other.
Suddenly the Icelander's arms seemed to relax. He pushed his adversary from him, then with all the force in his powerful body, he concentrated on a swift blow.
The blow smote the labor leader on the side of the jaw.
Cavard struck the floor with terrific force.
With an animal-like roar the Icelander threw himself upon the prostrate body of his antagonist. Olsen, in his terrible rage, had lost all control of himself. He was slow to anger, but when once aroused he was a wild animal.
Gripping the other man's shoulders, he bangedhim on the hard floor with crushing force. All at once the big, powerful fingers of the Icelander encircled the neck of the labor leader. A look of triumph shone in Olsen's eyes.
"Segunder!"
It was Bob Jarvis who spoke.
"Segunder, stop! Stop, I tell you!"
But the man was past heeding even if he heard.
Still keeping the others covered with his weapon, Bob Jarvis sprang forward, gripping Olsen by the shoulder.
"Segunder! Segunder!" he shouted in the ear of his friend. "Stop! Stop, I tell you. You will kill him! You've won. Let go of him, I tell you!"
The Icelander gazed up blankly at the boy bending over him; then he turned once more to his punishment of the man beneath him.
Bob tugged to pull him off, but he might as well have tried to move one of the mountains of iron on the range.
Something must be done, and that quickly. Bob's mind worked with more rapidity than it ever had worked before.
"I hate to do so, but I've got to do it," he muttered.
With that he drew back and struck Olsen two swift blows on the side of the head. Jarvis'punch was no light thing. Olsen toppled from the body of his victim and rolled over on the floor.
The miners started to pounce upon him.
"Stand back!" shouted Bob. "I'll shoot the first man who makes a move!"
Olsen was struggling to get up. Bob was beside him in an instant.
"Pull Cavard away!" commanded the lad.
No one made a move to do so. Jarvis dragged the unconscious leader to one side, then sprang back to Olsen, who was pulling himself together.
"Olsen! Segunder! I hit you. I had to do it, or you would have killed him. Come with me. Comenow! You've whipped him. He won't do any more fighting for a while, I'll wager. Come, now—that's a good fellow."
Bob began tugging at the Icelander's arm. Olsen gave ground slowly, his eyes fixed on the figure stretched out on the floor. The boy continued to urge the big Icelander. A happy thought suddenly occurred to him.