The dreaded night settled down dark but clear, a myriad of stars
gloriously bright in the vast vault overhead, the clinging shadows
black and gloomy along the tree-fringed ridge. Nature, hushed into
repose, appeared alone in possession, the solemn silence of peaceful
night enveloping the vast canyon and its overhanging mountains. Amid
the gathering gloom all animate life seemed to have sought rest, to
have found covert. The last glimpse which the watchful guardians of
the "Little Yankee" gained of the surroundings of the "Independence"
revealed nothing to awaken immediate alarm. A few men idly came and
went about the shaft-house and ore-dump, but otherwise the entire claim
appeared deserted. No hostile demonstration of any kind had been
attempted since Farnham's retreat, and now no sign of contemplated
attack was to be perceived. The large number of men visible earlier in
the day had mysteriously disappeared; not even the searching
field-glasses served to reveal their whereabouts. In the gathering
darkness no lights bore witness to the slightest activity; everywhere
it remained black and silent.
To those wearied men on guard this secrecy seemed ominous of
approaching evil. They comprehended too clearly the vengeful nature of
their enemy to be lulled thus into any false security. Such skulking
could be accepted only as a symptom of treachery, of some deep-laid
plan for surprise. But what? Would Farnham, in his desperation, his
anxiety to cover up all evidences of crime, resort to strategy, or to
force? Would he utilize the law, behind which he was now firmly
entrenched, or would he rely entirely upon the numbers he controlled to
achieve a surer, quicker victory? That he possessed men in plenty to
work his will the defenders of the "Little Yankee" knew from
observation. These were of the kind to whom fighting was a trade.
They must be there yet, hiding somewhere in the chaparral, for none had
retreated down the trail. Backed by the mandates of law, convinced
that they had nothing to fear legally, that they were merely executing
the decrees of court, they would hardly be likely to hesitate at the
committal of any atrocity under such a leader. But where would they
strike, and how? What could be the purpose of their delay? the object
of their secrecy? That there must be both purpose and object could not
be doubted; yet nothing remained but to watt for their revelation.
An obscuring mist hung over the canyon, stretching from wall to wall.
Beneath the revealing starlight it was like looking down upon a
restless, silent expanse of gray sea. A stray breath of air came
sucking up the gorge, causing the many spectral trees outlined against
the lighter sky to wave their branches, the leaves rustling as though
swept by rain. There was a faint moaning among the distant rocks as if
hidden caverns were filled with elves at play. It was weird, lonely,
desolate,--straining eyes beholding everywhere the same scene of
deserted wilderness.