Beth Norvell

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.