the night was dark and the road bad, and clay leaned forward in the lurching car, looking fixedly ahead. the glare of the headlamp flickered across wagon ruts and banks of tall fern that bordered the uneven track, while here and there the base of a great fir trunk flashed suddenly out of the enveloping darkness and passed. where the bush was thinnest, clay could see the tiny wineberries glimmer red in the rushing beam of light, but all above was wrapped in impenetrable gloom. they were traveling very fast through a deep woods, but the road ran straight and roughly level, and talking was possible.

“you had trouble in the city lately. how did it begin?” clay asked the driver. “i’m a stranger, and know only what’s in your papers.”

“the boys thought too many japs were coming in,” the man replied. “they corralled most of the salmon netting, and when there was talk about prices being cut, the white men warned them to quit.”

he broke off as the car dropped into a hole, and it was a few moments later when clay spoke.

“the japs wouldn’t go?”

“no, sir; they allowed they meant to hold their job; and the boys didn’t make a good show when they tried to chase them off. then, as they were getting other work into their hands, the trouble spread. the city’s surely full of foreigners.”

“you had a pretty big row a day or two ago.”

“we certainly had,” the driver agreed, and added, after a pause during which he avoided a deep rut, “the boys had fixed it up to run every blamed asiatic out of the place.”

“i understand they weren’t able to carry their program out?”

“that’s so. i’ve no use for japs, but i’ll admit they put up a good fight. wherever the boys made a rush there was a bunch of them ready. you couldn’t take that crowd by surprise. then they shifted back and forward and slung men into the row just where they were wanted most. fought like an army, and the boys hadn’t made much of it when the police whipped both crowds off.”

“looks like good organization,” clay remarked. “it’s useful to know what you mean to do before you make a start. have the boys tried to run off those who are working at the outside mills?”

“not yet, but we’re expecting something of the kind. they’d whip them in bunches if they tried that plan.”

this was what clay feared; it was the method he would have used had he led the strikers. when a general engagement is risky, one might win by crushing isolated forces; and aynsley’s mill was particularly open to attack. it stood at some distance from both vancouver and new westminster, and any help that could be obtained from the civic authorities would probably arrive too late. there was, however, reason to believe that the aliens employed must have recognized their danger, and perhaps guarded against it. clay knew something about japs and chinamen, and had a high respect for their sagacity.

he asked no more questions, and as the state of the road confined the driver’s attention to his steering, nothing was said as they sped on through the dark. sometimes they swept across open country where straggling split-fences streamed back to them in the headlamps’ glare and a few stars shone mistily overhead. sometimes they raced through the gloom beside a bluff, where dark fir branches stretched across the road and a sweet, resinous fragrance mingled with the smell of dew-damped dust. the car was traveling faster than was safe, but clay frowned impatiently when he tried to see his watch. it was characteristic that although he was keenly anxious he offered the driver no extra bribe to increase the pace. he seldom lost his judgment, and the possibility of saving a few minutes was offset by the danger of their not arriving at all.

presently they plunged into another wood. it seemed very thick by the way the hum of the engine throbbed among the trees, but outside the flying beam of the lamps all was wrapped in darkness. clay was flung violently to and fro as the car lurched; but after a time he heard a sharp click, and the speed suddenly slackened.

“why are you stopping?” he asked impatiently.

“men on the road,” explained the driver. “i’m just slowing down.”

clay could see nothing, but a sound came out of the gloom. there was a regular beat in it that indicated a body of men moving with some order.

“hold on!” he cautioned, as the driver reached out toward the horn. “let her go until we see who they are. i suppose there’s no way round?”

“not a cut-out trail until you reach the mill.”

“then we’ll have to pass them. don’t blow your horn or pull up unless you’re forced to.”

the car slid forward softly and a few moments later the backs of four men appeared in the fan-shaped stream of light. as it passed them another four were revealed, with more moving figures in the gloom beyond. most of them seemed to be carrying something in the shape of extemporized weapons, and their advance was regular and orderly. this was not a mob, but an organized body on its way to execute some well-thought-out plan. as the car drew nearer a man swung round with a cry, and the rearmost fours stopped and faced about. there was a murmur of voices farther in front; and, seeing no way through, the driver stopped, though the engine rattled on.

“let us pass, boys; you don’t want all the road,” he called good-naturedly.

none of them moved.

“where are you going?” one asked.

“to the clanch mill,” answered the driver before clay could stop him.

the men seemed to confer, and then one stood forward.

“you can’t go there to-night. swing her round and light out the way you came!”

clay had no doubt of their object; and he knew when to bribe high.

“they’ll jump clear if you rush her at them,” he said softly. “a hundred dollars if you take me through!”

the car leaped forward, gathering speed with every second; and as it raced toward them the courage of the nearest failed. springing aside they scrambled into the fern, and while the horn hooted in savage warning the driver rushed the big automobile into the gap.

for a few moments it looked as if they might get through. there was a confused shouting; indistinct, hurrying figures appeared and vanished as the shaft of light drove on. some struck at the car as it passed them, some turned and gazed; but the men ahead were bolder, or perhaps more closely massed and unable to get out of the way in time.

“straight for them!” cried clay.

a man leaped into the light with a heavy stake in his hand.

the next moment there was a crash, and the car swerved, ran wildly up a bank, and overturned.

clay was thrown violently forward, and fell, unconscious, into a brake of fern. when he came to, he was lying on his back with a group of men standing round him. he felt dazed and shaky, and by the smarting of his face he thought it was cut. when he feebly put up his hand to touch it he felt his fingers wet. then one of the men struck a match and bent over him.

“broken any bones?” he asked.

“no.” clay found some difficulty in speaking. “i think not, but i don’t feel as if i could get up.”

“well,” the man said, “it was your own fault; we told you to stop. anyhow, you had better keep still a bit. if you’re here when we come back, we’ll see what we can do.”

glancing quickly round, clay saw the driver sitting by the wrecked car; and then the match went out. in the darkness the nearest men spoke softly to one another.

“what were you going to the mill for?” one man asked him.

“i had some business there,” clay answered readily. “i buy lumber now and then.”

the men seemed satisfied.

“leave them alone,” one suggested; “they’ll make no trouble and it’s time we were getting on.”

the others seemed to agree, for there was some shouting to those in front, and the men moved forward. clay heard the patter of their feet grow fainter, and congratulated himself that he had obviously looked worse than he felt. now that the shock was passing, he did not think he was much injured, but he lay quiet a few minutes to recover before he spoke to the driver.

“how have you come off?” he asked.

“wrenched my leg when she pitched me out; hurts when i move it, but i don’t think there’s anything out of joint.”

“as soon as i’m able i’ll have to get on. how far do you reckon it is to the mill?”

“about two miles.”

clay waited for some minutes and then got shakily up on his feet.

“you’ll find me at the c.p.r. hotel to-morrow if i don’t see you before,” he said; and, pulling himself together with an effort, he limped away along the road.

for the first half-mile he had trouble in keeping on his feet; but as he went on his head grew clearer and his legs steadier, and after a while he was able to make a moderate pace. there was no sign of the strikers, who had obviously left him well behind, but he pushed on, hoping to arrive not very long after them, for it was plain that he would be wanted. he was now plodding through open country, but there was nothing to be seen except scattered clumps of trees and the rough fences along the road. no sound came out of the shadows and all was very still.

at last a dark line of standing timber rose against the sky, and when a light or two began to blink among the trees clay knew he was nearer the mill. he quickened his speed, and when a hoarse shouting reached him he broke into a run. it was long since he had indulged in much physical exercise, and he was still shaky from his fall, but he toiled on with labored breath. the lights got brighter, but there was not much to be heard now; though he knew that the trouble had begun. he had no plans; it would be time to make them when he saw how things were going, for if aynsley could deal with the situation he meant to leave it to him. it was his part to be on hand if he were needed, which was his usual attitude toward his son.

an uproar broke out as he ran through an open gate with the dark buildings and the lumber stacks looming in front. making his way to one of the huge piles of lumber, he stopped in its shadow, breathing hard while he looked about.

the office was lighted, and the glow from its windows showed a crowd of men filling the space between the small building and the long saw-sheds. they were talking noisily and threatening somebody in the office, behind which, so far as clay could make out, another body of men was gathered. then the door opened, and he felt a thrill as aynsley came out alone and stood where the light fell on him. he looked cool and even good-natured as he confronted the hostile crowd; nothing in his easy pose suggested the strain clay knew he must be bearing. as he fixed his eyes on the straight, handsome figure and the calm face, clay felt that his son was a credit to him.

“i’d hate to see you get into trouble for nothing, boys,” aynsley said in a clear voice. “if you’ll think it over, you’ll see that you have nothing against the management of this mill. we pay standard wages and engaged foreigners only when we could get nobody else. they’ll be replaced by white men when their work is done.”

“we’ve come along to see you fire them out to-night!” cried one of the strikers.

“i’m sorry that’s impossible,” aynsley replied firmly.

“see here!” shouted another. “we’ve no time for foolin’, and this ain’t a bluffin’ match! the boys mean business, and if you’re wise, you’ll do what they ask. now, answer straight off: have we got your last word on the matter?”

“yes,” said aynsley; “you can take it that you have.”

“that’s all right,” said the spokesman. “now we know how we stand.” he raised his voice. “boys, we’ve got to run the blasted japs off!”

there was a pause and a confused murmuring for nearly a minute. clay, remaining in the shadow of the lumber, wondered whether it might not have been wiser had he struggled back to vancouver in search of assistance; but, after all, the police had their hands full in the city, and he might not have been able to obtain it. besides, he had been used to the primitive methods of settling a dispute in vogue on the mexican frontier and in arizona twenty years ago, and, shaken, bruised, and bleeding, as he was, his nerves tingled pleasantly at the prospect of a fight.

when the strikers began to close in on the office clay slipped round the lumber stack, and was fortunate in finding jevons, the manager.

“mr. clay!” exclaimed jevons, glancing at his lacerated face.

“sure,” said clay. “don’t mention that i’m here. my boy’s in charge so long as he can handle the situation.”

“it’s ugly,” declared jevons. “are you armed?”

“i have a pistol. don’t know that i can afford to use it. what’s the program?”

before jevons could answer, there was a rush of dark figures toward the office, and a hoarse shout.

“the japs first! into the river with them!”

“steady, boys!” aynsley’s voice rang out. “hold them, saw gang a!”

a confused struggle began in the darkness and raged among the lumber stacks. groups of shadowy figures grappled, coalesced into a fighting mass, broke apart, surged forward, and were violently thrust back. there was not much shouting and no shots were fired yet, but clay was keenly watchful as he made his way from place to place, where resistance seemed weakest, and encouraged the defenders, who did not know him. with rude generalship he brought up men from the less threatened flank and threw them into action where help was needed; but he realized that the garrison was outnumbered and was being steadily pushed back.

they were, however, making a stubborn fight, and the conflict grew fiercer. yells of rage and pain now broke through the sound of scuffling feet, stertorous breathing, and shock of blows; orders and threats were shouted, and clay’s face grew stern when one or two pistols flashed. he had found a big iron bar and was satisfied with it, but if forced to shoot he would not miss, as he thought the rioters did.

a red glow leaped up from the end of a shed. the blaze spread quickly; there was a sharp crackling, louder than the turmoil it broke in upon, and a cloud of pungent smoke hung above the struggling men. clay could see their faces now: japs and white men bunched together, but slowly giving ground, with his son in the midst of the surging, swaying cluster that bore the brunt of the attack.

it struck clay, as he paused for a moment, that the little, sallow-faced aliens were remarkably cool, though it must be obvious to them that they were not holding their own. he wondered whether they had some plan in reserve. there was, however, no time to ponder this, for a pistol flashed among the rioters. the group that aynsley led gave back and then drove forward again with a savage rush, while hoarse shouts went up.

“stand them off while we take him out! sock the fellow with the pistol; he’s plugged the boss!”

clay suddenly was filled with murderous fury. there was a good deal of the barbarian in him and he had led a hard, adventurous life. his son was shot. the brutes who had brought him down would suffer!

“i’m his father, boys!” he cried. “follow me and drive the damned hogs into the river!”

the boldest closed in about him, a knot of determined men, small ranchers and prospectors who had long fought with flood and frost in the lonely hills. they were of sterner stuff than the city millhands, and, led by one who would go on until he dropped, they cleft the front of the mob like a wedge. the man with the pistol fired almost in their leader’s face, and missed; but clay did not miss with the bar, and he trod on the fellow’s body as he urged on the furious charge.

it was a forlorn hope. though for a time the men could not be stopped, the rioters closed in behind them, cutting off support. they could not keep up the rush, and presently they gained only a foot or two by desperate struggling. clay knew their position was now dangerous. the strikers’ passions were unloosed and no mercy would be shown; but this did not matter so long as he could leave his mark on some of his foes before they got him down. he fought with a cold fury that helped him to place his blows, and the long bar made havoc among the strikers; but soon he was hemmed in, with his back to a lumber pile, and he knew the end was near. bruised, dazed, and bleeding, he stood wielding his weapon and sternly watching for a chance to strike.

suddenly the crowd which pressed upon him gave back and he heard a rush of feet and alarmed shouts. there was a yell that was not made by white men; short, active figures, lithe and fierce as cats, fell with resistless fury upon the retreating foe. the retreat turned into a rout: the strikers were running for their lives, with a swarm of aliens in savage pursuit.

clay saw that they outnumbered all the japanese at the mill; but where they came from was not a matter of much consequence. he must rouse himself to take part in the chase, and exact full vengeance from the fugitives. the rioters fled along the bank, scrambled across the log booms, and took to the water; and clay laughed harshly as he drove some of the laggards in. whether they could swim or not was their own affair.

he went back to the office with an anxious heart, and a few minutes later he stood beside a camp bed in his son’s quarters. he had lost his hat, his city coat was torn to rags, and his white shirt was stained with blood from the gash in his cheek; but he was unconscious of all this. aynsley lay there, breathing feebly, with a drawn, white face and a small blue mark on his uncovered breast, while an ominous red froth gathered about his lips.

clay placed his hand on the damp forehead, and the boy half opened his eyes.

“do you know who i am?” his father asked.

“sure!” aynsley smiled feebly. “you said you wouldn’t fail me. i suppose you whipped them?”

he turned his head and coughed, and clay beckoned jevons.

“help me raise his shoulders a bit, and then i guess we’d better put some wet bandages on him. as they’ve cut the ’phone wires, send somebody to the nearest ranch for a horse to bring a doctor from vancouver.”

“i’ve done so,” jevons told him.

“then send another man to westminster, and we’ll take the first doctor who gets through or keep them both.”

they placed aynsley in a position in which he could breathe more easily, and clay gently wrapped him round with wetted rags.

“i don’t know if this is the right thing, but it’s all i can think of,” he said. “we want to keep down any internal bleeding.”

after this they waited anxiously for the doctor. jevons presently crept out to restore order and to see that the fire had been extinguished; and clay was left alone with his boy. there was no sound in the room where he sat, sternly watching over the unconscious form that lay so still on the bed.

after what seemed an interminable time jevons opened the door softly.

“has the doctor come?” clay asked eagerly.

“not yet. any change?”

“none,” said clay. “he can’t hear—i wish he could. who were those fellows who came to the rescue?”

“city japs, so far as i can learn. it seems they’re pretty well organized, and suspecting a raid would be made on their partners here their committee sent a body out. i’ve been round the mill, and it looks as if a thousand dollars would cover—”

“get out of here!” clay exclaimed roughly. “i can’t talk about the damage now. watch for those doctors and bring them in right off!”

jevons was glad to get away, but it was nearly daybreak when he returned with a surgeon from vancouver. shortly afterward the westminster surgeon arrived, and the two doctors turned clay out of the room. he paced up and down the corridor, tensely anxious. his own weakness, the ugly gash on his face—everything was forgotten except the danger in which his boy lay. after a while his head reeled, and he stopped and leaned on the rude banister, unconscious of the dizziness.

the first streaks of daylight were sifting into the room when clay was permitted to enter. aynsley lay in a stupor, but the doctors seemed satisfied.

“we got the bullet,” one of them reported; “but there’s still some cause for anxiety. however, we’ll do our best to pull him through. now you’d better let me dress your face: it needs attention.”

clay submitted to his treatment and then sat down wearily in a room below to wait for news.