It was dark when Howard Cardew and Willy Cameron left the hospital.
Elinor's information had been detailed and exact. Under cover of
the general strike the radical element intended to take over the
city. On the evening of the first day of the strike, armed groups
from the revolutionary party would proceed first to the municipal
light plant, and, having driven out any employees who remained at
their posts, or such volunteers as had replaced them, would plunge
the city into darkness.
Elinor was convinced that following this would come various bomb
outrages, perhaps a great number of them, but of this she had no
detailed information. What she did know, however, was the dependence
that Doyle and the other leaders were placing in the foreign element
in the nearby mill towns and from one or two mining districts in
the county.
Around the city, in the mill towns, there were more than forty
thousand foreign laborers. Subtract from that the loyal aliens,
but add a certain percentage of the native-born element, members
of seditious societies and followers of the red flag, and the Reds
had a potential army of dangerous size.
As an actual fighting force they were much less impressive. Only
a small percentage, she knew and told them, were adequately armed.
There were a few machine guns, and some long-range rifles, but by
far the greater number had only revolvers. The remainder had
extemporized weapons, bars of iron, pieces of pipe, farm implements,
lances of wood tipped with iron and beaten out on home forges.
They were a rabble, not an army, without organization and with few
leaders. Their fighting was certain to be as individualistic as
their doctrines. They had two elements in their favor only,
numbers and surprise.
To oppose them, if the worst came, there were perhaps five thousand
armed men, including the city and county police, the state
constabulary, and the citizens who had signed the cards of the
Vigilance Committee. The local post of the American Legion stood
ready for instant service, and a few national guard troops still
remained in the vicinity. "What they expect," she said, looking
up from her pillows with tragic eyes, "is that the police and the
troops will join them. You don't think they will, do you?"
They reassured her, and after a time she slept again. When she
wakened, at midnight, the room was empty save for a nurse reading
under a night lamp behind a screen. Elinor was not in pain. She
lay there, listening to the night sounds of the hospital, the
watchman shuffling along the corridor in slippers, the closing of
a window, the wail of a newborn infant far away.
There was a shuffling of feet in the street below, the sound of
many men, not marching but grimly walking, bent on some unknown
errand. The nurse opened the window and looked out.
"That's queer!" she said. "About thirty men, and not saying a word.
They walk like soldiers, but they're not in uniform."
Elinor pondered that, but it was not for some days that she knew
that Pink Denslow and a picked number of volunteers from the
American Legion had that night, quite silently and unemotionally,
broken into the printing office where Doyle and Akers had met
Cusick, and had, not so silently but still unemotionally, destroyed
the presses and about a ton of inflammatory pamphlets.