And then Steptoe appeared with part
of his straggling followers, who were celebrating their easy invasion
by clattering their picks and shovels and beating loudly upon their tins
and prospecting-pans. The three partners quickly recognized the stamp
of the strangers, in spite of their peaceful implements. They were
the waifs and strays of San Francisco wharves, of Sacramento dens, of
dissolute mountain towns; and there was not, probably, a single actual
miner among them. A raging scorn and contempt took possession of Barker
and Demorest, but Stacy knew their exact value. As Steptoe passed before
the opening of the tunnel he heard the cry of "Halt!"
He looked up. He saw Stacy not thirty yards before him with his rifle
at half-cock. He saw Barker and Demorest, fully armed, rise from behind
their breastworks of rock along the ledge and thus fully occupy the
claim. But he saw more. He saw that his plot was known. Outlaw and
desperado as he was, he saw that he had lost his moral power in this
actual possession, and that from that moment he must be the aggressor.
He saw he was fighting no irresponsible hirelings like his own, but men
of position and importance, whose loss would make a stir. Against their
rifles the few revolvers that his men chanced to have slung to them
were of little avail. But he was not cowed, although his few followers
stumbled together at this momentary check, half angrily, half timorously
like wolves without a leader.
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