Ingman stepped onto the porch. Just as the door began to open, a loud snap sounded as something cracked across Ingman’s shotgun.
Crashing into the room came Ingman and a large man, both thrashing and punching in the dark. The fireplace coals offered too little light to distinguish one man from the other as legs tangled, arms and fists flew.
In the dim glow, Tor made out the form of a big man, his arm high above, holding a broken nightstick. Tor then realized his uncle was pinned to the floor, looking up, waiting for the jagged end of the club to descend.
“I’ve been waitin’ six months to even the score with you, Norski,” said the big man. “You know who I am?”
Ingman was silent.
“I’m the man from the Chicago coal yards who you sent to the hospital, Norski. I’m the man who lost his job because of you. I’m the man who’s gonna make your face so ugly that nobody will ever be able to look on you again without retching.”
Tor noticed his father inching closer.
“Jake Riggens!” shouted Tor, stepping out of his room and onto the top step. “Jake, don’t do it.”
“I’m gettin’ even, boy,” Big Jake replied into the darkness.
Tor raised his rifle. “I got you in my sights, Jake. I don’t miss.”
“You won’t shoot me, boy. We both know that.”
Bang! The bullet's impact sent Big Jake Riggens back out the door. He scrambled to his feet but collapsed. The bullet from Olaf’s revolver had shattered Riggens’ hip. He tried to stand again but the pain was too great. He tumbled off the porch onto the wet ground. As he tried to stand a third time, two Loken lumberjacks tackled him, pinning him to the ground.
Ingman lit an oil lamp and stepped outside. Tor joined him, leaning his rifle against the outside wall. Olaf rolled his chair up to the door to get a look at the wounded intruder. Every Loken lumberjack was in the yard now.
“Get these fellas chained up for the night so we can get some sleep,” said Olaf. “Big day tomorrow.”
Bill Burns soon had handcuffs on Big Jake Riggens. Both he and the other man were chained to a tree in the yard for the night.
“The boat’s fine, Boss,” shouted Gust from the lake. “Still fit to sail in the morning. Nothing askew. And, I have the coward who tried to dynamite her. Ingman, you peppered him good but he’ll be fit enough to stand before a judge.”
The man called Smiley was chained to the tree with the other two assailants. The Loken men filed back into the bunkhouse.
In the lodge, Bill Burns, the Pinkertons, and the three Lokens discussed the attack. Ingman poured each man a glass of whisky. Tor turned his down.
“Richard, you and Archie keep an eye on the boat till dawn,” said Morrison. “We stopped ’em once. Don’t want to let ’em sneak up on us again.”
“I doubt Muldoon will send anyone else,” said Burns. “We got his hired henchmen. When it gets around his camp that these thugs ain’t comin’ home tonight, well, let’s just say no man-jack in Muldoon’s outfit will have the gumption to show his face.”
“Wish I could’ve seen the look on that fella’s face when he heard the word ‘Pinkertons’,” said Tor. “Do you think we should let the rest of Muldoon’s jacks know we have Pinkertons working for us?”
“Shouldn’t be necessary, Tor,” said his father. “After this, we don’t even know if any of his men will show up tomorrow.”
“Where’s Chief Namakagon?” asked Ingman. “I didn’t see him at all tonight. He missed a good scrap.”
“Namakagon left camp right after supper,” said Olaf.
“Well, that figures.” said Archie, “Probably don’t have the stomach for a good tussle.”
“You don’t know Chief Namakagon,” snapped Olaf. “He would not leave without good reason.”
“I’ll put a sawbuck on it that he left to save his own skin,” said Archie.
“You’d lose that bet, mister,” countered Ingman. “Chief ain’t one to run from a fight if the cause is right. Not Chief Namakagon.”
“Archie, you and Richard best get down to your posts,” said their boss. They turned toward the door.
Just as Richard lifted the latch, the door flew open with a crash, kicked in by a large man holding a cocked rifle. Archie and Richard fell to the floor.
“I am Horace Walters, the man you thought you’d done in out there on the log boom. And I am here to git my partners and git out of this corner of hell for good. Now you all step over there. I swear I will shoot any man who don’t give way. Now git!”
Archie and Richard slowly stood, hands held high and eyes wide. All of the men stepped back except Tor.
“Son, do as he says.”
“No, Pa,” said Tor, “I ain’t raisin’ my hands to some no-good, mud-suckin’ scum from Chicago who points my own gun at me. No sir, I won’t!”
“Tor, don’t be foolish,” said Ingman. “Do as he says.”
“Reach high, Sonny, or, God help me, I will pull this here trigger.”
“You won’t shoot me, Horace Walters. You won’t shoot anyone. Now ease off on that hammer there and hand my Winchester over to Archie or Richard there. They’re from the Pinkertons, and they will show you where you’re bunkin’ tonight.”
Horace pointed the rifle at Archie who turned white with fear. “What makes you think I won’t shoot, Sonny? None of you mean more to me than a skunk in a woodpile.”
“I’ll tell you why, Horace,” said Tor. “You see, I put two cartridges in my rifle. One hit your partner’s boat and the other one I shot at you. That rifle is empty.”
Silence.
Seconds passed.
Click.
The hammer fell on the empty chamber. Immediately, five men tore into Walters. Ingman grabbed the big man by the wrist and gave it a sharp twist, fracturing the man’s arm with a snap.
Still, Walters thrashed and fought, freeing himself. But, as he was about to make a run for the yard, he was whisked to the floor again. A large, calked boot pinned his right hand tight to the floor as Pinkerton handcuffs closed on his wrists. Minutes later he was chained to the same tree as his partners.
Horace Walter’s left forearm was broken and his bloodied right hand would carry, far beyond his long prison term, the telltale scars from Ingman’s calked boot.
“Those fellas do not know how lucky they are,” said Bill Burns. “If they would have got mixed up with most other camps around here, they would all be drowned like leg-trapped rats by now. Nobody would ask questions or give a damn about the answers.”
“That is not the way things work in this camp, Bill,” said Olaf. “We do not make the laws, we do not judge, and we do not choose the penalty. Someday this will be a civil and settled land. It might just as well start with us.”
Archie and Richard posted for the rest of the night near the Empress Karina. Ingman, Bill Burns, Earl Morrison, and Olaf went over the night’s events and morning plans. Tor took his Winchester back up to his room, stretched out on the bed, and immediately fell into a deep, sound sleep.