sorts of hell around. An' his latest notion's to build every darn
machine from rough-castin' to a shackle pin, so we don't have to worry
with the world outside. He's got a long view of things. But--"

He pulled out his timepiece, and the clouds of volcanic anger swept down
again upon his rugged brow. But it was given no play. The door of the
office was thrust open, and the lean figure of the engineer, clad in
greasy overalls, came hurriedly into the room.

Bat challenged him on the instant.

"What's the trouble, boy?" he demanded in his uncompromising fashion.

"Trouble?" Skert's eyes were wide, and his tone was savage. "That's just
it. I reckoned to show Sternford all this stuff," he went on, indicating
the machine hall with a jerk of his head. "But we'll have to let it
pass. Say," he glanced from one to the other, his expression developing
to something like white fury. "They started. It's business this time. I
got a message up they were stopping the grinders. It's the 'heads' gave
the order. Oh, they're all in it. They got a meeting on in that darn
recreation parliament place of theirs, and every mother's son on the
machines was called to it. They've shut down! You get that? There isn't
even a greaser left at the machines. It's set me with a feeling I'm
plumb crazy. I've been down, and they're right there crowding out that
hall. And--"

"I guessed something that way," Bat interrupted with ominous calm. He
turned to Bull, who was closely regarding his lieutenants.

"It's mutiny first and then a sheer strike," he said. "Here, listen.
I'll hand you just what's happenin'. There's been Bolshie agitators
workin' the boys months, and I guess they got a holt on 'em good. It
started with us openin' the new mill on this north shore. We were forced
to collect our labour just where we could. An' they got in like the
miser'ble rats they are. Gee! It makes me hot--hot as hell! The leaders
of this thing ain't workers. I don't guess they done a day's work with
anything but their yahoo mouths in their dirty lives. They're part of
the crowd that's paid from Europe to get around and heave up this
blazin' world of ours just anyway they know. The only thing I don't get
is their coming along here, which is outside most all the rest of the
world. If Labrador can hand 'em loot I'd like to know the sort it is.
And it's just loot they're out for. If I'm a judge there's one hell of a
scrap comin,' and if we're beat it looks like leaving