nskilled work he was engaged upon,
came up. The pen was handed him, and the name of Adolph Mars was
scrawled on the sheet. The long-haired man at the table looked up at
him. He smiled with his lips, and patted the boy's hand. Then something
happened.

It was movement. Sudden movement on the platform. The babel in the body
of the hall went on. But the long-haired man and his supporters at the
table turned with eyes that were concerned and anxious. A dozen men had
entered swiftly through the door in rear of the platform. Bull Sternford
led them. And he moved over to the table, with the swift, noiseless
strides of a panther, and looked into the unwholesome face of the
Bolshevist leader.

It was only for the fraction of a second. The man made a movement which
needed no interpretation. His hand went to a hip pocket. Instantly
Bull's great hands descended. The man was picked up like a child. He was
lifted out of his seat and raised aloft. He was borne towards the window
where he was held while the master of the mill crashed a foot against
its wooden sash. The next moment the black-clothed body was hurled with
terrific force out into the snowdrift waiting to receive it. It was all
so swiftly done. The whole thing was a matter of seconds only. Then Bull
Sternford was back at the table, while his comrades, Bat and Lawton, and
the men of loyalty they relied on, lined the platform.

As Bull snatched up the document and held it aloft, a deathly silence
reigned throughout the hall, and every eye was turned angrily upon the
intruders. Bull yielded not a moment for those witless minds to recover
from their shock. His voice rang out fiercely.

"Here," he cried, "d'you know what you're doing, listening to that fool
guy I've thrown through that window, and signing this crazy paper he's
set out for you? No. You don't unless you're just as crazy yourselves.
You're declaring war. You're starting a great fight to steal the
property that hands you your living. You reckon you've got all you need
of our brains, and your own brute force and darnation foolishness can
run these great mills which are to hand you the big money you reckon it
hands us. That means war. Maybe you fancy it's the one-sided war you'd
like to have it. Maybe you fancy there's about a dozen of us, and we're
going to be made to work for the wage you figger to hand us. You're dead
wrong. It's going to be a hell of a war if you swallow the dope these
fellows hand you. You've