the Bend till morning," said Dave. "We'd better
put the night in helping Bob."

"Sure. We've got to get all Malapi busy. A dozen business men have got to
come down and open up their stores so's we can get supplies," agreed
Emerson.

Joyce, her face flushed and eager, broke in. "Ring the fire bell. That's
the quickest way."

"Sure enough. You got a haid on yore shoulders. Dave, you attend to that.
Bob, hit the dust for the big saloons and gather men. I'll see O'Connor
about the railroad outfit; then I'll come down to the fire-house and talk
to the crowd. We'll wake this old town up to-night, sons."

"What about me?" asked the messenger.

"You go back and tell Jed to hold the fort till Hart and his material
arrives."

Outside, they met Russell riding down the road, two saddled horses
following. With a word of explanation they helped themselves to his
mounts while he stared after them in surprise.

"I'll be dawggoned if they-all ain't three gents in a hurry," he murmured
to the breezes of the night. "Well, seein' as I been held up, I reckon
I'll have to walk back while the hawss-thieves ride."

Five minutes later the fire-bell clanged out its call to Malapi. From
roadside tent and gambling-hall, from houses and camp-fires, men and
women poured into the streets. For Malapi was a shell-town, tightly
packed and inflammable, likely to go up in smoke whenever a fire should
get beyond control of the volunteer company. Almost in less time than it
takes to tell it, the square was packed with hundreds of lightly clad
people and other hundreds just emerging from the night life of the place.

The clangor of the bell died away, but the firemen did not run out the
hose and bucket cart. The man tugging the rope had told them why he was
summoning the citizens.

"Some one's got to go out and explain to the crowd," said the fire chief
to Dave. "If you know about this strike you'll have to tell the boys."

"Crawford said he'd talk," answered Sanders.

"He ain't here. It's up to you. Go ahead. Just tell 'em why you rang the
bell."

Dave found himself pushed forward to the steps of the court-house a few
yards away. He had never before attempted to speak in public, and he had
a queer, dry tightening of the throat. But as soon as he began to talk
the words he wanted came easily enough.

"Jackpot Number Three has come in a big gusher," he said, lifting his
voice so that it would carry to the edge of the crowd.

Hundreds of me