he little tad; how could he explain to her this
wretchedness--how soften her disappointment? How keep the tears from
out her eyes--how keep alive her confidence in him--her faith in his
resources?

Bitter, fierce, ominous, his wrath loomed up in his heart. His fists
gripped tight together, his teeth clenched. Oh, for a moment to have
his hand upon the throat of S. Behrman, wringing the breath from him,
wrenching out the red life of him--staining the street with the blood
sucked from the veins of the People!

To the first friend that he met, Dyke told the tale of the tragedy,
and to the next, and to the next. The affair went from mouth to mouth,
spreading with electrical swiftness, overpassing and running ahead of
Dyke himself, so that by the time he reached the lobby of the Yosemite
House, he found his story awaiting him. A group formed about him. In
his immediate vicinity business for the instant was suspended. The group
swelled. One after another of his friends added themselves to it. Magnus
Derrick joined it, and Annixter. Again and again, Dyke recounted the
matter, beginning with the time when he was discharged from the same
corporation's service for refusing to accept an unfair wage. His voice
quivered with exasperation; his heavy frame shook with rage; his eyes
were injected, bloodshot; his face flamed vermilion, while his deep
bass rumbled throughout the running comments of his auditors like the
thunderous reverberation of diapason.

From all points of view, the story was discussed by those who listened
to him, now in the heat of excitement, now calmly, judicially. One
verdict, however, prevailed. It was voiced by Annixter: "You're stuck.
You can roar till you're black in the face, but you can't buck against
the Railroad. There's nothing to be done." "You can shoot the ruffian,
you can shoot S. Behrman," clamoured one of the group. "Yes, sir; by the
Lord, you can shoot him."

"Poor fool," commented Annixter, turning away.

Nothing to be done. No, there was nothing to be done--not one thing.
Dyke, at last alone and driving his team out of the town, turned
the business confusedly over in his mind from end to end. Advice,
suggestion, even offers of financial aid had been showered upon him from
all directions. Friends were not wanting who heatedly presented to his
consideration all manner of ingenious plans, wonderful devices. They
were worthless. The tentacle held fast. He was stuck.

By degrees, as his wagon