om the open door of the office, deserted at the first alarm by the
guards, the imprisoned officers of the company saw the mob come
surging up the street.

Before noon the Yellow Jacket was a military camp. The miners were the
prisoners, disarmed, a helpless crowd, the larger part already ashamed
of having been influenced by such a man as O'Donnell. Before nightfall
the men had personally signed an agreement to go to work on the morrow
at the old terms, and were allowed to depart to their homes. The
saloons were emptied of their liquors and closed until military law
should be relaxed, and the ringleaders were on their way to the county
jail at Gold City.

The strike was over without bloodshed, and when the men came to their
sober senses, went back to their tasks, and saw the folly of it
all--saw how they had been duped by demagogues--they were grateful
that somebody had dared to end the strike, and Job was the hero of the
hour. The reaction that sweeps over mob-mind swept him back into his
place as the idol of their hearts.

We have said the leaders of the strike were taken to Gold City. No,
not all. One lay crippled and fever-stricken in Pat Rooney's shanty
back of Finnegan's. Pat had found him when the mob rushed back, borne
down by the men he was trying to stop, and trampled on by some of the
cavalcade of horsemen as they swept up the street.

Hurried hither by Pat, Job entered the familiar hut to find himself
face to face with Dan. All that long day he sat by the side of the
delirious patient. The soldiers, when arresting the men, let Pat stay
at Job's plea. The troop surgeon came and ordered Job away. "Sick
enough yourself, without nursing this mischief-maker who's the cause
of all this bad business," said he.

But no; Job would not go. Dan was bad. Dan was his enemy, but "Love
your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them which
despitefully use you," to Job meant watching by Dan Dean when his own
head was aching and the fever was even then creeping upon him.

All night he sat there, bathing the head that tossed restlessly to and
fro. He heard the delirious lad mutter, "Curse the pious crank! He'll
get Jane yet!" then half rise, and say with a strange look in his
eyes, "Stand fast, boys! Stand, ye cowards! It's justice we want!" and
fall back exhausted. Yes, it was Job who stood by, praying with all
his heart, as at daylight the doctor did what seemed inevitable if
Dan's life was to be saved--amputat