a street _gamin_ expresses it.

"Whither are they going?"--"What have they first to do?" is the cry.
Police officials ride now with the captain temporarily in command: a
carriage has whisked the colonel over to head-quarters, but haste!
haste! is the word. On they go, silent, grim, with the alkali dust of
the North Platte crossing still coating their rusty garb. A great
swing bridge looms ahead: a dozen police deploy on either side and
check the attending crowd. Over they go at route step, and then,
turning to the right, tramp on down a roughly-paved street, growing
dim and dimmer every minute with stifling smoke. Presently they are
crossing snake-like lines of hose, gashed and useless; passing fire
apparatus standing unhitched and neglected; passing firemen exhausted
and listless. Then occasional squads of scowling men give way before
their steady tramp and are driven down alley-ways and around
street-corners by reviving police. Then the head of column turns to
the left and comes full upon a scene of tumult,--a great building in
flames, a great mob surging about it defying police interference and
bent apparently on gutting the structure from roof to cellar and
pillaging the neighboring stores. Now, men of the ----th, here's work
cut out for you! Drive that mob! bloodlessly if you can, bloodletting
if you must!

The colonel is again at the head. All are on foot. "Left front into
line, double time;" the first company throws its long double rank from
curb to curb, Drummond, its commander, striding at its front; Wing,
his subaltern, anxiously watching him from among the file-closers.
Already they have reached the rearmost of the rioting groups and, with
warning cries and imprecations, these are scurrying to either side and
falling into the hands of the accompanying police. Thicker, denser
grows the smoke; thicker, denser the mob.

"Clear this street! Out of the way!" are the orders, and for a
half-block or so clear it is. Then comes the first opposition. On a
pile of lumber a tall, stalwart man in grizzled beard and slouching
hatevidently a leader of mark among the mob--is shouting orders and
encouragement. What he says cannot be heard, but now, tightly wedged
between the rows of buildings, the mob is at bay, and, yelling mad
response to the frantic appeals and gesticulations of their leader, at
least two thousand reckless and infuriated men have faced the little
battalion surging steadily up the narrow street.

"You