n. You better sift along." And the leader sat down.

"I've a dam' good mind to sift you," said Waco, backing toward the
embankment. "Got to have a card to travel with a lousy bunch like you,
eh?"

He climbed to the top of the embankment, and, turning, ran down the
track. Things were in a fine state when a guy couldn't roll in with a
bunch of willies without showing a card. Workmen often tramped the
country looking for work. But hobos forming a union and calling
themselves workmen! Even Waco could not digest that.

But he had learned a lesson, and the next group that he overtook
treading the cinders were more genial. One of them gave him some bread
and cold meat. They tramped until nightfall. That evening Waco
industriously "lifted" a chicken from a convenient hencoop. The hen was
old and tough and most probably a grandmother of many years' setting,
but she was a welcome contribution to their evening meal. While they ate
Waco asked them if they belonged to the I.W.W. They did to a man. He had
lost his card. Where could he get a renewal? From headquarters, of
course. But he had been given his card up in Portland; he had cooked in
a lumber camp. In that case he would have to see the "boss" at Phoenix.

There were three men in the party besides Waco. One of them claimed to
be a carpenter, another an ex-railroad man, and the third an iron
moulder. Waco, to keep up appearances, said that he was a cook; that he
had lost his job in the Northern camps on account of trouble between the
independent lumbermen and the I.W.W. It happened that there had been
some trouble of that kind recently, so his word was taken at its face
value.

In Phoenix, he was directed to the "headquarters," a disreputable
lounging-room in an abandoned store on the outskirts of the town. There
were papers and magazines scattered about; socialistic journals and many
newspapers printed in German, Russian, and Italian. The place smelled of
stale tobacco smoke and unwashed clothing. But the organization
evidently had money. No one seemed to want for food, tobacco, or
whiskey.

The "boss," a sharp-featured young man, aggressive and apparently
educated, asked Waco some questions which the tramp answered lamely. The
boss, eager for recruits of Waco's stamp, nevertheless demurred until
Waco reiterated the statement that he could cook, was a good cook and
had earned good money.

"I'll give you a renewal of your card. What was the number?" queried the
boss.