g harvest mess-table. Two lanterns
furnished light enough to show a bare barnlike structure, the
rough-garbed plotters, the grim set of hard lips below the half-masks,
and big hands spread out, ready to draw from the hat that was passing.

The talk was low and serious. No names were spoken. A heavy man, at the
head of the table, said: "We thirty, picked men, represent the country.
Let each member here write on his slip of paper his choice of punishment
for the I.W.W.'s--death or deportation...."

The members of the band bent their masked faces and wrote in a dead
silence. A noiseless wind blew through the place. The lanterns
flickered; huge shadows moved on the walls. When the papers had been
passed back to the leader he read them.

"Deportation," he announced. "So much for the I.W.W. men.... Now for the
leader.... But before we vote on what to do with Glidden let me read an
extract from one of his speeches. This is authentic. It has been
furnished by the detective lately active in our interest. Also it has
been published. I read it because I want to bring home to you all an
issue that goes beyond our own personal fortunes here."

Leaning toward the flickering flare of the lantern, the leader read from
a slip of paper: "If the militia are sent out here to hinder the I.W.W.
we will make it so damned hot for the government that no troops will be
able to go to France.... I don't give a damn what this country is
fighting for.... I am fighting for the rights of labor.... American
soldiers are Uncle Sam's scabs in disguise."

The deep, impressive voice ended. The leader's huge fist descended upon
the table with a crash. He gazed up and down the rows of sinister masked
figures. "Have you anything to say?"

"No," replied one.

"Pass the slips," said another.

And then a man, evidently on in years, for his hair was gray and he
looked bent, got up. "Neighbors," he began "I lived here in the early
days. For the last few years I've been apologizing for my home town. I
don't want to apologize for it any longer."

He sat down. And a current seemed to wave from him around that dark
square of figures. The leader cleared his throat as if he had much to
say, but he did not speak. Instead he passed the hat. Each man drew
forth a slip of paper and wrote upon it. The action was not slow.
Presently the hat returned round the table to the leader. He spilled its
contents, and with steady hand picked up the first slip of paper.

"De