"that's good of you, but in all the time
I've been in the work of organization, I've never carried a gun, nor had
one around. I don't want a gun, Mr. Brotherton."

"I do," returned the elder man, "and I'm here to say that moral force is
a grand thing, but in these latitudes when you poke Betsy Jane under the
nose of an erring comrade, he sees the truth with much more clearness
than otherwise. I stick to the gun--and you can go in hard for moral
suasion.

"Also," he added, "I've just taken a survey of these premises, and told
the missus to bring the supper up here. There may be an early curtain
raiser on this entertainment, and if they are going to chase you out of
town to-night, I want a good seat at the performance." He grinned. "Nate
Perry will join us in a little quiet social manslaughter. I called him
up an hour ago, and he said he'd be here at six-thirty. I think he's
coming now." In another minute the slim Yankee figure of Nathan was in
the room. It was scarcely dusk outside. Mrs. Williams came up with a
tray of food. As she set it down she said:

"There's a crowd around at the Hot Dog, you can see them through the
window."

Nate and Grant looked. Mr. Brotherton went into the supper. "Crowd all
right," assented Nate. There was no mistaking the crowd and its
intention. There were new men from the day shift at the smelter,
imported by the company to oppose the unions. A thousand such men had
been brought into the district within a few months.

"There's another saloon across the road here," said Mr. Brotherton,
looking up from his food. "My understanding is that they're going to
make headquarters across the street in Dick's Place. You know I got a
pipe-line in on the enemy through the Calvin girl. She gets it at home,
and her father gets it at the office. Our estimable natty little friend
Joe will be down here--he says to keep the peace. That's what he tells
at home. I know what he's coming for. Tom Van Dorn will sit in the back
room of that saloon and no one will know he's there, and Joseph will
issue Tom's orders. Lord," cried Mr. Brotherton, waving a triangle of
pie in his hand, "don't I know 'em like a book."

While he was talking the crowd slowly was swelling in front of the Hot
Dog saloon. It was a drinking and noisy crowd. Men who appeared to be
leaders were taking other men in to the bar, treating them, then
bringing them out again, and talking excitedly to them. The crowd grew
rapidly, and the noise m