d pistols before. The men read the determined eyes
fixed upon them; they noted Smith's indifference to their threats. The
defenders of the press and pressman were only girls, but they were girls
evidently not afraid to shoot.

No advance was made and the tableau was dramatic. Smith watched his
press with undivided attention and it clattered away at full speed until
the frail building shook with its powerful, steady motion. Then suddenly
it began to slow down. The power was off, and the machine came to an
abrupt stop.

Thursday stepped from the platform and looked at the index of the
counter.

"Four hundred and sixty-three. Twenty-two short, Miss Doyle," he
announced.

"That'll do, Thursday."

He came to her side, then, facing the sullen, glowering group of mill
hands.

"Boys," said he, "it won't do you any good to interfere with us
to-night. The paper for to-morrow morning is already printed, and Ojoy
Boglin isn't a big enough man to stop it, now or ever. Better go back
to Royal and settle your troubles with Skeelty, for if you stay here the
citizens of Millville are in the mood to shoot you down like dogs."

They stood undecided a moment, but the argument had evidently struck
home.

"What's the matter with Harris?" asked one, pointing to the motionless
form of the man in the green sweater. "Is he dead?"

"I suppose so," answered Thursday coolly; but he stooped to examine
Hetty's victim, rolling him over so that his face was upward. "No; he
isn't hurt much, I'm sorry to say. The bullet glanced off his forehead
and stunned him, that's all. Take the brute, if you want him, and go."

They obeyed in silence. Several stepped forward and raised the
unconscious Harris, bearing him to the window, where they passed him to
those without. Then they also retreated through the windows and the room
was cleared.

Only then did Hetty and Beth venture to lower their weapons.

"Oh, dear!" cried Patsy, in a low, agitated voice; "I'm so glad you
didn't kill him, Hetty."

"I'm not," returned the artist doggedly. "He deserved death, at the
least, and by killing him I'd have cheated the gallows."

Then she glanced around at the horrified faces of her friends and burst
into tears.

CHAPTER XX

DEFENDING THE PRESS

In the front room Bob West and the detective were having a busy time. At
the first rush they each fired a shot over the heads of the mob, merely
to let them know the place was guarded. In the darkness