tice,
an' a lie, an' a bribe into th' bedlam o' a mob! Y' ask for a word. A
will give it y', _Men o' the United States o' the World_; Men o'
Liberty; Men o' Strength; the world has its eye on ye! What will y'
do? M' word is this t' all time: M' word is th' simple word o' the old
prophets that ye conned by heart at y'r mother's knee: Y' ha' seen the
author o' crime an' outrage an' murder tryin' to wrest the judgment, t'
pervert the court, to slander the dead, t' send into th' wilderness a
poor innocent scapegoat o' sin, to defile the vera presence o' death.
An' ye ha' seen a young man single-handed fightin' for right, to save
y'r land from the looters, an' y'r forests from the timber thieves, an'
y'r mines from the coal pirates! Y' ha' seen evil an' good an' the
fruits o' them! _Choose ye this day which ye will serve_!' Man alive,
Wayland, ye should a' heard them! They yelled like Hell for y'! They
yelled till they split the welkin! They yelled, Wayland, till A
couldna' keep th' tears from m' eyes; an' then, man alive, they yelled
more than ever! Whiles we were yellin' and riproarin' outside, y'r
brave Sheriff man, he gets the door shut an' locked, an' the windows
down, an' the shades all drawn; an' they brings in a verdict o' 'come
to his death by the hands o' parties unknown.' Oh, A'll warrant 'twill
be 'by the hands o' parties unknown.' They'll never more try t' fasten
that crime on poor old Calamity; tho' she's no so old when y' come t'
think o' it, except in her bein' sore sinned against."

"I wonder if they'll try to come down on you for the disorder," asked
Wayland.

The old frontiersman chuckled. "A wish t' God they would," he said.
"What A'm wonderin' is what y' fat Bat fellow's doin'?"

"Oh, I can tell you that," answered the news editor. "Bat is singing
small! I'll bet you a five there won't be a line nor the fraction of a
line of all this in the local papers; nor as much as a blank space
about it in any other paper. My God, if I could only lay my hand on a
moneyed man who would back a paper thro' a fight like this and tell the
counting rooms to go to the Devil! I know a score of editors would
jump for the job and work their heads off! You needn't think we are
specially keen for eating dog on this kind of a job! 'Tisn't the men
inside the office bedevil us: 'tis y'r outside interest--"

Eleanor gave him a quick queer look. She was learning to think fast
and decide quickly. But the new