he
nearest spectator; but where one fell back a dozen surged forward, and
the entire crossing was in the possession of a throng of strike
sympathizers, among whom Fred failed to recognize more than three or
four real railway men. Prominent among the more active and determined at
the very front, however, he caught sight of a man named Farley, a
brakeman, who was often one of Jim's own crew. He was shouting and
gesticulating to friends in the second-story windows of a saloon across
the tracks, a rendezvous of men who, at ordinary times, rarely drank a
drop of liquor. The ground-floor was invisible to the throng. "Come out
here, you fellers," he was saying. "I tell you they're going to try to
clear these side-tracks, and we'll need every man of you."

Farley was right in his prophecy. The managers realized that it would
take much longer to right the overturned freight-cars than to draw away
the long trains of empty or half-loaded cars at the sides, and so clear
a track or two for the mails and passengers. At the crossing of Allen
Street there were ten parallel tracks, those in the middle--numbers five
and six--being the through tracks. Freight-cars by the dozen on tracks
four and seven had been toppled over so as to completely block all four,
and, as Farley spoke, down the long vista towards the city and over the
heads of the throng the smoke of locomotives could be seen puffing
steadily towards them. With car-loads of such guards as they could
command--deputy marshals picked up and sworn in anyhow--the railway
officials were coming to make the attempt. Fred had reached the spot at
the most exciting hour of the day. He should, perhaps, have pushed on
through the crowd and hastened on to the cable road, but it occurred to
him that an account of the situation up to the last moment might be of
use to his officers, or that he might find a quicker way of getting to
town on a switch engine. Then, too, he longed to speak with Jim and get
him to go home. He determined, therefore, on a few minutes' delay.
Ducking, dodging, and squeezing, he made his way through the crowd to
Farley's side.

"Jerry," said he, "I hate to see one of Jim's men in this. Surely he and
you ought to keep out of the yards. Where is he?"

"He has kept out of the yards so far," answered Farley, with an angry
oath and glaring eyes. "But the time's come for them that are men to
show it, and them that don't step out and fight for their rights now are
skulkers