er,
"I'm a Brotherhood man and bound to them in every way, but I can't stand
this. I know what's happened, though I had no hand in it, as God's my
judge! The old man's safe, ma'am--safe and out of harm's way, though I
don't know where. Jim wrapped him in his own coat with our badge on it,
and run him out through the south gate when they burst in here. I saw
him. There were only a few fellows down there, and he got him out all
right, and made him promise to keep away. I saw the old man cross the
street into the lumber-yards, and gave Jim my word I wouldn't peach. I'm
no traitor to our fellows, but I couldn't see the old man hurt." (And
here his eyes wandered to where Jessie crouched beside her brother.) "I
tried to keep 'em off from Jim, but he would go back and brave them, and
there were men among them no one could influence after old Stoltz said
his say. I got these," he added, half in shame, "battling against our
own people, trying to save him, but they were far too many for both of
us. They were madlike, and most of them were black-guards we'd not be
seen with any other time. They downed him, and nearly kicked the life
out of him, because he wouldn't say which way the old man went or where
he'd hid him."

Then, at least, the old foreman was not in the ruins--might, indeed,
have escaped from the rioters. Yet Mrs. Wallace was not much comforted.
Again and again she implored Jim to say whether he had designated any
particular place as his father's refuge; but Jim had drifted off again
into the borderland between the other world and this. His ears were deaf
to her appeal. If father had been spared, she said, surely he would have
made his way home to reassure them. In vain Fred pointed out that to do
so he must again venture through the mile-long yard of rioters, firing
cars, and mad with glut and triumph. He would surely have been
recognized, and by that time every striking switchman and trainman knew
it was he who held the throttle of the first engine to essay to break
the morning's blockade--more than enough to ruin him. They might not
themselves use violence, but they or their women would point him out to
the bloodhounds in the mob--men who were ready for any deed of violence,
no matter how brutal or cowardly, and the brave old fellow would have
met the martyr's fate at their hands.

"He never would have gone and left poor Jim to go back and face them all
alone," cried Mrs. Wallace, breaking down at last; and then Fr