refused, but the others quickly silenced him in a way that
showed their respect for Job. The cards dropped from their hands
before long, and each seemed occupied with his own thoughts. Twice
during the day "the gang" and O'Donnell presented themselves at the
door with the paper, and were refused. Then all hands seemed to resign
themselves to a genuine siege. On the whole it was quiet outside,
except for the occasional jangle of voices and the sentry's pacing.

Towards night the uproar grew louder. The saloons were doing a big
business, and the sound of rollicking songs and drunken brawls was in
the air. Job grew restless and paced the office floor. About five
o'clock a delegation came for someone to meet the men at a conference
on the waste-heap back of the quartz mill. The superintendent refused
to go, and asked Job to do so. "They dare not hurt you," he said.

So between two armed, burly guards, Job went to look into the face of
the strangest audience he had ever seen. A solid throng they stood on
the bare, flat hill that rounded off at one end of the canyon below.
Irishmen, Swedes, Portuguese, Germans, Chinese, Yankees--all
nationalities were there, in overalls and blue jumpers, puffing at
long pipes, and wedged in a solid mass about an old ore car that
served as platform. Dan was speaking; he was talking of the starving
miners in "Colorady," and pointed to the office building, crying,
"We'll show them bloated 'ristocrats how nice it feels to starve!"
while a din of voices cried, "Hear! hear!"

Pushing their way to the flat-car, his muscular escorts hauled Job up
and shouted:

"The parson, lads--Mr. Job. He's goin' to talk wid yez!"

"May the Holy Mother defind him!" cried a voice in the crowd. "He's
the praist of me Tim!"

"The fraud!" cried another; "he's as bad as the rist! Nary a per cint.
would he give me yesterday!"

"Hush, ye blatherskite!" hissed another. "Give the lad a chance; he's
a-talkin'!"

Yes, Job was talking. He did his best. He expressed the utmost
sympathy with the wrongs of every man, and reminded them that they had
no truer friend in the Yellow Jacket than he. He had nursed their
sick, buried their dead, had been one of them in all the struggles of
their lives. Voice after voice in the crowd said, "That's so! Hear!
Hear!" "Hurrah fer the lad!" cried another. "Three cheers for the
little parson!"

Then he talked to them of the strike, and said every man had a right
to quit work and th