e. There, wedged in
between two old shanties, he had to wait two hours for Pat to get on
the office beat. Oh, what a long night! Just ahead were the office and
the starving men. Between them and their rescuer a Chinaman stalked,
gun in hand, pig-tail bobbing in the night air, and eyes ever on the
alert to see an intruder. In the bar-room Job could hear the talking.
Dan Dean and O'Donnell were there. They were boasting that not a soul
outside knew of the strike; that a late telephone to Gold City showed
no one there knew; that the stage was still held at the stables; that
there was no hope for "the boss and the tyrants." To-morrow they would
sign that paper or take the consequences.

Job shuddered at the thought. Then he heard Dan chuckle over him. He
"'lowed the biggest fun would be to see that pious fraud beg for
mercy."

What if Dan knew he was listening, with only a board partition between
them! Job hardly dared to breathe.

It was getting uncomfortably near dawn when Job heard another owl's
hoot and stole past Pat Rooney up to the rear door of the old stone
office, which opened softly in a few minutes as he gave the well-known
private tap of the clerks. What a wretched, haggard lot of men rose
excitedly to meet him! He hushed them to silence, told his story, and
bade them rest and wait a few hours. Troop A would surely be here.

* * * * *

It was daybreak, the dawn of the Fourth of July, when the sound of a
bugle aroused the miners of the Yellow Jacket. Some thought it was
some patriotic Yankee, but the clang, clang, of the old bell at the
stone tower, the calls of the sentries, the rush of hundreds of
half-dressed, excited men down the street, told everyone that trouble
was in the air.

It was all done so quickly that the miners hardly knew where they
were. The guards were on the run, and a troop of cavalry, with a solid
front, stood facing the yelling, yet terrified, mob of men who
blockaded lower Main street. It was only a hundred against five
hundred men; but it was order, discipline, authority, against
disorder, tumult and a mob. All rules were forgotten, all their plans
went for naught. Dan yelled in vain. O'Donnell grew red in the face as
he screamed orders. "Forward, march!" rang out the captain's voice,
and a hundred sabers rattled and a hundred horses started, and five
hundred terror-stricken men, each forgetful of all but himself,
started in a panic to retreat.

Fr