president of the
system, and his words were few:

"Move the trains."

"Move the trains!" repeated the superintendent. "Yes; but trains can't
be moved by pinch-bars nor by main force."

We spent the day arguing with the strikers. They were friendly, but
firm. Persuasion, entreaties, threats, we exhausted, and ended just
where we began, except that we had lost our tempers. The sun set without
the turn of a wheel. The victory of the first day was certainly with the
strikers.

Next day it looked pretty blue around the depot. Not a car was moved;
the engineers and firemen were a unit. But the wires sung hard all that
day and all that night. Just before midnight Chicago wired that No.
1--our big passenger-train, the Denver Flyer--had started out on time,
with the superintendent of motive power as engineer and a wiper for
fireman. The message came from the second vice-president. He promised to
deliver the train to our division on time the next evening, and he
asked, "Can you get it through to Denver?"

We looked at each other. At last all eyes gravitated towards Neighbor,
our master-mechanic.

The train-dispatcher was waiting. "What shall I say?" he asked.

The division chief of the motive power was a tremendously big Irishman,
with a voice like a fog-horn. Without an instant's hesitation the answer
came clear,

"Say 'yes'!"

Every one of us started. It was throwing the gage of battle. Our word
had gone out; the division was pledged; the fight was on.

Next evening the strikers, through some mysterious channel, got word
that the Flyer was expected. About nine o'clock a crowd of them began to
gather round the depot.

It was after one o'clock when No. 1 pulled in and the foreman of the
Omaha round-house swung down from the locomotive cab. The strikers
clustered around the engine like a swarm of angry bees; but that night,
though there was plenty of jeering, there was no actual violence. When
they saw Neighbor climb into the cab to take the run west there was a
sullen silence.

Next day a committee of strikers, with Andy Cameron, very cavalier, at
their head, called on me.

"Mr. Reed," said he, officiously, "we've come to notify you not to run
any more trains through here till this strike's settled. The boys won't
stand it; that's all." With that he turned on his heel to leave with his
following.

"Hold on, Cameron," I replied, raising my hand as I spoke; "that's not
quite all. I suppose you men represent your