d had at
length captured one. They were running him down street to a telegraph
pole when the assistant superintendent appeared in scant attire and
stopped them. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, he hustled
their victim into the only place of refuge at hand, a billiard hall.
The mob rushed the hall. In the farthest corner the unlucky Italian,
bleeding like a bullock and insane with fright, knelt, clinging to
McCloud's shaky knees. In trying to make the back door the two had
been cut off, and the sick boss had got into a corner behind a
pool-table to make his stand. In his pocket he had a pistol, knowing
that to use it meant death to him as well as to the wretch he was
trying to save. Fifty men were yelling in the room. They had rope,
hatchets, a sprinkling of guns, and whiskey enough to burn the town,
and in the corner behind a pool-table stood the mining boss with
mountain fever, the Dago, and a broken billiard-cue.

Bucks took the cigar from his mouth, leaned forward in his chair, and
stretched his heavy chin out of his neck as if the situation now
promised a story. The leader, Smith continued, was the mine
blacksmith, a strapping Welshman, from whom McCloud had taken the
Italian in the street. The blacksmith had a revolver, and was crazy
with liquor. McCloud singled him out in the crowd, pointed a finger at
him, got the attention of the men, and lashed him across the table
with his tongue until the blacksmith opened fire on him with his
revolver, McCloud all the while shaking his finger at him and abusing
him like a pickpocket. "The crowd couldn't believe its eyes," Gordon
Smith concluded, "and McCloud was pushing for the blacksmith with his
cue when Kennedy and I squirmed through to the front and relieved the
tension. McCloud wasn't hit."

"What is that mining man's name?" asked Bucks, reaching for a message
clip.

"McCloud."

"First name?" continued Bucks mechanically.

"George."

Bucks looked at his companion in surprise. Then he spoke, and a
feeling of self-abasement was reflected in his words. "George
McCloud," he echoed. "Did you say George? Why, I must know that man. I
turned him down once for a job. He looked so peaceable I thought he
was too soft for us." The president laid down his cigar with a gesture
of disgust. "And yet there really are people along this line that
think I'm clever. I haven't judgment enough to operate a trolley car.
It's a shame to take the money they give me for runni