“What's to be done now?”
“FIGHT! My God! do you think we are going to stand this? Do you think we CAN?”
The uproar swelled again. The clearer the assembly of ranchers understood the significance of this move on the part of the Railroad, the more terrible it appeared, the more flagrant, the more intolerable. Was it possible, was it within the bounds of imagination that this tyranny should be contemplated? But they knew—past years had driven home the lesson—the implacable, iron monster with whom they had to deal, and again and again the sense of outrage and oppression lashed them to their feet, their mouths wide with curses, their fists clenched tight, their throats hoarse with shouting.
“Fight! How fight? What ARE you going to do?”
“If there's a law in this land”
“If there is, it is in Shelgrim's pocket. Who owns the courts in California? Ain't it Shelgrim?”
“God damn him.”
“Well, how long are you going to stand it? How long before you'll settle up accounts with six inches of plugged gas-pipe?”
“And our contracts, the solemn pledges of the corporation to sell to us first of all——”
“And now the land is for sale to anybody.”