These were the canvas men. Some of them looked as reckless and dangerous as the miners, from whom a disturbance was feared.
These canvas men, whose duty it is to set up and take down the tents, are, for the most part, a rough set. They are paid from fifteen to twenty dollars a month and board. Their accommodations are very poor, but as good perhaps as they are accustomed to. They are not averse to a scrimmage, and obeyed with alacrity the directions of Mr. Clark.
The body of miners marched in procession to the ticket seller and then halted, one serving as spokesman.
"Give us twenty tickets, boss," said the leader.
"Where is your money?" asked the ticket seller, cautiously.
"Never you mind! We're on the free list, ain't we, boys?"
"Yes, we are!" was the chorus from his followers.
"There are no deadheads admitted to the show," said the ticket agent, firmly.
"You'll be a deadhead yourself if you ain't careful, young feller!" was the retort.
"Keep back, men! There are others waiting for a chance to buy tickets."