"See, mates," he shouted, trying to put a jeer in his angry voice, "look at 'im! He's come here to call us a pack o' skunks an' gophers. Him wot's makin' thousands o' dollars a day out of us. He's come here to kick us like a lot o' lousy curs. His own man shot up our leader, him as was trying to fit things right fer us. I tell you it was murder—bloody murder! We're dirt to him. He can kick us—shoot us up. We're dogs—lousy yeller dogs—we are. You'll listen to his slobbery talk an' you'll go to work—and he'll cut your wages lower, so he can make thousan's more out o' you." Then he suddenly swung round on Dave with a fierce oath. "God blast you, it's wages we want—d'ye hear—wages! An' we're goin' to have 'em! You ain't goin' to grind us no longer, mister! You're goin' to sign a 'greement fer a rise o' wages of a quarter all round. That's wot you're goin' to do!"
Dave was watching, watching. His opportunity was coming.
"I came to talk to honest 'jacks,'" he said icily, "not to blacklegs. I'll trouble you to get right back into the crowd, and hide your ugly head, and keep your foul tongue quiet. The boys have got their spokesmen."
His voice was sharp, but the man failed to apprehend the danger that lay behind it. He was a bigger man than Dave, and, maybe, he thought to cow him. Perhaps he didn't realize that the master of the mills was now fighting for his existence.
There was an instant's pause, and Dave took a step toward him.
"Get back!" he roared.
His furious demand precipitated things, as he intended it should. Like lightning the giant whipped out a gun.
"I'll show you!" he cried.
There was a sharp report. But before he could pull the trigger a second time Dave's right fist shot out, and a smashing blow on the chin felled him to the ground like a pole-axed ox.
As the man fell Dave turned again to the strikers, and no one noticed that his left arm was hanging helpless at his side.