"I'm not. I'm going to fire you. You ain't laid off, you understand; you're fired. If you ever come back, I'll have you kicked off the place."
"You don't dare fire me," the man said, coming nearer. "You'll have to take me back tomorrow."
"I'm through talking with you," said Bannon, still quietly. "The faster you can light out of here the better."
"We'll see about that. You can't come it on the union that way—"
Then, without any preparatory gesture whatever, Bannon knocked him down. The man seemed to fairly rebound from the floor. He rushed at the boss, but before he could come within striking distance, Bannon whipped out a revolver and dropped it level with Reilly's face.
"I've talked to you," he said slowly, his eye blazing along the barrel, "and I've knocked you down. But—"
The man staggered back, then walked away very pale, but muttering. Bannon shoved back the revolver into his hip pocket. "It's all right, boys," he said, "nothing to get excited about."
He walked to the edge and looked over. "We can't wait to pick it up a stick at a time," he said. "I'll tell 'em to load four or five on each larry. Then you can lift the whole bunch."
"We run some chances of a spill or a break that way," said the foreman.
"I know it," answered Bannon, dryly. "That's the kind of chances we'll have to run for the next two months."