"That won't do," decided Jim Tracy. "I've got to tackle that gang, and I don't like to, for it means a fight. Still I can't have the tent collapse."
He hurriedly gathered a crowd of his own men, armed them with stakes, and charged the gang of roughs that was creating a small riot, to the terror of women and children.
The rowdies finding themselves getting the worst of it, called for help from among the factory workers, who liked nothing better than to "beat-up" a circus crowd. Jim Tracy and his men were being severely handled when a new force took a hand in the mêlée.
"Come on, boys. We can't stand for this!" shouted Jake Bantry, the leader of the striking canvasmen. "They sha'n't bust up the show, even if the boss won't give us more money."
The canvasmen were used to trouble of this kind. Seizing tent pegs, and with cries of "Hey Rube!"—the time-honored signal for a battle of this kind—the striking canvasmen rushed into the fracas.
In a short time the roughs had been dispersed, and there was no more danger of the tents being cut and made to collapse.
"I'm much obliged to you boys," said Jim Tracy to the strikers, when the affray was over. "You helped us out finely."
"It was fun for us," answered Jake Bantry. "And say, Mr. Tracy, we've been talking it over among ourselves, and seeing as how you've always treated us white, we've decided, if you'll take us back, that we'll come—and at the same wages."
"Of course I'll take you back!" exclaimed the owner heartily. "And glad to have you."
"Good! Come on, boys! Strike's broken!" cried Bantry.