There was a burst of clapping. They called his name, apparently with good grace, although they must know what he would say to them. He rose and glanced around at Daley, Patch, and Andrews, who had asked him to come.

“Very well,” he said. “I will say what you all know I will say. Shall I?”

“Go ahead, Doc,” Daley said.

“Give them hell!” Fitzsimmons whispered.

“I will say that you had better think before you act, which you already should know. I will say that you have a much greater chance of achieving what you want by sensible means rather than by violent ones. Unless what you want is merely senseless violence, in which case you have proceeded correctly at every turn, and I congratulate you.”

There was laughter, and catcalls mixed with it. As the noise ceased he went on more grimly. “I know the reason for this meeting, and I refuse even to discuss the subject. There has been too much lynch-mobbing and burning already, all of it stupid. I hope that whoever it was among you that took it upon himself to fire the Glass Slipper realizes by now how he has hurt you all. For what you need is friends in Warlock, who will help you with your cause. If you feel you do not need friends, you do not need me. I should like to know if this is the prevailing attitude, for if it is there is no reason for me to waste my breath further.”

“We sure do need you, Doc!” Fitzsimmons said loudly.

“Hear! Hear!” Patch called, from the back of the room. Martin was chewing on a thumb knuckle, and Heck wore a look of sour disapproval.

“Very well,” the doctor said. “I will say again that you need all the friends you can get. MacDonald has made you friends by stupidly trying to bring his Regulators into Warlock. You will just as stupidly lose them by your disgraceful behavior. If I were you I would see to it that there is no more playing with fire, or hurling of rocks through store windows, and the like. In particular, you will throw away every advantage you now possess in the instant it takes to light another match — do you understand me?”

“By God, Doc—” old man Heck cried, but a voice from the rear drowned him out: “We have to do something, Doc! We can’t just sit and wait till MacDonald starves us back.”

“You can’t eat fire!” another broke in, and the dining room resounded with cries and argument. Old man Heck pounded for silence, and the doctor waited patiently with his arms crossed on his chest.

Finally he said, “You will remember a thing that Brunk had to say — that people look down on you miners. I think Brunk never saw why this should be; he only resented the fact. I will tell you why. I know, for it is the reason I am out of patience with you a good part of the time myself. They look down on you because of the wild and irresponsible vandalism you have indulged in all too often. Some idiot among you might have burned this town down. Do you wonder that such things might make you unappealing to the decent citizens?

“As I have said before, MacDonald is a stupid man. Because of his stupidity there is a certain sympathy for you now, despite your own actions. It is your business to see that in the future you are not more stupid than MacDonald, so that this sympathy for your plight may continue to grow. There is a force in public opinion that even MacDonald will have to feel. He—”

“MacDonald wouldn’t feel a shafthead frame if it fell on him!” Bull Johnson said, and there was laughter.

“MacDonald has already felt it. The deputies may have stopped the Regulators the first time they tried to come in, but have none of you wondered why he didn’t bring them in again? He did not because he knew this town was solidly against such a thing. The marshal—”

There was another outcry at the word, and suddenly he was furious. He sat down. “Now, Doc!” Fitzsimmons said. “You don’t want to get mad!” Daley leaned toward him to try to get his attention. The shouting slowly died.

“All right, Doc,” Frenchy Martin said. Old man Heck only scowled. “No offense, Doc!” a voice called. They began to chant his name in unison, and he felt a surprised exultation that he could speak to them as he had and make them accept it.

But when he rose again he looked from face to face with contempt. “Why should I take no offense? You yourselves are quick enough to take it, it seems. Anything done in this town that is not exactly what you wish, you feel is traitorous. If you are going to turn on Miss Jessie like sulky boys, or on the marshal or poor Schroeder who defended you as well as Morgan in defending the law—”

There was a louder outcry; the names were shouted — Blaisedell, Morgan, Brunk, Benny Connors, Schroeder, Curley Burne. This time he shouted back at them until he made himself heard. “You contemptible fools! What is the use of trying to help you? Who cares for your piddling dollar a day? I do not. I hoped there might be some decency and common sense somewhere among you, but I see there is none. Have your damned violence and arson and see where it will get you. You will burn that stope and cut off all your noses to spite one face you hate!”

He sat down again, and again they pleaded with him to go on, but he did not rise. He thought that he could sway them in the end, he was not even particularly angry, but he thought it best to let them whistle for his advice for a while. They would covet it the more if he withheld it.

Fitzsimmons rose, to be met with catcalls. He cried in return, cheerfully, “Cut away, boys! Cut those noses!” He held his burned hands out before him and waited for silence.

“You can laugh at me because I am younger than you,” Fitzsimmons went on. “But I am more a miner than three-quarters of the ragtag and bobtail around here. I’ve been underground since I was twelve, and I know some things about a strike it looks like you don’t know. I know when there is a strike the mine don’t produce and the miners don’t eat. But a mine can go a long time without producing.”

Fitzsimmons seemed a little surprised that he had not been shouted down yet, and, watching the boy, the doctor was aware again of the iron in him, and more and more, too, he was aware that Fitzsimmons was as patient, calculating, and ruthless as any gambler.

“And I know another thing it looks like you don’t,” Fitzsimmons went on. “I know if a stope gets burnt it stays burnt a long time, and you don’t eat during that time either. Or after.”

“There are other mines, boy,” old man Heck said. “There is other camps besides Warlock.”

“Not for those that burnt a stope, there isn’t!”

“The kid is right on that, old man!”

Again everyone began to talk at once. Fitzsimmons tried to make himself heard, but the others quieted only when Bull Johnson got to his feet, grinning and waving his arms.

“I say we can bust Mister Mac,” Johnson said, in his great, deep voice. “Him and the Haggins and Morgan and Blaisedell and the Citizens’ Committee and any other sons of bitches in league with him. I say we have got stronger arms than they got, and all we have to do is get guns and—”

“Dig silver ourself then?” Patch broke in. “Do you think Peach wouldn’t be down here with the cavalry?”

“Ah, you couldn’t get Peach out of Bright’s City with a pry-bar.”

“Better Peach than a bunch of hardcase Regulators!”

Old man Heck pounded on the table. Fitzsimmons shook his head despairingly and dropped into his chair.

“Doc!” They began chanting his name again. As soon as he got to his feet again they fell respectfully silent.

“I understand your fear.” He spoke quietly now, so they would have to be silent in order to hear him. “Now that you have begun this strike, you must get something for your efforts or look like fools. I would hate to see MacDonald’s satisfaction, if you were able to gain nothing, as much as any of you. But what do you want in the end? Your wages raised, or the Miners’ Union established?”