A procession of strikers was coming down the street. They were a noisy, turbulent mob, cheered on by like rowdyish sympathizers lining the pavements.
"Why, impossible!" exclaimed Ralph, as he noticed by the side of Jim Evans, the leader of the crowd, his young friend, Zeph Dallas.
The latter seemed to share the excitement of the paraders. He acted as if he gloried in being a striker, and the familiar way Evans treated him indicated that the latter regarded him as a genuine, first-class recruit.
Zeph caught Ralph's eye and then looked quickly away. The young fireman was dreadfully disappointed in the farmer boy. He went at once to the roundhouse, where the foreman told him that Zeph had deserted the afternoon previous.
"I don't understand it," said Forgan. "The lad seemed to hate the strikers for attacking him the other night. I suppose, though, it's with him like a good many others—there's lots of 'relief money' being given out, and that's the bait that catches them."
"I must manage to see Zeph," mused Ralph. "I declare, I can hardly believe he is really on their side. I wonder how near I dare venture to the headquarters of that mob."
The young fireman went to the vicinity of the
