“Speakin’ wide open and onrestrained like, I want to say it’s mighty nigh time we wuz provin’ a man’s better ‘n money. It’s time our brotherhood wuz banded together tighter ‘n ever an’ thet we stop bein’ slaves fur these ‘ere money kings who hev got their iron heels on our necks an’ air grindin’ us down in the dust like as we wuz a pack of Russian serfs. We ask fur bread an’ they giv’ us a stun; we ask fur meat an’ they give us a serpent, an’ by an’ by we’ll hev to ask permission to breathe the pure air uv heaven, as we take a gallop acrosst the range.” Wild huzzas and more hand-clapping greeted this, and the speaker continued: “I’m liable to git hostile in the extreem an’ somebody’s goin’ to git hurt on this ‘ere range afore long onless a change sets in. The question is, hev n’t us workin’ fellers got to thet pint uv life whure money is more respected than the genuine pure artickle uv manhood? Thet’s the question, feller citizens, fur us to settle. Pussonally I’m feelin’ a heap careless.” Cries of “Good!” “That’s right!” “Come again!” were heard on every side. “Lets us,” continued Kinneman, “take our cue from these ‘ere money fellers. Ev’ry cussed one uv ‘em is in a pool or a trust uv some kind an’ hang together jist like so many cockle-burrs, an’ we, my br’thers, mus’ do the same. We’re the fellers thet’s workin’ like dogs an’ they’re the fellers thet’s hevin’ all the big dinners. Now, I say, is the time to stop. It’s no longer a question uv capital an’ labor, it’s a question uv life, an’ jestice on one side an’ death an’ injestice on t’other. There’s liable to be a select assortment uv guns doin’ onusual permiscus work in these ‘ere diggins if some people don’t quit assoomin’ sooperior airs over us laborin’ men. My doctrine is to hustle an’ git what b’longs to us, peace’ble if we can; if not, git it anyway.’.rsquo; “That’s right!” “Now you’re talking!” was heard from the open-mouthed auditors. “Now, gen’lemen,” concluded Kinneman, “I don’t b’lieve in a feller screechin’ round too much. Talk’s mighty cheap. I b’lieve in bein’ plenty p’lite; same time I want to be doin’ suthin’. An election is clus to hand, an’ the fellers thet git the support uv the Barley Hullers in this ‘ere county air dead sure to be elected, and I onbosom myself enuff to say that they’ve got to pay fur it an’ pay fur it han’some, an’ no misunderstandin’, an’ don’t yer furgit it, an’—” “Hold on!” “Hold on!” cried several voices. “We must not go into politics.” “Major Buell Hampton,” said one member, “has expressly provided that politics shall not be mixed up in this organization. Now, while I am with Brother Kinneman in much that he has said, yet I draw the line on violating any of the rules of the order.” Bill Kinneman was about to reply, when a greasy-looking member stealthily took him by the coat sleeve and whispered a few words to him.