“Some of the men have chosen me check-weighman,” explained Hal, in a business-like manner. “When their cars come up, I’ll see to their weights.” “You keep off this tipple, young fellow!” said Peters. His manner was equally business-like. So the would-be check-weighman came out and sat on the steps to wait. The tipple was a fairly public place, and he judged he was as safe there as anywhere. Some of the men grinned and winked at him as they went about their work; several found a chance to whisper words of encouragement. And all morning he sat, like a protestant at the palace-gates of a mandarin in China, It was tedious work, but he believed that he would be able to stand it longer than the company. SECTION 12. In the middle of the morning a man came up to him--“Bud” Adams, a younger brother of the “J. P.,” and Jeff Cotton’s assistant. Bud was stocky, red-faced, and reputed to be handy with his fists. So Hal rose up warily when he saw him. “Hey, you,” said Bud. “There’s a telegram at the office for you.” “For me?” “Your name’s Joe Smith, ain’t it?” “Yes.” “Well, that’s what it says.” Hal considered for a moment. There was no one to be telegraphing Joe Smith. It was only a ruse to get him away. “What’s in the telegram?” he asked. “How do I know?” said Bud. “Where is it from?” “I dunno that.” “Well,” said Hal, “you might bring it to me here.” The other’s eyes flew open. This was not a revolt, it was a revolution! “Who the hell’s messenger boy do you think I am?” he demanded. “Don’t the company deliver telegrams?” countered Hal, politely. And Bud stood struggling with his human impulses, while Hal watched him cautiously. But apparently those who had sent the messenger had given him precise instructions; for he controlled his wrath, and turned and strode away. Hal continued his vigil. He had his lunch with him; and was prepared to eat alone--understanding the risk that a man would be running who showed sympathy with him. He was surprised, therefore, when Johannson, the giant Swede, came and sat down by his side. There also came a young Mexican labourer, and a Greek miner. The revolution was spreading! Hal felt sure the company would not let this go on. And sure enough, towards the middle of the afternoon, the tipple-boss came out and beckoned to him. “Come here, you!” And Hal went in. The “weigh-room” was a fairly open place; but at one side was a door into an office. “This way,” said the man. But Hal stopped where he was. “This is where the check-weighman belongs, Mr. Peters.” “But I want to talk to you.” “I can hear you, sir.” Hal was in sight of the men, and he knew that was his only protection. The tipple-boss went back into the office; and a minute later Hal saw what had been intended. The door opened and Alec Stone came out. He stood for a moment looking at his political henchman. Then he came up. “Kid,” he said, in a low voice, “you’re overdoing this. I didn’t intend you to go so far.”