A veil of crimson seemed to flutter before Luke’s eyes—the eyes of the man that had counseled caution and the use of only the butts of rifles. He did not think, he could only feel—only feel that here at last was the chance, here the unavoidable need of action that had the splendid conclusiveness of brutality. This was man’s work. This was no rescuing of a girl: it was war. The world had meshed him in a net of intellectual doubts and quibbles: here was his moment to cut the net, and to cut his way to freedom, to take vengeance on the world. That and something more. Betty was in danger and the property that was partly his, that in part he owned and had bought. But above all this, riding it all, goading it, spurning it, mad with its mastery, the blood-lust, the Sense of Power, the dizzy knowledge that he could kill. The mob was almost upon them. It was a tidal wave. "Now!" shouted Luke to the Italian. But the Captain caught his hand. He gabbled the nothings of panic. Luke threw the boy to the pavement. With all the breath in his body he vociferated: "_Fire!_" §10. Hell belched its flames: a thunder-clap, a thunder-cloud knifed by red flashes of lightning. Luke felt his head bashed against the wall of the factory. He was choking in a cloud of smoke. He could see nothing, but once he thought he heard the crack of other shots from somewhere above. Then he felt his knees clutched. He felt a pawing at his elbow; and presently he heard the chattering voice of Facciolati screaming against his cheek: "Why in Hell did you do that? How in Hell did you dare?—Don’t you know what you might have done? Who’s in command here?" "Shut up," bellowed Luke, "or I’ll show you who’s in command." He tried vainly to see through the smoke. "Take your hands off me!" It was as if he were in the crater of an erupting volcano. The reverberation split his head, and through it came shrieks, groans, curses, and then, as the smoke slowly lifted, the pound of two thousand feet on the paving-stones, while, with the Red Flag sagging to and fro like a wounded eagle above it, the mob fled pell-mell up the street. But the Captain had not heeded Luke’s warning. "Now they’ll be back!" he was wailing. "We’ll all be goners now. Why did you give that order? Why didn’t you let me change it?—I’d instructed the men to fire over their heads—An’ you didn’t let me change it—An’ of course they _did_ fire over their heads—an’ nobody’s hurt—Do you know what that means? They’ll be back and kill all of us!" It was impossible for Luke to believe. Then, not fear, but the rage of thwarted blood-lust sent out his clawing hands. "You did that?" He caught Facciolati under the arm-pits and raised him clear of the ground. "You——"