“You’ll try to,” corrected Nixon, “but it won’t be so easy as you think. Good engineers ain’t knockin’ around the country lookin’ fer scab jobs—you know that as well as I do. The good men are all in the brotherhood. All you’ll find is a few dubs who can run an engine after a fashion and who don’t belong to the brotherhood or have been kicked out—they’ll soon play hob with your engines.” “No doubt they’re pretty bad if they’ve been kicked out,” observed Mr. Schofield. “But,” continued Nixon, impressively, paying no heed to the interruption, “the minute this scab engineer climbs up into the cab, that same minute the fireman will climb down. More than that, no union conductor or brakeman will help run a train which a scab engineer is driving, no union switchman will throw a target for it, and no union operator will give it orders. So there you are—fire Bassett, and you’ll need mighty soon not only a new outfit of engineers, but of firemen, conductors, brakemen, switchmen and operators. Maybe you think it’ll be easy to find new men to take their places, but I don’t.” “I don’t either,” agreed Mr. Schofield; “but just the same we won’t give up the fight before it begins.” “Well, your lines are bound to be tied up more or less, even at the best,” said Nixon, “and right in the busy season, too. That will mean considerable of a loss.” “Yes,” nodded Mr. Schofield, “it will.” “And some of the loss will be permanent. When traffic is turned aside that way, if only for a short time, some of it always stays turned aside. After you git things straightened out, you’ll have to git out and hustle for business, or your earnings will show a permanent decrease.” “I know that too,” said Mr. Schofield. “And there’s another thing to consider,” went on Nixon, impressively. “Union men are orderly and law-abiding. All they will do is to quit their jobs and let you run the road if you can. They won’t interfere with you—they never do.” “So I have heard,” said Mr. Schofield, with a grim smile. “Surely it’s no use repeating that fairy tale to me.” “It’s no fairy tale,” protested Nixon, earnestly, but there was a sardonic light in his eyes. “As I said, union men never make trouble. But there’s always a lot of sympathizers and hangers-on who try to help, and who always do make trouble, however hard the union men may try to prevent it.” “I don’t think the union men will lose any sleep trying to stop it.” “Yes, they will,” contradicted Nixon, “but they won’t be able to. Wind of this trouble has got about, you know; and just last night, as I was passing a saloon over here, I heard two or three fellers talkin’ and one of them remarked what a beautiful big blaze the stock-yards would make and how easy it would be to start.” “Is this a threat?” asked Mr. Schofield, looking fixedly at his visitor.