Reddy interrupted Billings here loudly, with a snort of disgust,
while "Bitter Root" ran his fingers through his hair before
continuing. Martin was listening intently.

"The old man arranged to have a squad of cops on all the bridges, and
I begin anticipatin' hilarities for next day.

"The news got out of course, through the secrecies of police
headquarters, and when we ran up the river for our tow, it looked
like every striker west of Pittsburg had his family on the docks to
see the barbecue, accompanied by enough cobble-stones and scrap iron
to ballast a battleship. All we got goin' up was repartee, but I
figgered we'd need armour gettin' back.

"We passed a hawser to the 'Detroit,' and I turned the gas into the
tug, blowin' for the Wells Street Bridge. Then war began. I leans
out the door just in time to see the mob charge the bridge. The cops
clubbed 'em back, while a roar went up from the docks and roof tops
that was like a bad dream. I couldn't see her move none though, and
old man Badrich blowed again expurgatin' himself of as nobby a line
of cuss words as you'll muster outside the cattle belt.

"'Soak 'em,' I yells, 'give 'em all the arbitration you've got handy.
If she don't open; we'll jump her,' and I lets out another notch, so
that we went plowin' and boilin' towards the draw.

"It looked like we'd have to hurdle it sure enough, but the police
beat the crowd back just in time. She wasn't clear open though, and
our barge caromed off the spiles. It was like a nigger buttin' a
persimmon tree--we rattled off a shower of missiles like an abnormal