“Nope,” replied the guard.  “I guess he had a hard knock.  He’s never budged.”

“We’ve got to beat it out of here,” said Glidden.  “It’s long after midnight.  There’s a freight-train down the track.  I want all the gang to board it.  You run along, Bradford, and catch up with the others.”

“What’re you going to do with this young fellow?” queried Bradford, curiously.

“That’s none of your business,” returned Glidden.

“Maybe not.  But I reckon I’ll ask, anyhow.  You want me to join your I.W.W., and I’m asking questions.  Labor strikes—­standing up for your rights—­is one thing, and burning wheat or slugging young farmers is another.  Are you going to let this Dorn go?”

Kurt could plainly see the group of five men, Bradford standing over the smaller Glidden, and the others strung and silent in the intensity of the moment.

“I’ll cut his throat,” hissed Glidden.

Bradford lunged heavily.  The blow he struck Glidden was square in the face.  Glidden would have had a hard fall but for the obstruction in the shape of his comrades, upon whom he was knocked.  They held him up.  Glidden sagged inertly, evidently stunned or unconscious.  Bradford backed guardedly away out of their reach, then, wheeling, he began to run with heavy, plodding strides.

Glidden’s comrades seemed anxiously holding him up, peering at him, but no one spoke.  Kurt saw his opportunity.  With one strong wrench he freed his hands.  Feeling in his pocket for his gun, he was disturbed to find that it had been taken.  He had no weapon.  But he did not hesitate.  Bounding up, he rushed like a hurricane upon the unprepared group.  He saw Glidden’s pale face upheld to the light of the stars, and by it saw that Glidden was recovering.  With all his might Kurt swung as he rushed, and the blow he gave the I.W.W. leader far exceeded Bradford’s.  Glidden was lifted so powerfully against one of his men that they both fell.  Then Kurt, striking right and left, beat down the other two, and, leaping over them, he bounded away into the darkness.  Shrill piercing yells behind him lent him wings.

But he ran right into another group of I.W.W. men, dozens in number, he thought, and by the light of what appeared to be a fire they saw him as quickly as he saw them.  The yells behind were significant enough.  Kurt had to turn to run back, and he had to run the gauntlet of the men he had assaulted.  They promptly began to shoot at Kurt.  The whistle of lead was uncomfortably close.  Never had he run so fleetly.  When he flashed past the end of the line of cars, into comparative open, he found himself in the light of a new fire.  This was a shed perhaps a score of rods or less from the station.  Some one was yelling beyond this, and Kurt thought he recognized Jerry’s voice, but he did not tarry to make sure.  Bullets scattering the gravel ahead of him and singing around his head, and hoarse cries behind, with a heavy-booted tread of pursuers, gave Kurt occasion to hurry.  He flew across the freight-yard, intending to distance his pursuers, then circle round the station to the village.