“Gentlemen, we have Anderson of Golden Valley with us to-day.  If there are any of you present who do not know him, you surely have heard of him.  His people were pioneers.  He was born in Washington.  He is a type of the men who have made the Northwest.  He fought the Indians in early days and packed a gun for the outlaws—­and to-day, gentlemen, he owns a farm as big as Spokane County.  We want to hear from him.”

When Anderson rose to reply it was seen that he was pale and somber.  Slowly he gazed at the assembly of waiting men, bowed; then he began, impressively: 

“Gentlemen an’ friends, I wish I didn’t have to throw a bomb into this here camp-fire talk.  But I’ve got to.  You’re all talkin’ I.W.W.  Facts have been told showin’ a strange an’ sudden growth of this here four-flush labor union.  We’ve had dealin’s with them for several years.  But this year it’s different....  All at once they’ve multiplied and strengthened.  There’s somethin’ behind them.  A big unseen hand is stackin’ the deck....  An’, countrymen, that tremendous power is German gold!”

Anderson’s deep voice rang like a bell.  His hearers sat perfectly silent.  No surprise showed, but faces grew set and hard.  After a pause of suspense, in which his denunciation had time to sink in, Anderson resumed: 

“A few weeks ago a young man, a stranger, came to me an’ asked for a job.  He could do anythin’, he said.  An’ I hired him to drive my car.  But he wasn’t much of a driver.  We went up in the Bend country one day, an’ on that trip I got suspicious of him.  I caught him talkin’ to what I reckoned was I.W.W. men.  An’ then, back home again, I watched him an’ kept my ears open.  It didn’t take long for me to find discontent among my farm-hands.  I hire about a hundred hands on my ranches durin’ the long off season, an’ when harvest comes round a good many more.  All I can get, in fact....  Well, I found my hands quittin’ me, which was sure onusual.  An’ I laid it to that driver.

“One day not long ago I run across him hobnobbin’ with the strange man I’d seen talkin’ with him on the Bend trip.  But my driver—­Nash, he calls himself—­didn’t see me.  That night I put a cowboy to watch him.  An’ what this cowboy heard, put together two an’ two, was that Nash was assistant to an I.W.W. leader named Glidden.  He had sent for Glidden to come to look over my ranch.  Both these I.W.W. men had more money than they could well carry—­lots of it gold!  The way they talked of this money proved that they did not know the source, but the supply was unlimited.

“Next day Glidden could not be found.  But my cowboy had learned enough to show his methods.  If these proselyters could not coax or scare trusted men to join the I.W.W., they tried to corrupt them with money.  An’ in most cases they’re successful.  I’ve not yet sprung anythin’ on my driver, Nash.  But he can’t get away, an’ meanwhile