Holly Sommers chuckled.  “Not if your car can put you across the line soon enough.  Then, even though Mexico might be called upon to execute one Elfigo Apodaca as an example to the souls in bondage, some other bullet-riddled cadaver with your name and physical likeness would do as well as your own carcass.”  He chuckled again.

“Cheerful prospect,” grinned Elfigo ruefully.  “But I like a sporting chance, myself.  The real point I’m trying to get at is, what chance do you think the Alliance has got of winning?  Come down outa the clouds, Holly, and never mind about humanity for a minute.  You’ve helped organize the Alliance, you’ve talked to the hombres, you’ve been the god in the machine in this part of the country, and all that.  Now be a prophet in words of one syllable and tell me what you think of the outlook.”

With his fingers Holly Sommers packed the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe.  His whole expression changed from the philosopher to the cunning leader of what might well be called a forlorn hope.

“Speaking in words of one syllable, we have a damn better chance than you may think,” he said, in a tone as changed as his looks.  “This country lies wide open to any attack that is sudden and unexpected.  Labor is in a state of ferment.  I predict that within a year we shall find ourselves upon the brink of a civil war, with labor and capital lined up against each other.  Unless the government takes some definite step toward placating organized labor, the whole standing army will not be sufficient to keep the peace.  That is the present internal condition, and that condition will grow worse until we face the real crisis of a national strike of some sort—­I believe of the railroad employees, since that is the most far-reaching and would prove the most disastrous—­therefore the most terrifying to the ruling class.

“On the other hand, and turning our faces outward, we are not much better prepared for an emergency.  We are a conceited nation, but insufferable national conceit never yet won a battle.  We are given to shouting rather than shooting.  Americanism to-day consists chiefly of standing up while the Star Spangled Banner is being played by a brass band, and of shooting off rockets on our national holiday.  Were I of the capitalist class, I should consider the situation desperate.  But being allied with the workers, I can laugh.

“Speaking still in words of one syllable, Elfigo, I can safely prophesy what will happen first when the Alliance begins its active campaign.  Scarehead news in extra editions will be printed.  The uprising will be greatly exaggerated, I have no doubt.  Women and children will be reported massacred, whereas the Alliance has no intention of being more barbarous than any warfare necessitates.  Then there will be a buzzing of leagues and clubs; and the citizens will march up and down the business section of every town, bearing banners and shouting for the ‘dear old flag.’  Women will rise up and sell sofa pillows and doilies to raise money to buy chewing gum for our soldier boys.  That, Elfigo, will sufficiently occupy the masses for a week or two.