Arizona republican., 1911-09-20

John Martin took up the bit of fuse in his hand and looked at it. It was two feet long The end had been split with knife so as to be lighted easily.
 Oats de way ve get 'im," explained Holtzman, exhibiting a stick twice as large as tallow candle and wrapped in oiled paper buff in color. "Dyna- mite iss a hard hitter" he went on, breaking the stick in his hands after an apparently most reckless fashion, revealing the composition within. a soapy substance the hue of light brown sugar.
 The holders and machinists' strike was now a four months open sore. John Martins muscular frame had long been stripped of its last superfiu- ous ounce. His lean face was clear and his cheeks had lost their furnace tan. True, there were shady spots under his lower lids, but that was from worry, and there was red light in his dark eyes at times, but that was from the beast glare that came into them more and more as the battle went against him.
 Holtzman. short of stature, with a scrub of beard upon his face, his blood shot eyes blazing. his whole body Quiv- ering with animation. crowded further into the shadow of the lumber pile be- hind which they were standing, and leaned forward, piece of the broken stick of dynamite in either hand, as he peered straight into the face of his companion.
 But Martins features were, as usual, after thirty years of scabbing, he walked into the strike. a big, calm, self-controlled fellow with kindly, amiablc features. Sorrow, hunger, be- reavement. hardship. anxiety. and the hand-to-throat struggle had their way with him in those ninety days. He no office, nor would. Yet he had come to be the greatest single personal force among them. He could quiet the mob with a word. He could rouse it with a look. He was as good as the word of Polonius in that he lent every man his ear and few indeed his tongue in facile speech. Slow of word, he was swift and mighty in deed Not a bril- liant thinker, yet he reasoned himself solidly to conclusions which, once gained. he stood upon with all the so- lidity of his own splendid physical constitution.
 And nov he was backed up behind the lumber pile, listening while Holtz- man, called often enough and inac- curately "the Dutchman," was ex- pounding the Gospel of Dynamite Martins great nose, emblem of energy. lOomed between his unblinking eyes and froWned like a promontory over the tightly drawn lips. If HoltZ- man had been a sinuous soul, the big mans piercing gaze would have ironed out the wrinkles in fl smoothly to his understanding; but HoltZman was nothing if not frank to the last fathom of those abysmal depths of hatred which he nourished against what he regarded as the enemies of his class
 Blow 'em to hell up, Is vat I say" he muttered again, in a hOarse whis- per, with a violent upward gesture of the arms and furtiye glance around as he spoke.
 Martin reached out and took one of the broken pieces of dynamite and hefted il in his hand thOughtfully.
 Holtzman went on:
 Every day dey bring in moro scabs on us Vot's de matter ii de strike is not lost, hey. if ve don't do some dings?"
 Martin was snlfing at the open end of the stick now, and gazing abstract edly down the curve of his nose.
 "A couple of dozen sticks like dat would make dc Rockport shop look like a junk pile. vat?"
 The dynamite crumhled to fragments with a nervous contraction of the strong mans fingers.
 "IIoltzman!" Martin exclaimed. you are a fool!"
 "A IOOiy vat NuC prised German.
 Yes. fool, Property is sacred with me, IIoltZman, as sacred as life, be- cause it's the product of life and the means of life. Our fight ain't with bricks nor wheels. It's with men, The bosses need them factories to make their money with. We need 'em to make our money with. That's all there is to that. When a man hits a scab on the head, can understand it, because I've done the same. But when he takes to throwin' dynamite around, he's blowin' up his own works. Whats the use to be a doddcring idiot, HOltZ- mani Property's sacred. It's got to be, or there's nothing to civilization at all. and you and me are just wolves in the pack"
 'I am a volf," broke in Holtzman, showing all his teeth and glaring red gums that were almost lupine in their hideousness. ''I would destroy dat vich is destroying me. Dey will not arbitrate, desc bosses. Ven dey kick us in de faces init deir heel, vat ve do7 Dis," and he waved the other bit of dynamite in his hand.
 We make big trouble for 6e bosses init it. Ve take down wall. We blow ,y a f,rrpaoa rnavba Va Shalya mn do