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 to Joe Shelton, almost as much as to Stewart, Floyd owed his life; for if he had been left to lie in the car indefinitely—as was urged by some of the mob—he must surely have died. But Shelton, though he was unable to restrain the murderous fury, had afterwards found a few comrades who were not relentless, and with these had been allowed to carry off the two bodies.

After three weeks at the hospital, Floyd was convalescent. Three of his teeth had been knocked out, his nose had been smashed, he had a dent in his forehead near the temple an inch long and a quarter of an inch deep to mark the excision of splintered bone; and his face would always be scarred. Except, however, for the stiffness of his left wrist, he would suffer no disability. His broken ribs were mending, and he was assured by Dr. Edwards that he would leave the hospital perfectly sound.

With a languid-interest he read in the newspapers more than a week old of the military occupation of New Rome three hours after the crew of the Lorelei had rescued the unfortunate watchmen—of whom one had been killed and seven wounded. The arrival of the militia had been Gregg's opportunity; moreover, under universal condemnation and deprived of the leadership of Tustin—whose injury had been severe and would probably prevent him from ever speaking with any distinctness again—the resistance of the Affiliated crumbled. The works were running non-union before Floyd left the hospital; Farrell was already acting as foreman of the rod-mill over a sub-