Billy could never get over the shock, during that period, of Saxon's appearance. Morning after morning, and evening after evening when he came home from work, he would enter the room where she lay and fight a royal battle to hide his feelings and make a show of cheerfulness and . She looked so small lying there so small and shrunken and weary, and yet so child-like in her smallness. Tenderly, as he sat beside her, he would take up her pale hand and stroke the slim, arm, marveling at the smallness and of the bones.  
One of her first questions, puzzling alike to Billy and Mary, was:
 
“Did they save little Emil Olsen?”
 
And when she told them how he had attacked, singlehanded, the whole twenty-four fighting men, Billy's face glowed with .
 
“The little cuss!” he said. “That's the kind of a kid to be proud of.”
 
He halted awkwardly, and his very evident fear that he had hurt her touched Saxon. She put her hand out to his.
 
“Billy,” she began; then waited till Mary left the room.
 
“I never asked before—not that it matters... now. But I waited for you to tell me. Was it...?”
 
He shook his head.
 
“No; it was a girl. A perfect little girl. Only... it was too soon.”
 
She pressed his hand, and almost it was she that sympathized with him in his affliction.
 
“I never told you, Billy—you were so set on a boy; but I planned, just the same, if it was a girl, to call her Daisy. You remember, that was my mother's name.”
 
He nodded his .
 
“Say, Saxon, you know I did want a boy like the very dickens... well, I don't care now. I think I'm set just as hard on a girl, an', well, here's hopin' the next will be called... you wouldn't mind, would you?”
 
“What?”
 
“If we called it the same name, Daisy?”
 
“Oh, Billy! I was thinking the very same thing.”
 
Then his face grew stern as he went on.
 
“Only there ain't goin' to be a next. I didn't know what havin' children was like before. You can't run any more risks like that.”
 
“Hear the big, strong, afraid-man talk!” she , with a smile. “You don't know anything about it. How can a man? I am a healthy, natural woman. Everything would have been all right this time if... if all that fighting hadn't happened. Where did they bury Bert?”
 
“You knew?”
 
“All the time. And where is Mercedes? She hasn't been in for two days.”
 
“Old Barry's sick. She's with him.”
 
He did not tell her that the old night watchman was dying, two thin walls and half a dozen feet away.
 
Saxon's lips were trembling, and she began to cry weakly, clinging to Billy's hand with both of hers.
 
“I—I can't help it,” she . “I'll be all right in a minute.... Our little girl, Billy. Think of it! And I never saw her!”
 
She was still lying on her bed, when, one evening, Mary saw fit to break out in bitter thanksgiving that she had escaped, and was to escape, what Saxon had gone through.
 
“Aw, what are you talkin' about?” Billy demanded. “You'll get married some time again as sure as beans is beans.”
 
“Not to the best man living,” she proclaimed. “And there ain't no call for it. There's too many people in the world now, else why are there two or three men for every job? And, besides, havin' children is too terrible.”
 
Saxon, with a look of patient wisdom in her face that became as she , made answer:
 
“I ought to know what it means. I've been through it, and I'm still in the thick of it, and I want to say to you right now, out of all the pain and the ache and the sorrow, that it is the most beautiful, wonderful thing in the world.”
 
As Saxon's strength came back to her (and when Doctor Hentley had assured Billy that she was sound as a dollar), she herself took up the matter of the industrial tragedy that had taken place before her door. The had been called out immediately, Billy informed her, and was encamped then at the foot of Pine street on the waste ground next to the railroad yards. As for the strikers, fifteen of them were in jail. A house to house search had been made in the neighborhood by the police, and in this way nearly the whole fifteen, all wounded, had been captured. It would go hard with them, Billy foreboded gloomily. The newspapers were demanding blood for blood, and all the ministers in Oakland had preached fierce sermons against the strikers. The railroad had filled every place, and it was well known that the striking shopmen not only would never get their old jobs back but were blacklisted in every railroad in the United States. Already they were beginning to . A number had gone to Panama, and four were talking of going to Ecuador to work in the shops of the railroad that ran over the Andes to Quito.
 
With anxiety keenly , she tried to feel out Billy's opinion on what had happened.
 
“That shows what Bert's violent methods come to,” she said.
 
He shook his head slowly and gravely.
 
“They'll hang Chester Johnson, anyway,” he answered . “You know him. You told me you used to dance with him. He was caught red-handed, lyin' on the body of a scab he beat to death. Old Jelly 's got three bullet holes in him, but he ain't goin' to die, and he's got Chester's number. They'll hang'm on Jelly Belly's evidence. It was all in the papers. Jelly Belly shot him, too, a-hangin' by the neck on our .”
 
Saxon . Jelly Belly must be the man with the bald spot and the tobacco-stained whiskers.
 
“Yes,” she said. “I saw it all. It seemed he must have hung there for hours.”
 
“It was all over, from first to last, in five minutes.”
 
“It seemed ages and ages.”
 
“I guess that's the way it seemed to Jelly Belly, stuck on the pickets,” Billy smiled grimly. “But he's a hard one to kill. He's been shot an' cut up a dozen different times. But they say now he'll be crippled for life—have to go around on , or in a wheel-chair. That'll stop him from doin' any more dirty work for the railroad. He was one of their top gun-fighters—always up to his ears in the thick of any fightin' that was goin' on. He never was leery of anything on two feet, I'll say that much for'm.”
 
“Where does he live?” Saxon inquired.
 
“Up on Adeline, near Tenth—fine neighborhood an' fine two-storied house. He must pay thirty dollars a month rent. I guess the railroad paid him pretty well.”
 
“Then he must be married?”
 
“Yep. I never seen his wife, but he's got one son, , a passenger engineer. I used to know him. He was a nifty , though he never went into the ring. An' he's got another son that's teacher in the high school. His name's Paul. We're about the same age. He was great at baseball. I knew him when we was kids. He pitched me out three times hand-runnin' once, when the Durant played the Cole School.”
 
Saxon sat back in the Morris chair, resting and thinking. The problem was growing more complicated than ever. This elderly, round-bellied, and bald-headed gunfighter, too, had a wife and family. And there was Frank Davis, married barely a year and with a baby boy. Perhaps the scab he shot in the stomach had a wife and children. All seemed to be acquainted, members of a very large family, and yet, because of their particular families, they and killed each other. She had seen Chester Johnson kill a scab, and now they were going to hang Cheste............