Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A • W I N T E R 2 0 1 8 34 "Where's your Commie spit and vinegar now, Red?" the black- face stranger said, his voice a sack of gravel dragged over railroad ties. He was talking politics, not hair color. e little man in his underwear—Little by name and little by physical frame—had no hair to speak of. e sparse strands were thin and wispy as cornsilk. e skull beneath was shaped like an Edison bulb. Not so bright on this still-dark morning, though. Me, I was a Pink, a Pinkerton—and, in truth, closer in politi- cal hue to Little than any of these other men, large and dumb as stallions, would ever be. ese were Company men, loyal miners, warmongers, full-blooded Americans, haters of hyphenates. At that moment, they were the most dangerous men in Butte. Frank Little, all six feet and 135 pounds of him, had arrived in the city two weeks ago like an iron-heeled boot stomping a hornet's nest. e Company newspaper printed nearly everything he said, but cast his words in a coppery light. Little had come out strong against the war, telling the city's mine workers, "I don't give a damn what this country is fighting. I am fighting for the solidarity of labor." In response, the newspaper editorials said, Little "sought to terror- ize this state's industry with his traitorous harangues." ese were touchy times in Butte, just as they were in Bisbee and Fresno, other towns where Little had roused the rabble with his talk of wages, a shorter workday, and safer conditions. To the mine owners, Frank Little was a thief—of money, of production, of weak-willed men. e time had come to shut him up, to teach him a lesson and send him packing back to IWW headquarters, or parts unknown. e heavy blackfaced man opened the Caddy's passenger-side door. e others shoved Little inside without so much as an invit- ing "Get in" or a helpful "Watch yer head." Two of the men slipped in beside him on the back seat, one on either side. I climbed in the front, Blackface got behind the wheel and the other four gentlemen in our party followed in another car. For the next fifteen minutes, we rode up and down the steep streets while Frank Little received the beating of his life in the back seat. I wanted no part of it. Not any more. I stared out my side of the car as we passed the black skeletons of the mine headframes, large as dinosaurs. ere were dozens of them all over this hillside city. e smelters had yellowed every- thing into uniform gloom. A smokestack, straight as a cigarette, poured sulfurous clouds from its hot depths. Everywhere I looked, men moved in and out of the mineyards in a steady stream, one shift replacing another with round-the-clock efficiency. ere was no shortage of underground men in Butte. I listened to the whipcrack of fist on flesh coming from the back seat and I wondered if Little thought it had been worth it. After a time, Blackface said he was bored with driving in loops and suggested we up the ante. He stopped and we got out of the car, all of us. Little sagged between his two new best friends from the back seat. I could see he was beyond halfway gone. He hadn't said anything during our tour of Butte, not one word as we passed the mines and their men, just the occasional groan that somehow slipped past his clenched teeth. He was one tough hombre, I'll give him that. Now he lifted his drooping head and fixed his eyes on mine. Why he should pick me and none of the others, I'll never know. I've been told I look like someone who'll listen. Little raised his face, looked at me and, with great effort, said, "Tell them." at was it. e last two words of Frank Little. ey came out of his mouth accompanied by a spray of blood, a thin mist like you'd get from a perfume bottle at the counter in Hennessy's. Blackface took two steps toward the unionist, cocked back his right arm, and struck Little just under the eye. at punch was so loud dogs could hear it on the other side of the city. Frank Little collapsed once and for all. Blackface caught him by the armpit then hoisted him like a sack of coal. "Now," he said, "let's finish this." One of the men got a coil of rope from the back seat of the other car. ey trussed Little head-to-toe, then tied the other end of the rope to the back of the Cadillac. Little raised his face, looked at me and, with great effort, said, Tell them. ,, ,,

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