s clearly some notable job which
needed numbers. At this point there are several trails which lead to
various mines. The strangers took that which led to the Crow Hill, a
huge business which was in strong hands which had been able, thanks to
their energetic and fearless New England manager, Josiah H. Dunn, to
keep some order and discipline during the long reign of terror.

Day was breaking now, and a line of workmen were slowly making their
way, singly and in groups, along the blackened path.

McMurdo and Scanlan strolled on with the others, keeping in sight of
the men whom they followed. A thick mist lay over them, and from the
heart of it there came the sudden scream of a steam whistle. It was the
ten-minute signal before the cages descended and the day's labour began.

When they reached the open space round the mine shaft there were a
hundred miners waiting, stamping their feet and blowing on their
fingers; for it was bitterly cold. The strangers stood in a little
group under the shadow of the engine house. Scanlan and McMurdo climbed
a heap of slag from which the whole scene lay before them. They saw the
mine engineer, a great bearded Scotchman named Menzies, come out of the
engine house and blow his whistle for the cages to be lowered.

At the same instant a tall, loose-framed young man with a clean-shaved,
earnest face advanced eagerly towards the pit head. As he came forward
his eyes fell upon the group, silent and motionless, under the engine
house. The men had drawn down their hats and turned up their collars to
screen their faces. For a moment the presentiment of Death laid its
cold hand upon the manager's heart. At the next he had shaken it off
and saw only his duty towards intrusive strangers.

"Who are you?" he asked as he advanced. "What are you loitering there
for?"

There was no answer; but the lad Andrews stepped forward and shot him
in the stomach. The hundred waiting miners stood as motionless and
helpless as if they were paralyzed. The manager clapped his two hands
to the wound and doubled himself up. Then he staggered away; but
another of the assassins fired, and he went down sidewise, kicking and
clawing among a heap of clinkers. Menzies, the Scotchman, gave a roar
of rage at the sight and rushed with an iron spanner at the murderers;
but was met by two balls in the face which dropped him dead at their
very feet.

There was a surge forward of some of the miners, and an inarticulate
cry of p