he drink-crazed deputies
ran amuck, shooting wildly in all directions, often with some of their
own number directly in the line of fire--bullet holes in the floor and a
pierced clock case high up on the waiting room wall giving mute evidence
of their insane recklessness. One deputy fled from the dock in terror,
explaining to all who would listen that a bullet hole in his ear was
from the shot of one of his associates on the dock.

"They've gone crazy in there!" he cried excitedly. "They're shootin'
every which way! They shot me in the ear!"

Thru the loopholes already provided, and even thru the sides of the
warehouses they blazed away in the general direction of the boat, using
revolvers and high powered rifles with steel and copper-jacketed
missiles. Dum-dums sang their deadly way to the Verona and tore gaping
wounds in the breasts of mere boys--an added reward by the industrial
lords for their first season of hard labor in the scorching harvest
fields. John Looney was felled by a rifle bullet and even as he fell
shuddering to the deck another leaden missile shattered the woodwork and
impaled one of his eyeballs upon a spear of wood, gouging it from the
socket.

At the foot of the dock, protected by the Klatawa slip, (Indian name for
runaway) C. R. Schweitzer, owner of a scab plumbing establishment, fired
time after time with a magazine shotgun, the buckshot scattering at the
long range and raking the forward deck with deadly effect. The pilot
house was riddled and the woodwork filled with hundreds of the little
leaden messengers that carried a story of "mutual interests of Capital
and Labor." Deputy Russell and about ten others assisted in the
dastardly work at that point, pouring shot after shot into the
convulsive struggling heaps of wounded men piled four and five deep on
the deck. One boy in a brown mackinaw suddenly rose upright from a
tangled mass of humanity, the blood gushing from his wounds, and with an
agonized cry of "My God! I can't stand this any longer!" leaped high in
the air over the side of the boat, sinking from sight forever, his
watery resting place marked only by a few scarlet ripples.

Two bodies, one with the entire throat shot away, were found next
morning washed up on the beach, and that fact was reported to the
Everett police by Ed. and Rob. Thompson. That night some men fishing in
a little sailboat far out in the bay saw five weighted objects about six
feet long, and apparently wrapped