to drive on and keep silent, lest a worse thing befall
them. And so the blood-mottled figure had been left as a warning to all
such hard-hearted employers, and the three noble avengers had hurried
off into the mountains where unbroken nature comes down to the very
edge of the furnaces and the slag heaps. Here they were, safe and sound,
their work well done, and the plaudits of their companions in their
ears.

It had been a great day for the Scowrers. The shadow had fallen even
darker over the valley. But as the wise general chooses the moment of
victory in which to redouble his efforts, so that his foes may have no
time to steady themselves after disaster, so Boss McGinty, looking out
upon the scene of his operations with his brooding and malicious eyes,
had devised a new attack upon those who opposed him. That very night, as
the half-drunken company broke up, he touched McMurdo on the arm and led
him aside into that inner room where they had their first interview.

"See here, my lad," said he, "I've got a job that's worthy of you at
last. You'll have the doing of it in your own hands."

"Proud I am to hear it," McMurdo answered.

"You can take two men with you--Manders and Reilly. They have been
warned for service. We'll never be right in this district until Chester
Wilcox has been settled, and you'll have the thanks of every lodge in
the coal fields if you can down him."

"I'll do my best, anyhow. Who is he, and where shall I find him?"

McGinty took his eternal half-chewed, half-smoked cigar from the corner
of his mouth, and proceeded to draw a rough diagram on a page torn from
his notebook.

"He's the chief foreman of the Iron Dike Company. He's a hard citizen,
an old colour sergeant of the war, all scars and grizzle. We've had two
tries at him; but had no luck, and Jim Carnaway lost his life over it.
Now it's for you to take it over. That's the house--all alone at the
Iron Dike crossroad, same as you see here on the map--without another
within earshot. It's no good by day. He's armed and shoots quick and
straight, with no questions asked. But at night--well, there he is with
his wife, three children, and a hired help. You can't pick or choose.
It's all or none. If you could get a bag of blasting powder at the front
door with a slow match to it--"

"What's the man done?"

"Didn't I tell you he shot Jim Carnaway?"

"Why did he shoot him?"

"What in thunder has that to do with you? Carnaway was about his