A DAY AHEAD OF SCHEDULE.
It is two o'clock P.M., on October twelfth. In sixty minutes the New
York Stock 'Change will close. The day has been exceedingly quiet;
brokers are standing in groups discussing the whys and wherefores of
this and that stock scheme; all are of little consequence. Indeed, there
has been nothing done on the floor since the abrupt departure of James
Golding, the Head of the Banking Syndicate for Europe, three weeks
before this pleasant twelfth day of October.
Golding's mission abroad is vaguely guessed to be the floating of a bond
issue for the government, as there has been an alarming shrinkage in the
money market, and the Secretary of the Treasury has called upon the
Banking interests to relieve the strain on the Treasury.
The slightest indication of weakness in the money market has its instant
effect on stocks. New York quotations are looked upon as the criterion
of the country, and for that reason the brokers are disposed to be
cautious. Wall street traditions make it seem proper for the brokers to
wait the result of the European trip.
Since the inauguration of the system of bank favoritism, which, was one
of the strong features of the previous Plutocratic Platform, and on
which the Party was able to raise an enormous Campaign fund, the secrets
of the Government and its favorite bankers are not shared with the
brokers in ordinary stocks and industrials. For this reason the timidity
of the brokers is more pronounced than ever before.
To them it seems inexplicable that the Government should seek to float a
bond issue on the eve of an election. They do not grasp the full import
of this scheme to force the people to support the Plutocratic candidates
as the preservers of the country's credit.
A broker, running the tape through his fingers listlessly, reads this
sentence: "London, Oct. 12,--James Golding announces his intention to
float $245,000,000 three per cent. U.S. gold bonds in London."
In an instant he realizes that the confidence of the market will be
restored. Rushing to the pit he begins to buy everything that is
offered. Half a hundred tickers in the Exchange convey the same news to
as many brokerage firms.
A wild scramble is started; everyone is anxious to go "long" on stocks
which they have been cautiously selling for days past. Point by point
the listed stocks advance.
The clock strikes half-past two. Will half an hour suffice to readjust
the market?
An exceptional, an unprecedented bull panic is in progress. Brokers,
messengers, clerks, every one connected with the Stock Exchange is in a
flurry. Tickers are for the time being utterly forgotten.
In a corner of the Exchange sits the operator who has to send the doings
of the day to the Press Association. He is unmoved by any excitement
that may occur on the floor; it is an every-day experience with him.
Stolidly he reads the tape, and jots down the advance in the stocks as a
matter of course.
He has sent word to his office that Golding is to float the bond issue;
but he knows that this news has reached the office through another
channel before his belated report. He sends the message because it is a
part of his routine.
"Calais, Oct. 12th," are the words that now appear on the slip of paper
he is scanning. "James Golding, accompanied by M. Tabort, French banking
magnate, entered rear car Paris Express from London to cross the
Channel. Car uncoupled in tunnel; explosion; both men instantly killed;
submarine tunnel wrecked."
Here _is_ news. The instinct of the broker is awakened in the operator.
He leaves his desk and walks rapidly to the pit. He places his hand on
the shoulder of a prominent broker. In a few words he tells this man the
news, and asks that the broker make him a "little something" for the
tip.
With the news of Golding's death this broker enters the pit as a seller.
There are now but twenty minutes left before the closing of 'Change, yet
by cautious work he will be able to sell out his holdings at the
inflated prices that prevail. He alone of all the members of the
Exchange knows that the greatest American financier is dead. On the
morrow every stock on the list will depreciate. Now is the time for him
to unload.
A hundred bidders are eager to buy the stock he offers. He reaps a
fortune in the quarter of an hour before the 'Change closes; the rest of
the brokers heap up trouble for the morrow. Five minutes before three
the news of Golding's death is brought to the brokers. It is too late.
In their frenzy the men fear either to buy or sell. The floor is a
veritable bear pit. Men swear and rage in impotent grief as they realize
that they have brought ruin upon themselves by their rash speculation.
While this scene is in progress the world is being told of the death of
the great Financier.
It will be recalled that to William Nevins was assigned the task of
ending the career of James Golding. He has worked secretly, as have all
the other members of the Committee of Forty. Now his role as shadow of
the financier leads him to New York, while some banking scheme is being
consummated; now he is rushing across the continent to be near the
Magnate in San Francisco; the last trip takes him to Europe.
At the time he began to study the movements of Golding, the Magnate was
in London and thither Nevins went; he was detained there, on that
occasion, but three days. On the voyage back to the United States he was
afforded an excellent opportunity to observe Golding. Nevins became
acquainted with the man whose life he was to take, through a business
proposition in regard to an investment. He professed to represent a
syndicate of French investors which was negotiating to purchase and work
a gold mine in Lower California. According to his story, he had secured
the necessary privileges from the Mexican government. Golding was
invited to be a participant in the enterprise, which was destined to
prove a bonanza.
Plausible, suave, intelligent, Nevins has impressed the Magnate most
favorably. So when Nevins proposes that he accompany Golding to Europe
to introduce him to the French capitalists, the financier readily
agrees.
As traveling companions on the millionaire's yacht, the two men leave
New York on September twentieth. Golding is bent on the successful
launching of the big bond issue, with the gold mining scheme as a
secondary consideration; Nevins has only the awful work before him to
consider. London becomes the permanent abode of the two, their trips to
France being short and frequent.
The newly constructed Channel tunnel connecting England with the
continent is a transportation improvement which makes it possible for
one to leave London, at ten o'clock in the morning and be in Paris at
one in the afternoon. The Air line to Paris enters the sub-marine tunnel
at a point twelve miles north of Dover and emerges on the plains eight
miles south of Calais. As an engineering feat the construction of the
tunnel has been heralded as unparalleled.
It is by this speedy route that Golding and Nevins make three trips to
Paris. The Committeeman contrives to interest several French bankers in
his supposititious mine, and by artful manipulation he brings these
bankers and the American Money King together in preliminary
negotiations.
On October twelfth the two are to effect a final understanding with the
members of the French syndicate. The newspapers have given an inkling of
the transactions, and have run stories to the effect that Golding is
negotiating with a French banker for rich gold lands in Mexico.
Independently of Nevins, the bond issue plan has been developed by
Golding and the time for announcing the fact is this same twelfth day of
October.
Knowing the result that will be produced on American securities, he
delays the announcement until the London Exchange closes for the day. He
knows that immediately after making the news public, he is to leave
London, for Paris to be gone until the twentieth. Thus he will avoid
being interviewed.
Golding has calculated that the difference in time of five hours between
London, and New York will result in the announcement being cabled for
the opening of the New York Exchange. This would be the result did not a
number of large London speculators, who hold American securities,
determine to hold back the messages until they apprise their New York
representatives of the matter and advise them how to act.
The monopoly of the cable is obtainable by an easy means. All four of
the lines which communicated with the United States are leased. Messages
rumoring important developments in the China alliance question are
transmitted and suffice to explain the cessation of other news--the
Government is supposed to be using the cables.
Despite the efforts of the speculators, an enterprising correspondent of
a New York News Association succeeds in sending the news of the bond
issue announcement, so that it is received on 'Change at two o'clock.
From another source the message of death is cabled fifteen minutes
before the closing of the market.
Golding and Nevins lunch together before starting for Paris.
"I have closed a deal to-day that will net me twenty-five million
dollars within six weeks," Golding confides to Nevins with an air of
satisfaction. He might be a retail merchant discussing trade with a
neighbor and relating the result of a barter which will net him a profit
of a hundred dollars, for there is no stronger emotion in his speech or
manner than would be evoked by such a commonplace transaction. Yet this
man has just arranged a financial deal which is to maintain the
stability of the currency of a Nation of a hundred millions of people.
"Then it is true that you are to shoulder the responsibility of
disposing of the United States bond issue?" Nevins inquires with a
semblance of interest. "What would that Republic do if it were not for
its public spirited men of wealth? Republics are all right when they are
curbed by the conservative elements, but when the riff-raff gets the
reins in hand, then there is always trouble."
"The days of mob rule in America are over," Golding declares. "It was no
easy matter to wean the people of the fallacious idea that a proletariat
could manage the finances of the country."
"When our mine is in operation you will not have to seek the aid of
England in taking bonds off the hands of the Treasurer of the United
States, will we?" Nevins asks.
"That's just the point," exclaims Golding. They talk on in this strain
until the meal is finished.
"We have ten minutes to get to the terminal," says Nevins, consulting
his watch.
"O, that will be ample time. It only takes five minutes to ride there."
When the train is reached, Golding looks at his watch. "There, I told
you we could make it in five minutes. I am always just on time. Never a
minute too soon or a minute too late. Time is money. Perhaps I am the
wealthiest man in America, if not in the world, because I know the value
of time."
"That certainly is the secret of your success," Nevins declares blandly.
The Special Paris Express is composed of six coaches and the motor; this
train runs at an average speed of sixty-two miles an hour. It is the
fastest train on the continent. So that they may not be disturbed, the
mine promoters have arranged to occupy a private car attached to the
rear of the train. This car they enter. Nevins carries a small
hand-satchel which he declines to give over to the willing porter.
The superintendent of the road is on hand to see that the influential
patrons are properly cared for; he has received his instructions from
the president, who is an intimate friend of James Golding.
The signal is given and the express starts.
In an incredibly short time the tunnel is reached. As the train rushes
into the darkness, Golding notices that the electric lights have not
been turned on.
"Ring for the porter, will you, Mr. Tabort," he asks of Nevins, whom he
knows only as M. Emile Tabort.
"But where is the button? Ah, I have an idea," replies Nevins. "I shall
go into the forward car and find the porter; it will not take a minute."
The car is engulfed in pitchy darkness, save for a glimmer of diffused
light that comes from the cars ahead.
"Hurry, won't you; I hate to be in darkness," says Golding, uneasily.
"I won't keep you waiting long," calls back Nevins, who is half way to
the door.
He turns to look at the Magnate. A vague shadowy form is all that he can
discern in the gloom.
"So here is where you are to end a life of mammon-worship," Nevins
mutters as he steps upon the platform of the forward car.
He bends down, and with a strong, quick jerk uncouples the rear car.
For a few seconds the detached car keeps up with the train, then as its
momentum is exhausted, a rapidly widening gap is made.
"In five minutes you will have light," Nevins calls grimly, as he looks
at the fading car.
The train rushes ahead with speed that is imperceptibly increased.
Nevins climbs to the top of the car and crawls toward the front of the
train. He works his way to the coach immediately behind the motor.
Standing on the platform he removes his coat and trousers and reappears
arrayed in the common suit of a train hand. A soft cap completes the
disguise.
A faint rumble reaches his ears.
"_The first Magnate has fallen_" he whispers, as if confiding a secret.
"Yes; I have carried out my plan. James Golding is buried at the bottom
of the Channel. The time-fuse worked."
When the train emerges from the tunnel it is stopped by the signals of
the Block station. The operator inquires if anything has gone wrong. He
has been unable to communicate with the English station for more than
fifteen minutes, and supposes that the wires have been deranged. Then it
is that the loss of the rear car is discovered.
While the trainmen and passengers discuss the matter, a sound from the
tunnel reaches their ears; a roar resembling a series of dynamite
explosions.
"The tunnel has caved in!" exclaimed the conductor. "Get aboard, for
your lives!"
A rush is made for the train, and in half a minute it pulls away from
the mouth of the tunnel at top speed.
From the rear car the tunnel is visible. The train is five hundred yards
away when the waters burst from the mouth of the tunnel.
Loosed from the confining walls, the gigantic column subsides in height,
spreading on either side of the tracks. It inundates a vast area of the
low country surrounding the station.
Through the employment of the block system, but one train in each
direction is permitted to enter the tunnel at the same time.
A partition wall bisects the tunnel into 'parallel sections, each
containing a single track. The left-hand section, on which are
east-bound tracks, is the one in which the telegraph wires run. The
explosion wrecks the walls of the tunnel and breaks the wires.
The only explanation that can be offered is that the compressed air
cylinder on the car exploded. On each of the tunnel cars a compressed
air apparatus is attached, to insure against the trains being stalled in
the tunnel in the event of the electric motor giving out.
Nevins experiences no difficulty in losing himself in the crowd when the
train reaches Calais. He goes at once to a cheap furnished room which he
has previously engaged. He still wears the attire of a train hand. Once
in his room he sinks upon the bed, his mind and body thoroughly fatigued
by the strain that has been placed upon them.
For more than an hour he is motionless; then his reserve gradually
returns.
"I have fulfilled my pledge," he says to himself. "It had to be done
to-day, for otherwise I should have been compelled to die with Golding.
I have started the execution of the edict of proscription a day in
advance of the schedule.
"This will be the signal for the thirty-nine to do their duty. They must
hear of Golding's death to-day. I shall cable the news to New York; once
there it will be heralded through the country.
"And they will suppose that Golding and a French financier met death
accidentally. Yes, the people will accept this view; but the Committee!
ah! it will know the truth. To the Thirty-nine it will mean that one of
their brothers has gone to his fate with one of the Transgressors. It
will dispel any symptom of hesitancy on their part.
"Two men are supposed to have died in the explosion. The tunnel is
destroyed. Who can say that one of the occupants of the car escaped?"
He sits on the edge of the bed bending forward, and rests his head in
his hands. In this attitude he remains for several minutes.
"Good God, forgive me!" he cries, fervently. "I cannot die in ignorance
of to-morrow! I must hear that my plan is faithfully carried out; that
the Transgressors are annihilated, and the committee have kept their
pledge. Is it false in me to wait? No; for I do not fear death; I would
have faced it forty times could I have done so. The Transgressors would
all have fallen by my hand had such a thing been possible. I shall keep
my pledge, to-morrow."
A few minutes later Nevins leaves the house dressed in a plain suit. He
enters the cable office and writes the following message:
"James Golding, accompanied by M. Tabort, French Banking Magnate,
entered rear car, Paris express for London, to cross the channel. Car
uncoupled in tunnel. Explosion. Both men instantly killed. Sub-marine
tunnel wrecked."
"Send this message to the New York Javelin," are his instructions to the
operator. "Rush it, and I will give you a hundred francs."
"Cable is engaged," is the reply. "Orders from London."
"What news is London sending over this cable?"
"None. It seems strange to keep the cable tied up, when there is such
important news to be sent. But the instructions are, 'Send no messages
to the United States.' I'm sending an unimportant House of Commons
speech."
"Your wire is free, then? I'll give you a thousand francs if you will
send this one message through," Nevins urges persuasively. "I want to
get the news to my paper. They will pay royally for it."
The operator hesitates. A thousand francs is a tempting offer.
"When will you pay?" he asks.
"I will pay you now, on the very spot."
As he speaks Nevins counts out the bills.
It is twenty minutes of eight by the local clock in the cable office.
The clock indicating New York time registers two-forty P.M.
A glance at the Bank of France notes decides the question in the
operator's mind. He takes the money and transmits the message.
Nevins returns to his room to await the developments of the thirteenth
of October.
BOOK IV.
In Freedom's Name.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE SYNDICATE IN LIQUIDATION.
The crisis has arrived. On the bulletins in front of the leading
newspaper offices in New York crowds congregate. Men discuss the
startling tidings that come from all points of the compass and ask
themselves what the next report will be. Golding's death is the
forerunner of a long list of fatalities.
JAVELIN BULLETIN.
United States Senator Warwick,
of California, was assassinated at
his villa in San Diego.
The murderer, after shooting
the Senator, turned the smoking
pistol upon himself and died with
his victim.
This bulletin is posted on the board in front of the Javelin office.
"What's happening?" asks one of the crowd of the man at his side. "Is
this a wholesale butchery planned by Anarchists, or is it a plot of the
Mafia?"
"God only knows," is the reply.
And to the thousands who stand waiting with breathless excitement for
the next announcement the inability to locate the source of the outburst
of violence is quite as complete as this man's. They realize that a
series of appalling crimes has been committed; yet none can ascribe the
least pretext for them.
The name of one after another of the leading magnates of the land is
posted as the victim of a simultaneous homicide, and the notion that it
is the work of anarchists begins to prevail.
JAVELIN BULLETIN.
Robert Drew, the Sugar King,
while riding in Central Park, was
stabbed to death by an assassin.
The man jumped into his carriage
as it was descending the hill
leading to the One Hundred and
Tenth Street entrance at Seventh
Avenue.
No sooner had the dagger been
buried in the heart of Mr. Drew
than the fanatic withdrew it and
plunged it into his own heart.
The murderer fell forward and
died even before his victim.
When this notice is displayed it causes a shudder to run through the
crowd. This is the first of the deaths to be inflicted in New York.
With the apprehension of men who feel that danger is imminent, the crowd
in front of the bulletin shifts uneasily. There is the thought in all
minds that some awful calamity may come upon them as they stand there.
Then, too, there is the thought that they may not be safe elsewhere. In
such a state of mind men become susceptible to emotion. A word can then
sway a multitude.
From five o'clock, when the first bulletin appeared, until the
announcement of the killing of Mr. Drew, a period of two hours and a
half, the list has grown to frightful proportions.
From Chicago comes the report that Tingwell Fang, the Beef King, has
been killed in his private office by the explosion of a dynamite bomb or
some other infernal machine brought there by a man who for weeks had
been transacting important business with Mr. Fang. The explosion
entirely demolished the office, and when the police succeeded in getting
at the bodies it was found that the bomb-thrower had paid for his deed
with his life.
In a bundle of papers which the man left in the outer office a note is
found which gives his address as the Palmer House. At his room in the
hotel a card is found addressed to the public: It read as follows:
I have fulfilled my oath; my self-destruction
is proof that I am sincere in the
belief that I have acted for the good of mankind.
BENTON S. MARVIN.
Almost as soon as the papers are on the street announcing the tragedy,
another message comes from Chicago telling of the strange death of
Senator Gold. His body and that of a man who had been with him at the
Auditorium are found in the Senator's room. Death has been caused by an
unknown agency. There are no signs of violence on either. The money and
jewelry of both are undisturbed. Neither man appears to have been the
victim of the other's hand, for the apparel of each is unruffled. One is
found lying on the floor near the window; the other is found stretched
across the table in the room.
Following these early bulletins come others from Philadelphia, St. Louis
and Boston, successively announcing the mysterious deaths of President
Vosbeck of the National Transportation Trust, Captain Blood of the St.
Louis Steamship Association, and of ex-U.S. Supreme Court Justice Elias
M. Turner of Massachusetts.
"President Vosbeck met his death while on a tour of inspection in the
new power house of his company in the western part of the city. With him
were his private secretary and a stranger from New York whom he was
taking on a tour of inspection. The secretary was sent to find the
superintendent of the power house. He returned to find both President
Vosbeck and the stranger in the throes of death on the floor near the
great dynamo. In the stranger's hand a cane was clutched. This cane was
one of those that are commonly made at penitentiaries. It was of leather
rings strung on a steel rod."
The above dispatch is spread on the bulletin board, followed by these
details:
"As soon as the hospital surgeons and the electrical experts arrived
they decided that the cane must have come in contact with the deadly
current; and that at that instant Steel and the stranger were standing
upon the metal flooring which made a perfect conductor." The death of
Captain Blood was even more astounding than that of President Vosbeck.
"In company with the newly appointed Superintendent of the grain
elevators, of which the Captain had a monopoly, he descended into the
hold of the steamboat that was taking on a cargo of wheat at the Big
Three Elevator. The two men were hardly below deck when, by some
inexplicable error the engineer received the signal to open the shoot.
An avalanche of golden grain rushed upon the two captives. There was a
cry of dismay from the hold, and then only the sound of the rushing
stream of grain.
"The engine was reversed and the bucket chain began to take up the
grain; but it was too late. When the bodies of the men were reached they
were contorted in the agony of death. Suffocation had come as a tardy
relief to them."
This bulletin adds to the excitement of the crowd. While the people are
reading the extras that tell of the series of strange deaths of men of
such national importance as Vosbeck and Captain Blood, the news comes
from Boston that a double murder has been committed in Brookline, a
suburb of that city.
Ex-Chief Justice Turner of the United States Supreme Court and a friend
who was visiting him at his country house, were set upon by highwaymen
as they were strolling through a strip of woodland, and had been hanged
to trees. It was not known how much money the road agents got. The
Justice had never been in the habit of carrying any large sums. As to
what money Mr. Burton, his friend, might have had on his person, there
was no way of ascertaining.
"The Supreme Court, the Senate, and three of the leading-men in the
country, this is pretty big game," remarks one of the crowd.
"It will be well if it ends there," says another.
"This will cause 'Industrials' to take a slump," observes a stout,
sleek, well dressed man.
"Yes," replies a voice at his elbow, "and it may be that a slump of the
market is at the bottom of most of this. I wouldn't trust these brokers.
They'd kill a regiment to get a flurry on the market if they were
short."
The stout man, who happens to be a stock broker, says no more.
"Get yer extra, all about six millionaires killed; get yer extra!" cry
the newsboys.
"Make it seven," shouts a coarse voice from the very heart of the mass
of humanity.
And seven it is to be.
The bulletin is being cleared for a fresh notice.
"Bet you it's a Banker this time," a book-keeper, who had deserted his
desk to get the latest news, says jestingly.
"Ah, it'll be a dead shoemaker next," laughingly exclaims a messenger
boy who has heard the book-keeper's remark.
By a strange coincidence the name that appears the following instant is
that of Henry Hide, the head of the leather Trust. The ribald jest of
the boy proves to be all too true.
CHAPTER XXV.
BIG NEWS IN THE JAVELIN OFFICE.
Inside the newspaper offices there is even greater excitement than on
the streets. The editors are non-plussed at the appalling news that
comes pouring in from every section of the laud.
How is the news to be conveyed to the people? is the question that the
oldest journalist is unable to answer.
In selecting the leading feature of the day's terrible news, what is to
be considered? The fact that an astounding number of murders or
accidents have simultaneously stricken with death a score of the leading
men of the country, is in itself a matter of unprecedented importance.
But the end is not in sight. Every half hour brings tidings of still
other deaths and murders.
The peculiar feature of the news is, however, that in every instance
where a banker, mine owner or financier is murdered, the evil-doer has
committed suicide. What does this indicate? Is it a concerted move on
the part of some society; or is it the result of an inexplicable
fatalistic phenomenon?
Just as a decision on these points is arrived at, and the editors have
given their orders for the make-up of the extras, some account, either
of the death of a railroad magnate or the head of some one of the great
trusts, is received. The necessity of a change in the form of the paper
is made imperative. For the thought that a rival sheet may feature the
news forces a change.
Extras of the evening papers are being issued every half hour. The
excitement on the streets exceeds even that of the days when the reports
of our wars was the all absorbing topic.
In the present calamity men know not what to think. To some it is
apparent that a modern juggernaut is abroad; others hold the belief that
a conspiracy is being carried to its bloody fulfillment.
No more accurate idea of the confused condition of the public mind can
be gathered than from a study of the action in the editorial rooms of
the great New York newspaper, the Javelin.
The editorial staff of this paper is composed of the brainiest men in
journalism; men who have won distinction in their profession by reason
of their ability to handle the news of the day in a manner that will
satisfy the demands of the public.
On the large reportorial staff are men who have been brought from
various cities; each is competent to gather news and present it in the
most interesting fashion.
In the composing room sixty of the most skilled linotypists sit at their
machines ready to set the words as they fall from the pencils of the
writers.
Still other men are at the presses, awaiting to put the great mechanisms
in motion, to pour out a stream of a hundred thousand papers an hour.
All is in readiness to turn out the news with unerring accuracy and
incredible speed.
Year in and year out the routine of publication has been gone through
with. Now one man who is advanced or discharged vacates a position,
which is immediately filled by the man next in line for promotion. The
machinery of the office never clogs. But on this night, turmoil takes
the place of system.
A crisis in the history of the paper is being reached. The heads of
departments are all present, having been summoned by telegram or
telephone. They are ready to act. Yet the signal for action is delayed.
To run off the edition of a morning paper is a far different thing from
getting out an edition of an evening paper.
The morning newspaper must contain the "_news_" in its first edition if
it is to reach distant points; if it is even to reach the suburban
towns. In these towns, by far the largest percentage of the readers are
located. They will be anxious for the latest and most complete news. The
evening papers give hurried accounts of the events that are stirring the
country. For the full details the readers depend upon the morning
papers. The newspaper which fails to satisfy their demands will lose its
popularity.
So the editor-in-chief and the proprietor of the Javelin are in a
quandary.
"It is now 1.30," says the editor-in-chief, as he consults the clock.
"If we are to get out a paper we must start the presses." "What is the
leader?" inquires the proprietor anxiously.
"A general review of the casualties; the summary of the result of the
announcements of the sudden deaths of so many leading men. This is
followed by the story of the deaths of six Senators. The head runs
across the page. The head-line reads 'Death's Harvest, Thirty-Six!' The
banks tell of the sudden deaths that have come upon Senators, Judges,
Manufacturers, Railroad Magnates, and a score of multi-millionaires."
"We can't tell everything in a line, or in one edition," observes the
proprietor, "so I think it is safe to 'go to press.' Is there nothing of
importance left out?"
Before an answer can be given to this query the telegraph editor rushes
from his desk waving a slip of paper.
"Hold the press!" he exclaims. "Here's the biggest news yet. Attorney
General Bradley of the United States has been assassinated as he was
leaving his office.
"The man who killed him made no attempt to escape, but, waiting to see
that the three shots he had fired point-blank at the Attorney General
had done their work, he deliberately turned the pistol on himself. He
placed it at his right temple and fired, dropping dead in his tracks."
"Wait a minute; wait!" cries the editor-in-chief. "Don't say another
word."
Turning to the night editor he says, "It will be necessary to change the
first page. A new head will have to be run, and the leading story will
have to tell of the murder of the Attorney General. This news is
national. I think I had better go to the press room and do this work
myself. The press will start in twenty minutes, if you give me the word
'Go ahead!'"
"Go ahead," is the laconic reply.
Down the winding staircase that leads to the composing room, and then to
the basement where the presses are located, the chief runs. He sets
about his work with a calmness and speed that is remarkable. The first
page is put on the composing table and the form opened. The head lines
are removed and the copy that the editor is turning out a dozen words at
a time on a page, are instantly set up and put in place.
In eight minutes the form is keyed up and the stereotypers have it in
their hands. Three minutes later the pressman has the stereotype plate.
A minute later the press is in motion.
With the first half dozen copies of the edition wet from the press, the
editor rushes back to his office.
In his absence there has been nothing startling reported. He breathes a
sigh of relief and sinks exhausted into his chair.
At a score of desks men are writing special portions of the news. One is
telling of the startling murders, another of the unusual accidents that
have claimed a dozen prominent men as victims.
The strange story of the hanging of an Ex-Justice of the Supreme Court
Judge is being written by one of the sporting reporters; the
assassination of six Senators is the theme of another special writer.
Every one is busy.
The chance that always comes to the young reporter is at hand. He is
entrusted with the important work of writing the story of the deaths of
five railroad magnates. His face is a study. It is scarlet and beads of
perspiration run down his cheeks.
Even the copy-boys are alive to the fact that a night of unusual import
is passing, and they carry copy without being called. A boy stands at
the side of every reporter and runs with the pages to the desks where
the copy readers scan it and write the head lines; it is not a night
when copy is carefully read and "cut." Everything is news, and the
responsibility for the accuracy of the writing is upon the heads of the
reporters.
Surrounding the bulletin board in the City Hall square, a crowd of from
one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand has gathered.
The lateness of the hour is forgotten. Men and women stand through the
chill hours of the late night and early morning waiting for news. There
is an ever varying stream passing in front of the _Javelin_ office.
Early in the afternoon the police have taken control of the streets and
compelled the people to keep moving. There is fear that the disorderly
element will start a riot.
Fortunately the first of the calamitous telegrams of the day has been
received after the close of the Exchanges. This has prevented a panic.
Brokers and bankers receive the tidings with consternation; they dread
the opening on the morrow. Many of them are in the crowd anxiously
waiting for further details of the deaths of the controllers of railroad
and industrial stocks.
At midnight a bulletin announces that Senator Barker, who had been the
staunch advocate of Bi-metallism until the recent session, and who had
then voted with the Gold element, has been found murdered in his
palatial home at Lakewood, N.J. His private secretary has also been
killed, evidently because he had attempted to rescue his employer. Both
have been stabbed.
After this the only news that is posted is of a confirmatory nature. It
tells of the development of the national wave of death. Then, too, it
begins to give the first positive information that the majority of the
deaths have been the result of a plot.
Either on the body of each of the assassins or in his effects have been
found papers that show conclusively that the men acted in concert. While
the phraseology of each of the letters differ, there is a similarity
which is very apparent when they are compared.
"I have kept my word. The world will judge if I was justified," is found
on one of the suicides.
"If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out," is all that the card on
another bears.
"A part is not greater than the whole," is the inscription on the card
that is found in the breast-pocket of the man who has killed the Sugar
King.
When the news of the assassination of the Attorney General is given to
the people, there is a reaction in the spirit of the multitude
immediately surrounding the _Javelin_ bulletin. They have previously
received the notices with expressions of wonderment. Now all realize
that the Nation itself is imperilled.
"This is another Suratt conspiracy," says one man to another.
"Will it reach the President?" is the question that men do not dare ask,
though they think it.
"This is not the work of cranks, you may depend upon it," observes a
Central office detective, who has a reputation for sagacity. His
fellow-officer, who stands a pace in advance of him, turns and inquires
if the detective thinks he could run the gang down.
"If I am set on the case I shall not waste much time in looking for
ordinary crooks," replies the detective. "It will be my aim to unearth a
society of malcontents."
At another point a party of club men, who have come down town from their
Fifth avenue haunt, stand discussing the terrible events.
"Do you remember the night that the news was received here that Lincoln
has been shot?" asks a patriarchal New Yorker of an equally ancient
citizen.
"Indeed I do. You and I were at the Niblo's Garden, weren't we?"
"That's right. It's strange that history should repeat itself; and that
we should be together to-night?"
"There is quite a difference between the murder of Lincoln and this
series of crimes," observes one of the younger men. "This night's, or
rather day's, work is aimed at all classes of wealth. It is evident that
it is an attack on capital. And the inexplicable part of the news is,
that in every instance the murderers have cheated the gallows."
"Come, move on there," gruffly shouts a policeman.
"Hallo, Mason," cries one of the club men as he pushes his way to the
side of the policeman.
"O! How do you do, Mr. Castor," says the blue-coat, in deferential tone.
"Mason, these are my friends; we want to stand here for a few minutes.
It's all right, isn't it?"
"Certainly, it's all right. I thought that you were a lot of the idle
crowd, sir, and we have had orders to keep everyone on the move. But
you're all right."
Mason had been appointed to the force by the Clubman's influence.
Turning from his patron the policeman roughs his way through the crowd
and makes the men and women "move on."
"Nothing like having a friend at court, eh?" laughingly cries one of Mr.
Castor's friends.
"It is this custom of privilege that has brought on this calamity,"
soberly observes the philosopher of the group.
A riot breaks out at this moment at the foot of the Franklin statue; and
the shouts and curses of the men who are being beaten by the police send
a thrill through the multitude.
The people on the fringe of the swaying thousands begin a retreat. Their
action is quickly imitated.
The Clubmen decide that they have seen all that they want of the crowd.
But the matter of getting out is not easy of accomplishment.
"What are you plug hats looking for?" sneers a rough from the slums. And
his arm swings out and hits the foremost man in the face. This seems to
be the cue for a dozen ruffians to fall upon the party of well dressed
men.
Two policemen who stand nearby come to the rescue of the party and
conduct them to a place of safety. From thence the sightseers are glad
to make their way up-town.
The ambulances from the Hudson Street Hospital take four of the rioters
who have been beaten with the night sticks of the police, to the station
house. Under ordinary circumstances the prisoners would be taken to the
hospital; but the Inspector of Police, who is on the scene, deems it
advisible to take them to the Station house.
A sullen crowd of young men from the neighboring streets follow the
ambulances, shouting execrations at the policemen who have made the
arrests.
The hands on the clock in the cupola of the City Hall point to 2.15 A.M.
The news wagons are wedging their way through the sea of humanity.
Morning papers are being sold by the ever vigilant newsboys. Still the
people linger.
An event of graver nature than any that has preceded is what the crowd
craves. The appetite of a man, or of a collection of men, is the same;
if it is fed to repletion, it cannot resist the desire for an excess.
"Let's wait for one more bulletin," an engineer suggests to his fireman.
"All right; we can stay until 2.30. That will give us time to get to the
building."
Before the fifteen minutes elapse all thoughts of tending in the engine
room are driven from their minds.
The first bulletin announcing the tidings of the Wilkes-Barre uprising
is posted by the _Javelin_ at 2.35 o'clock. From this moment the crowds
in City Hall increase. No one who can get within range of the blackboard
thinks of leaving. There is a subtle fascination in waiting for the
details of the momentous events.
At daybreak the evening edition of the day's papers containing news of
the transcendent occurrences of the hour are on the street. In these
papers the first intimation of the full scope of the blow that has been
dealt the Magnates is given to the public. Link by link the chain of
evidence that the accidents and murders are each part of a general and
concerted movement is built.
"Martyrs or Murderers?" This is the interrogatory headline that appears
in every paper.
The events of the past twenty-four hours have been so unparalleled that
men dare not jump at conclusions. To proclaim the forty agents of the
Syndicate of Annihilation martyrs, may lead to an instant uprising of
the anarchistic element. To denounce them as murderers may have the same
effect. Fear prompts the people to take a conservative stand, they wait
for full evidence before pronouncing a verdict.
They do not know that Harvey Trueman is pleading the cause of justice
and right to a mob at Wilkes-Barre.
The case is now in the hands of the great public as a jury.
A verdict that will shake the world is about to be tendered.
This verdict is to be entered at Wilkes-Barre.
CHAPTER XXVI.
ON TO WILKES-BARRE.
When the first news of the Act of Annihilation reaches the Independence
Party's Headquarters, Trueman is out on an important mission, a
conference with the American Mothers' League for the Abolition of Child
Labor. This League, it is believed, can influence scores of thousands of
voters.
A telephone call from Benson brings Trueman back to the headquarters. On
the way down town he hears loud cries in the street.
"Get y'er Extra! All about the big murders!" the newsboys are calling in
front of the headquarters. Trueman buys a paper. He reads about the
murder in Central Park. "This is an unfortunate occurrence," he says,
half aloud. "The people will put more credence in the assertions of the
Magnates, that there are anarchists working to disrupt the Government."
Once in the rooms of the Campaign Committee he receives the messages
direct from the _Javelin_ office over a special wire.
He is as ignorant of the true condition of affairs as any of the public.
What to think of the wholesale destruction of the leading magnates, is a
riddle to him.
"WILKES-BARRE, PA., Oct. 13th.
Gorman Purdy was murdered in his house at 2 o'clock this
afternoon, by Carl Metz. After shooting Purdy, Metz committed
suicide. Come to Wilkes-Barre at once. Miners are
threatening to sack the palaces on the esplanade. Ethel is in
great danger. MARTHA."
This telegram is handed to Trueman. He reads it; re-reads it. The full
import flashes upon him. He knows the character of the miners; knows
that there is an element which will take advantage of every opportunity
to commit acts of violence. He pictures Ethel at her home, besieged by
the mob of miners.
"I must get to Wilkes-Barre immediately," he declares.
"Mr. Benson, will you telephone to the Inter-State Railroad and ask when
the next train leaves for Wilkes-Barre? If there is not one within an
hour, ask if it is possible to engage a special. I must reach
Wilkes-Barre as quickly as possible.
"Here, read this," and he hands his secretary the telegram.
"Send this message to Martha Densmore. Address it, 'Sister Martha, Care
of the Mount Hope Seminary, Wilkes-Barre, Pa., I leave for Wilkes-Barre
at once.' If you can find out the time the train will leave, state it in
the message to Martha."
In five minutes Benson returns to inform Trueman that the Keystone
Express will leave at 3.30 P.M. This gives Trueman thirty minutes to
catch the train. He hurries to the street and jumps into a cab.
"Drive to the Twenty-third street ferry as fast as you can. I'll give
you an extra dollar if you make the four o'clock boat," he tells the cab
driver.
"All right Mr. Trueman," replies the man, who recognizes the people's
candidate. "You'll get the boat. Don't worry about that."
From Twenty-third street and Broadway the cab starts. It turns west on
Twenty-fourth street. Then the driver whips up his horse. At Eleventh
Avenue a freight train is passing. It will delay Trueman for five
minutes. He jumps from the cab.
"Mr. Benson will pay you," he calls to the cab-man. The train moves down
the street at a slow rate of speed.
Trueman jumps on a car, climbs across it and jumps to the street. At a
run he makes for the ferry house.
As he passes the gateman he throws down a silver piece for ferry fare
and rushes toward the boat. Half a minute later the boat draws out of
the slip. When he enters the train, Trueman seats himself in the
smoking-car. The man next to him is reading a late extra which he has
bought at Cortlandt street.
Glancing over the man's shoulder, Trueman reads of the deaths of
financiers, statesmen, manufacturers. All have met sudden and violent
deaths, and in each instance there is announced the suicide or
accidental death of an unknown companion.
Under a seven-column head, printed in red, is a suggestive paragraph. It
asks if the wave of annihilation can have any connection with the
Committee of Forty. And as if to answer the interrogation affirmatively,
the paragraph concludes in these words:
"On the cards of six of the men whose bodies have been found with the
murdered multi-millionaires, reference to the Committee of Forty is made
point-blank. One asserts: 'In the future, arrogant capitalists will not
sneer at the protestations of a committee of the people. As a
deliberative body the Committee of Forty was impotent; as the avenger of
the downtrodden, it will never be forgotten.' Another bears this strange
inscription: 'When anarchy seems imminent, take courage, for an honest
leader will deliver you from harm.'
"There are two cards which quote direct from the Scriptures: 'The wicked
in his pride doth persecute the poor: let them be taken in the devices
that they have imagined.' This gives the motive which supplied the
assassin of the Sugar King with courage to commit a double crime. He was
a religious fanatic. The name George M. Watson was scribbled on the back
of the card. This is the name of one of the Committee of Forty.
"The other card reads: 'And the destruction of the transgressors and of
the sinners _shall_ be together, and they that forsake the Lord shall be
consumed.'"
Here is a matter which sets Trueman thinking. He knows every member of
the Committee of Forty; they are men who would not take part in a
dastardly crime.
But is this terrible annihilation to be looked at in the light of an
ordinary crime?
"Metz is a member of the committee." Trueman resolves this thought for
several minutes.
The train rolls on at a rapid rate; the towns of Jersey are entered and
passed so quickly that no idea of the excitement that is stirring them
can be formed. It is not until Trenton is reached that Trueman hears the
news of the deaths of still other prominent men.
He buys a paper and returns to his seat. This extra contains the details
of the threatened uprising in Wilkes-Barre, and the statement that the
Committee of Forty has converted itself into a Syndicate of
Annihilation.
When the train reaches Philadelphia a battalion of the State Militia
goes on board. The Major in command has instructions to report to the
Sheriff of Luzerne County. This means that the militia is to be handed
over to the Magnates.
As the train is about to leave the depot a telegram is received at the
dispatcher's office, which causes a delay. A freight on the Wilkes-Barre
division has jumped the track. The wrecking train is called for. After
the departure of the wrecking train the express pulls out. The accident
has occurred thirty miles east of Wilkes-Barre. It causes the Keystone
to be two hours late.
During his enforced wait, Trueman improves the time by telegraphing to
New York. He gets from Benson the latest details of the news; the full
import of the terrible atonement dawns upon him. The Committee of Forty
had come to the conclusion that it must meet force with force. This was
a step which Trueman would never have sanctioned. He realizes that the
opprobrium for the act of the committee will be placed on him. He has
been associated with the committee; has been the one candidate which it
indorsed. And for all that he has known absolutely nothing of its
intention to carry out a wholesale annihilation.
"Who will believe that I am not an accomplice?" he asks himself.
"I have but one way to clear my name of such an imputation. I must stand
out as the advocate for rational action. I must bring the people, those
who know me and who will obey my wishes, to unite to suppress anarchy."
As this thought shapes itself, the words on the card of one of the
committee obtrude themselves on Trueman: "When anarchy seems imminent,
take courage, for an honest leader will deliver you from harm." Is there
something prophetic in these words?
Reinforcements are arriving on trains that are obliged to stop in the
rear of the express. One of the new arrivals is a part of the infamous
Coal and Iron Police. As these men are familiar with the mining
district, the Sheriff of Luzerne requests that they be placed on the
Keystone and rushed through first. This request is complied with. When
the train starts, after the track is cleared, the three hundred and
fifty members of the Coal and Iron Police have exchanged places with the
militia.
From the intemperate speech of the men, Trueman foresees that the
conflict between the miners and the police will be sanguinary. He
resolves to keep the two bodies of men apart, if anything in his power
can effect this result.
As the twilight deepens the train reaches the ten-mile grade that leads
to Wilkes-Barre. The powerful engine responds to the utmost of its
capacity and begins the ascent at a speed of fifty miles an hour.
"We shall be doing business in fifteen minutes," remarks one of the Coal
and Iron Police, as he pulls his rifle from under the seat.
"Thank God, we don't have to stand up and receive a shower of sticks and
stones, as the militia did in the old days. We have the right on our
side now, and we can shoot without waiting to be shot," asserts a
dyspeptic clerk, who has quit his desk for "_a day's shooting_."
CHAPTER XXVII.
SISTER MARTHA AVERTS A CALAMITY.
When the tidings of the murder of Gorman Purdy reach the mines, the
rejoicing of the miners and their families is undisguised. They feel
that an avenging hand has been raised against the man who has caused
them so many days of suffering.
"The devil has a new recruit," says a brawny miner.
"Hell is too good for a man like Purdy," another declares.
In all of Wilkes-Barre not a man or a woman except those who live under
the Coal King's roof has a word of pity to express.
Sister Martha is silent; she feels shocked at the news; yet even in her
heart there is no room for sympathy for the Magnate. The thought comes
to her that Ethel will need comforting. Ethel Purdy is the woman who
eclipsed Sister Martha in Harvey's mind. It is not to be supposed that
Martha has forgotten this; yet it does not deter her from hastening to
the place. She finds Ethel on the verge of hysteria.
Under the soothing influence of the Sister of Charity, Ethel's composure
is restored.
"What is to become of me?" she asks, despairingly. "How am I to face the
world? I have wealth; but will it restore my father?"
"Have faith, my dear, and you will find your troubles lightened."
Martha prays with the late Magnate's daughter. They are on their knees
in the sumptuous bed-room of Ethel's suite when a servant abruptly
enters.
"O, Miss Purdy, run for your life," cries the maid. "The miners are
coming to burn the house."
Ethel utters a cry of terror.
"Leave the room!" sister Martha orders. And the frightened servant
retires.
"Do not feel alarmed. I shall stay here and the miners will do you no
injury. They love me and will obey me."
Ethel clasps the hand of her defender and crouches at her feet. A knock
at the door startles the two women. Sister Martha remains in possession
of her faculties; Ethel swoons.
"Come in," calls Sister Martha.
The butler enters.
"I have come to inform you that the miners are on their way to the
house. They have sworn to sack it. What shall we do?"
"Who told you that the miners intend to come here?"
"I have just received the warning from the office; one of the clerks
telephoned. He says the Superintendent is on his way here, but will
probably be cut off."
Fear has anticipated the actual trend which events are to take. The
miners are parading the streets but have not formulated any definite
plan to attack the Purdy palace.
Superintendent Judson arrives and assumes charge of the house. He brings
definite news of the intention of the miners. They are bent on claiming
the body of Carl Metz to give it a public funeral. "We shall never be
able to prevent violence," he declares.
"The police and the militia have been summoned; but it will be hours
before they arrive."
"If there was some one here who could pacify the mob until the troops
come; there is no one they will heed."
"Perhaps I can pacify them," suggests Sister Martha.
"You can try," says the Superintendent, scrutinizing her closely. "You
are known as the friend of the miners; they may respect your wishes."
Inwardly he doubts her ability to check the mob; he feels, even, that
she may meet with physical violence at their hands. Yet his nature is so
small that he is eager to sacrifice her if it will keep the miners at
bay for an hour.
"I shall try to keep them in the town," Sister Martha assures him as she
departs. On reaching the centre of the town Sister Martha meets some of
the miner folk. A woman comes up to her and whispers:
"They have sent for the police. The work will be done before they get
here."
"What work?"
"Why, we are going to give Metz a decent funeral. He died for us. He
said in a letter,--died to set us free from Purdy."
"When are you going to demand the body?"
"This evening when the mines and shops close. We will all get together
and then the sheriff can't stop us."
An inspiration comes to Martha. She hurries to a telegraph station, and
sends the message to Trueman calling him to Wilkes-Barre.
"If he only gets here before the police or the troops, he can prevent
trouble," is the thought that consoles her. The hour that passes before
she receives word that he will arrive on the Keystone Express, seems an
eternity.
With the knowledge that Trueman will arrive at five o'clock she breathes
a sigh of relief. Again she mingles with the crowds which fill the
streets. Here and there she goes, begging of the men and women to
refrain from doing anything that they will regret later.
The afternoon wears on, and as rumors float through the town that the
Governor has called out the State Guard, the excitement increases.
At four o'clock Sister Martha hears that the miners have determined to
wreck the express, as it is bringing the Coal and Iron Police.
This news appalls her. Can she tell them that Trueman is on this train,
and hope to have his arrival effective? No. He must come unexpectedly.
The plot to wreck the train must be defeated.
She hurries to the house of one of the miners who she knows will be in
sympathy with any movement that has for its object the destruction of
the Police. His two sons were shot at the Massacre of Hazleton. One of
the young men died from the effects of his wounds. The other is a
confirmed invalid.
On reaching the miner's cottage, Sister Martha finds that her intuition
is correct. Henry Osling is telling his son the plan of vengeance.
"We will wipe out the old score to-night," he is saying. "When the
express starts up the grade, we will send a ton of Paradise Powder down
to meet it."
"How will it explode?" asks the son.
"How? Why, by the collision with the engine."
"But it may not go off," suggests the invalid. "You had better make sure
by using dynamite. No! that won't do either.
"Use nitro. You can get it from the Horton shaft. They have to use it
there to blast the slate."
"That's what we'll do, 'sonny.' Just lie still 'til you hear the bang,
then you can get up and dance, for the Police will be blown to pieces."
Sister Martha waits for no further details. Her plan of action is
decided upon. She knows every foot of ground in the mountains. A short
cut will bring her to the home of Widow Braun. This woman will do
anything in the world for Harvey Trueman. She will help Sister Martha to
save the train; for by so doing she will save Trueman's life.
The widow is at home. In a few words Martha tells her what she must do
if she would save the life of the men who rescued her boy and herself
from the sheriff.
"Do you have to ask me twice to help you?" cries the woman. "I would lie
down on the track and let the cars run over me if it would protect Mr.
Trueman."
Martha and her ally start for the long grade. On the way they discuss
the manner in which they may derail the car with the nitro-glycerine.
"We will put rocks on the track," suggests Sister Martha. "But the
miners will see us;" objects the widow, "it won't be dark when the train
arrives."
"I heard the miners say the train would be late. A freight was off the
track east of Mathews and the wrecking crew was at work," Martha goes on
to explain.
When the rescuers arrive at the track they realize that in their haste
they have neglected to bring a lantern, the one thing that may be needed
to signal the train, for now a dilemma confronts them. If they place a
pile of rocks on the track, the train may reach that point before the
car of destruction, and in this event the obstruction will cause the
wrecking of the train.
The roadway is along the side of the mountain.
On one side of the tracks the rocks rise in a sheer wall; on the other
is a steep embankment that in places is almost as precipitous as the
crags above.
"We will have to separate," Martha advises. "You go up the track. No, I
will go up and you down. If it is possible, you must stop the train. I
will wait till the last moment and then put rocks on the track. When you
see Mr. Trueman, tell him to hasten to the Purdy house, for Ethel is in
great danger. Tell him I will be there to aid him in pacifying the
miners."
"But you can never pile rocks enough on the track to stop the car,"
Widow Braun says compassionately, glancing at the frail form before her.
"Have no fear. I can do my part of the work. God will give me strength.
And you, He will guide you, as well. Come, let us set about our work."
With a parting blessing from Sister Martha, the widow hurries down the
track. She can discern the station five miles below at the beginning of
the ten-mile grade. This station is her objective. If she can reach it
before the arrival of the express, the life of Harvey Trueman and those
of all the passengers will be saved.
The nature of her mission gives her strength to travel over the rough
roadbed with incredible speed. Her eyes are upon the station, which
momentarily becomes more and more indistinct; she knows that if the
train starts up the grade she can see the headlight. Her lips move in an
articulate prayer that she may not see the light. So absorbed is she in
the thought of how to stop the train in the event of its passing the
station that she fails to see a culvert bridge. At the bridge the
roadbed terminates and a trestle carries the tracks for a distance of
fifteen yards. The culvert is dry nine mouths in the year, and is a
raging mountain torrent only in the spring.
Widow Braun rushes upon the trestle. Her steps are not regulated by the
ties, and almost instantly she falls between them. Her hands grasp the
rails on either side; but she has not sufficient strength to support
herself. With an agonizing cry she drops twenty feet upon the jagged
rocks below. Her head strikes a rock and she lies motionless.
Several minutes pass; then she regains consciousness. On attempting to
rise she finds that her ankle is sprained. Despite the agony it causes
her, the brave woman struggles to climb back to the track. It is now
quite dark and she realizes that the train must be along in a few
minutes. She cannot reach the station. But she may yet stop the train at
the culvert bridge.
A long shrill whistle sounds. It is the familiar signal of the Keystone
Express.
Regardless of the acute pain which every step causes her, the widow
scrambles over the rocks.
As she reaches the roadbed the express rumbles over the trestle. With a
cry of despair she sinks to the ground.
Sister Martha is acting her role of heroine at a point a mile and a half
further up the grade. She has posted herself where she can observe the
station and the summit of the grade.
At the side of the track she collects a dozen boulders, the heaviest she
can move. These she determines to put on the track to derail the car
which the miners are to send down the grade to wreck the train.
"Will the widow Braun stop the express?" Martha asks herself again and
again, as the terrible minutes of suspense pass. "Perhaps I should have
gone down the track instead of sending her."
Through the darkness a glimmer of light shines from the summit of the
mountain.
"The miners are in readiness. What shall I do?"
For an answer, the whistle of the train falls upon her ears.
She hesitates, then with an energy born of desperation she begins to
pile the rocks on the track. The ragged edges cut her tender fingers.
She works on unmindful of cuts and bruises.