prompt:
Chapter: The three detectives had many matters of detail into which to inquire;
so I returned alone to our modest quarters at the village inn. But
before doing so I took a stroll in the curious old-world garden which
flanked the house. Rows of very ancient yew trees cut into strange
designs girded it round. Inside was a beautiful stretch of lawn with an
old sundial in the middle, the whole effect so soothing and restful that
it was welcome to my somewhat jangled nerves.

In that deeply peaceful atmosphere one could forget, or remember only
as some fantastic nightmare, that darkened study with the sprawling,
bloodstained figure on the floor. And yet, as I strolled round it and
tried to steep my soul in its gentle balm, a strange incident occurred,
which brought me back to the tragedy and left a sinister impression in
my mind.

I have said that a decoration of yew trees circled the garden. At the
end farthest from the house they thickened into a continuous hedge.
On the other side of this hedge, concealed from the eyes of anyone
approaching from the direction of the house, there was a stone seat.
As I approached the spot I was aware of voices, some remark in the deep
tones of a man, answered by a little ripple of feminine laughter.

An instant later I had come round the end of the hedge and my eyes
lit upon Mrs. Douglas and the man Barker before they were aware of my
presence. Her appearance gave me a shock. In the dining-room she had
been demure and discreet. Now all pretense of grief had passed away from
her. Her eyes shone with the joy of living, and her face still quivered
with amusement at some remark of her companion. He sat forward, his
hands clasped and his forearms on his knees, with an answering smile
upon his bold, handsome face. In an instant--but it was just one instant
too late--they resumed their solemn masks as my figure came into view.
A hurried word or two passed between them, and then Barker rose and came
towards me.

"Excuse me, sir," said he, "but am I addressing Dr. Watson?"

I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very plainly the
impression which had been produced upon my mind.

"We thought that it was probably you, as your friendship with Mr.
Sherlock Holmes is so well known. Would you mind coming over and
speaking to Mrs. Douglas for one instant?"

I followed him with a dour face. Very clearly I could see in my mind's
eye that shattered figure on the floor. Here within a few hours of the
tragedy were his wife and his nearest friend laughing together behind a
bush in the garden which had been his. I greeted the lady with reserve.
I had grieved with her grief in the dining room. Now I met her appealing
gaze with an unresponsive eye.

"I fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted," said she.

I shrugged my shoulders. "It is no business of mine," said I.

"Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you only realized--"

"There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize," said Barker quickly.
"As he has himself said, it is no possible business of his."

"Exactly," said I, "and so I will beg leave to resume my walk."

"One moment, Dr. Watson," cried the woman in a pleading voice. "There is
one question which you can answer with more authority than anyone else
in the world, and it may make a very great difference to me. You know
Mr. Holmes and his relations with the police better than anyone
else can. Supposing that a matter were brought confidentially to his
knowledge, is it absolutely necessary that he should pass it on to the
detectives?"

"Yes, that's it," said Barker eagerly. "Is he on his own or is he
entirely in with them?"

"I really don't know that I should be justified in discussing such a
point."

"I beg--I implore that you will, Dr. Watson! I assure you that you will
be helping us--helping me greatly if you will guide us on that point."

There was such a ring of sincerity in the woman's voice that for the
instant I forgot all about her levity and was moved only to do her will.

"Mr. Holmes is an independent investigator," I said. "He is his own
master, and would act as his own judgment directed. At the same time, he
would naturally feel loyalty towards the officials who were working on
the same case, and he would not conceal from them anything which would
help them in bringing a criminal to justice. Beyond this I can say
nothing, and I would refer you to Mr. Holmes himself if you wanted
fuller information."

So saying I raised my hat and went upon my way, leaving them still
seated behind that concealing hedge. I looked back as I rounded the far
end of it, and saw that they were still talking very earnestly together,
and, as they were gazing after me, it was clear that it was our
interview that was the subject of their debate.

"I wish none of their confidences," said Holmes, when I reported to him
what had occurred. He had spent the whole afternoon at the Manor House
in consultation with his two colleagues, and returned about five with
a ravenous appetite for a high tea which I had ordered for him. "No
confidences, Watson; for they are mighty awkward if it comes to an
arrest for conspiracy and murder."

"You think it will come to that?"

He was in his most cheerful and debonair humour. "My dear Watson, when
I have exterminated that fourth egg I shall be ready to put you in touch
with the whole situation. I don't say that we have fathomed it--far from
it--but when we have traced the missing dumb-bell--"

"The dumb-bell!"

"Dear me, Watson, is it possible that you have not penetrated the fact
that the case hangs upon the missing dumb-bell? Well, well, you need not
be downcast; for between ourselves I don't think that either Inspector
Mac or the excellent local practitioner has grasped the overwhelming
importance of this incident. One dumb-bell, Watson! Consider an athlete
with one dumb-bell! Picture to yourself the unilateral development, the
imminent danger of a spinal curvature. Shocking, Watson, shocking!"

He sat with his mouth full of toast and his eyes sparkling with
mischief, watching my intellectual entanglement. The mere sight of his
excellent appetite was an assurance of success; for I had very clear
recollections of days and nights without a thought of food, when his
baffled mind had chafed before some problem while his thin, eager
features became more attenuated with the asceticism of complete mental
concentration. Finally he lit his pipe, and sitting in the inglenook
of the old village inn he talked slowly and at random about his case,
rather as one who thinks aloud than as one who makes a considered
statement.

"A lie, Watson--a great, big, thumping, obtrusive, uncompromising
lie--that's what meets us on the threshold! There is our starting
point. The whole story told by Barker is a lie. But Barker's story is
corroborated by Mrs. Douglas. Therefore she is lying also. They are both
lying, and in a conspiracy. So now we have the clear problem. Why are
they lying, and what is the truth which they are trying so hard to
conceal? Let us try, Watson, you and I, if we can get behind the lie and
reconstruct the truth.

"How do I know that they are lying? Because it is a clumsy fabrication
which simply could not be true. Consider! According to the story given
to us, the assassin had less than a minute after the murder had been
committed to take that ring, which was under another ring, from the dead
man's finger, to replace the other ring--a thing which he would surely
never have done--and to put that singular card beside his victim. I say
that this was obviously impossible.

"You may argue--but I have too much respect for your judgment, Watson,
to think that you will do so--that the ring may have been taken before
the man was killed. The fact that the candle had been lit only a short
time shows that there had been no lengthy interview. Was Douglas, from
what we hear of his fearless character, a man who would be likely to
give up his wedding ring at such short notice, or could we conceive of
his giving it up at all? No, no, Watson, the assassin was alone with
the dead man for some time with the lamp lit. Of that I have no doubt at
all.

"But the gunshot was apparently the cause of death. Therefore the shot
must have been fired some time earlier than we are told. But there
could be no mistake about such a matter as that. We are in the presence,
therefore, of a deliberate conspiracy upon the part of the two people
who heard the gunshot--of the man Barker and of the woman Douglas.
When on the top of this I am able to show that the blood mark on the
windowsill was deliberately placed there by Barker, in order to give
a false clue to the police, you will admit that the case grows dark
against him.

"Now we have to ask ourselves at what hour the murder actually did
occur. Up to half-past ten the servants were moving about the house; so
it was certainly not before that time. At a quarter to eleven they
had all gone to their rooms with the exception of Ames, who was in
the pantry. I have been trying some experiments after you left us this
afternoon, and I find that no noise which MacDonald can make in the
study can penetrate to me in the pantry when the doors are all shut.

"It is otherwise, however, from the housekeeper's room. It is not so far
down the corridor, and from it I could vaguely hear a voice when it was
very loudly raised. The sound from a shotgun is to some extent muffled
when the discharge is at very close range, as it undoubtedly was in this
instance. It would not be very loud, and yet in the silence of the night
it should have easily penetrated to Mrs. Allen's room. She is, as she
has told us, somewhat deaf; but none the less she mentioned in her
evidence that she did hear something like a door slamming half an hour
before the alarm was given. Half an hour before the alarm was given
would be a quarter to eleven. I have no doubt that what she heard was
the report of the gun, and that this was the real instant of the murder.

"If this is so, we have now to determine what Barker and Mrs. Douglas,
presuming that they are not the actual murderers, could have been doing
from quarter to eleven, when the sound of the shot brought them down,
until quarter past eleven, when they rang the bell and summoned the
servants. What were they doing, and why did they not instantly give
the alarm? That is the question which faces us, and when it has been
answered we shall surely have gone some way to solve our problem."

"I am convinced myself," said I, "that there is an understanding between
those two people. She must be a heartless creature to sit laughing at
some jest within a few hours of her husband's murder."

"Exactly. She does not shine as a wife even in her own account of what
occurred. I am not a whole-souled admirer of womankind, as you are
aware, Watson, but my experience of life has taught me that there are
few wives, having any regard for their husbands, who would let any man's
spoken word stand between them and that husband's dead body. Should I
ever marry, Watson, I should hope to inspire my wife with some feeling
which would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeper when my
corpse was lying within a few yards of her. It was badly stage-managed;
for even the rawest investigators must be struck by the absence of the
usual feminine ululation. If there had been nothing else, this incident
alone would have suggested a prearranged conspiracy to my mind."

"You think then, definitely, that Barker and Mrs. Douglas are guilty of
the murder?"

"There is an appalling directness about your questions, Watson," said
Holmes, shaking his pipe at me. "They come at me like bullets. If you
put it that Mrs. Douglas and Barker know the truth about the murder, and
are conspiring to conceal it, then I can give you a whole-souled answer.
I am sure they do. But your more deadly proposition is not so clear. Let
us for a moment consider the difficulties which stand in the way.

"We will suppose that this couple are united by the bonds of a guilty
love, and that they have determined to get rid of the man who stands
between them. It is a large supposition; for discreet inquiry among
servants and others has failed to corroborate it in any way. On the
contrary, there is a good deal of evidence that the Douglases were very
attached to each other."

"That, I am sure, cannot be true," said I, thinking of the beautiful
smiling face in the garden.

"Well at least they gave that impression. However, we will suppose that
they are an extraordinarily astute couple, who deceive everyone upon
this point, and conspire to murder the husband. He happens to be a man
over whose head some danger hangs--"

"We have only their word for that."

Holmes looked thoughtful. "I see, Watson. You are sketching out a theory
by which everything they say from the beginning is false. According
to your idea, there was never any hidden menace, or secret society, or
Valley of Fear, or Boss MacSomebody, or anything else. Well, that is a
good sweeping generalization. Let us see what that brings us to. They
invent this theory to account for the crime. They then play up to the
idea by leaving this bicycle in the park as proof of the existence of
some outsider. The stain on the windowsill conveys the same idea. So
does the card on the body, which might have been prepared in the house.
That all fits into your hypothesis, Watson. But now we come on the
nasty, angular, uncompromising bits which won't slip into their places.
Why a cut-off shotgun of all weapons--and an American one at that? How
could they be so sure that the sound of it would not bring someone on to
them? It's a mere chance as it is that Mrs. Allen did not start out to
inquire for the slamming door. Why did your guilty couple do all this,
Watson?"

"I confess that I can't explain it."

"Then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder a husband,
are they going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiously removing his
wedding ring after his death? Does that strike you as very probable,
Watson?"

"No, it does not."

"And once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealed outside
had occurred to you, would it really have seemed worth doing when the
dullest detective would naturally say this is an obvious blind, as the
bicycle is the first thing which the fugitive needed in order to make
his escape."

"I can conceive of no explanation."

"And yet there should be no combination of events for which the wit of
man cannot conceive an explanation. Simply as a mental exercise, without
any assertion that it is true, let me indicate a possible line of
thought. It is, I admit, mere imagination; but how often is imagination
the mother of truth?

"We will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a really shameful
secret in the life of this man Douglas. This leads to his murder by
someone who is, we will suppose, an avenger, someone from outside.
This avenger, for some reason which I confess I am still at a loss
to explain, took the dead man's wedding ring. The vendetta might
conceivably date back to the man's first marriage, and the ring be taken
for some such reason.

"Before this avenger got away, Barker and the wife had reached the room.
The assassin convinced them that any attempt to arrest him would lead
to the publication of some hideous scandal. They were converted to
this idea, and preferred to let him go. For this purpose they probably
lowered the bridge, which can be done quite noiselessly, and then raised
it again. He made his escape, and for some reason thought that he could
do so more safely on foot than on the bicycle. He therefore left his
machine where it would not be discovered until he had got safely away.
So far we are within the bounds of possibility, are we not?"

"Well, it is possible, no doubt," said I, with some reserve.

"We have to remember, Watson, that whatever occurred is certainly
something very extraordinary. Well, now, to continue our supposititious
case, the couple--not necessarily a guilty couple--realize after the
murderer is gone that they have placed themselves in a position in
which it may be difficult for them to prove that they did not themselves
either do the deed or connive at it. They rapidly and rather clumsily
met the situation. The mark was put by Barker's bloodstained slipper
upon the windowsill to suggest how the fugitive got away. They obviously
were the two who must have heard the sound of the gun; so they gave the
alarm exactly as they would have done, but a good half hour after the
event."

"And how do you propose to prove all this?"

"Well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced and taken. That would
be the most effective of all proofs. But if not--well, the resources of
science are far from being exhausted. I think that an evening alone in
that study would help me much."

"An evening alone!"

"I propose to go up there presently. I have arranged it with the
estimable Ames, who is by no means wholehearted about Barker. I shall
sit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration. I'm
a believer in the genius loci. You smile, Friend Watson. Well, we shall
see. By the way, you have that big umbrella of yours, have you not?"

"It is here."

"Well, I'll borrow that if I may."

"Certainly--but what a wretched weapon! If there is danger--"

"Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly ask for your
assistance. But I'll take the umbrella. At present I am only awaiting
the return of our colleagues from Tunbridge Wells, where they are at
present engaged in trying for a likely owner to the bicycle."

It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald and White Mason came back
from their expedition, and they arrived exultant, reporting a great
advance in our investigation.

"Man, I'll admeet that I had my doubts if there was ever an outsider,"
said MacDonald, "but that's all past now. We've had the bicycle
identified, and we have a description of our man; so that's a long step
on our journey."

"It sounds to me like the beginning of the end," said Holmes. "I'm sure
I congratulate you both with all my heart."

"Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas had seemed disturbed
since the day before, when he had been at Tunbridge Wells. It was at
Tunbridge Wells then that he had become conscious of some danger. It was
clear, therefore, that if a man had come over with a bicycle it was
from Tunbridge Wells that he might be expected to have come. We took the
bicycle over with us and showed it at the hotels. It was identified at
once by the manager of the Eagle Commercial as belonging to a man named
Hargrave, who had taken a room there two days before. This bicycle and
a small valise were his whole belongings. He had registered his name
as coming from London, but had given no address. The valise was London
made, and the contents were British; but the man himself was undoubtedly
an American."

"Well, well," said Holmes gleefully, "you have indeed done some solid
work while I have been sitting spinning theories with my friend! It's a
lesson in being practical, Mr. Mac."

"Ay, it's just that, Mr. Holmes," said the inspector with satisfaction.

"But this may all fit in with your theories," I remarked.

"That may or may not be. But let us hear the end, Mr. Mac. Was there
nothing to identify this man?"

"So little that it was evident that he had carefully guarded himself
against identification. There were no papers or letters, and no marking
upon the clothes. A cycle map of the county lay on his bedroom table. He
had left the hotel after breakfast yesterday morning on his bicycle, and
no more was heard of him until our inquiries."

"That's what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "If the fellow
did not want the hue and cry raised over him, one would imagine that he
would have returned and remained at the hotel as an inoffensive tourist.
As it is, he must know that he will be reported to the police by the
hotel manager and that his disappearance will be connected with the
murder."

"So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified of his wisdom up
to date, at any rate, since he has not been taken. But his
description--what of that?"

MacDonald referred to his notebook. "Here we have it so far as they
could give it. They don't seem to have taken any very particular stock
of him; but still the porter, the clerk, and the chambermaid are all
agreed that this about covers the points. He was a man about five foot
nine in height, fifty or so years of age, his hair slightly grizzled, a
grayish moustache, a curved nose, and a face which all of them described
as fierce and forbidding."

"Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description of Douglas
himself," said Holmes. "He is just over fifty, with grizzled hair and
moustache, and about the same height. Did you get anything else?"

"He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, and he wore a
short yellow overcoat and a soft cap."

"What about the shotgun?"

"It is less than two feet long. It could very well have fitted into
his valise. He could have carried it inside his overcoat without
difficulty."

"And how do you consider that all this bears upon the general case?"

"Well, Mr. Holmes," said MacDonald, "when we have got our man--and you
may be sure that I had his description on the wires within five minutes
of hearing it--we shall be better able to judge. But, even as it stands,
we have surely gone a long way. We know that an American calling himself
Hargrave came to Tunbridge Wells two days ago with bicycle and valise.
In the latter was a sawed-off shotgun; so he came with the deliberate
purpose of crime. Yesterday morning he set off for this place on his
bicycle, with his gun concealed in his overcoat. No one saw him arrive,
so far as we can learn; but he need not pass through the village
to reach the park gates, and there are many cyclists upon the road.
Presumably he at once concealed his cycle among the laurels where it
was found, and possibly lurked there himself, with his eye on the house,
waiting for Mr. Douglas to come out. The shotgun is a strange weapon to
use inside a house; but he had intended to use it outside, and there it
has very obvious advantages, as it would be impossible to miss with it,
and the sound of shots is so common in an English sporting neighbourhood
that no particular notice would be taken."

"That is all very clear," said Holmes.

"Well, Mr. Douglas did not appear. What was he to do next? He left his
bicycle and approached the house in the twilight. He found the bridge
down and no one about. He took his chance, intending, no doubt, to make
some excuse if he met anyone. He met no one. He slipped into the first
room that he saw, and concealed himself behind the curtain. Thence he
could see the drawbridge go up, and he knew that his only escape was
through the moat. He waited until quarter-past eleven, when Mr. Douglas
upon his usual nightly round came into the room. He shot him and
escaped, as arranged. He was aware that the bicycle would be described
by the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he left it there and
made his way by some other means to London or to some safe hiding place
which he had already arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes. That
is your end of the story. My end is that the crime was committed half an
hour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are both in
a conspiracy to conceal something; that they aided the murderer's
escape--or at least that they reached the room before he escaped--and
that they fabricated evidence of his escape through the window, whereas
in all probability they had themselves let him go by lowering the
bridge. That's my reading of the first half."

The two detectives shook their heads.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery
into another," said the London inspector.

"And in some ways a worse one," added White Mason. "The lady has never
been in America in all her life. What possible connection could she have
with an American assassin which would cause her to shelter him?"

"I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose to make a
little investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that it
may contribute something to the common cause."

"Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?"

"No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella--my wants are simple. And
Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. All my
lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basic question--why
should an athletic man develop his frame upon so unnatural an instrument
as a single dumb-bell?"

It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary excursion.
We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that the little
country inn could do for us. I was already asleep when I was partly
awakened by his entrance.

"Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything out?"

He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall,
lean figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," he whispered, "would
you be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with
softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?"

"Not in the least," I answered in astonishment.

"Ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he utter that
night.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Watson decides to let the detectives talk amongst themselves and head back to the village inn. First, though, he decides to wander about the lovely and peaceful gardens around Manor House. As he comes across a clump of yew trees with a bench, he sees Barker and Mrs. Douglas. They seem very friendly: Mrs. Douglas's face is lit up unlike it was in the house, and the two lean in toward each other intimately. Watson turns to leave, but the pair identifies him, and Barker calls him over. Watson is cool and says he cares not for their business. He makes to leave but they call him back. Mrs. Douglas asks if Holmes is the sort of detective who does things on his own, or if he would tell law enforcement the things he finds out. Watson is annoyed by this and moves to leave again, but the woman cries out and he is struck by the sincerity in her voice. He finally concedes that Holmes is an independent investigator, but that he has great respect for the men with whom he works. Watson walks away, and sees the two whispering to one another. Holmes later says he wants none of their confidence. He then cheerfully says he is making progress as long as they can find the missing dumbbell, for only one was found in the study near the body. Watson is surprised and wonders what this has to do with the case. Holmes replies that no one works out with only one dumbbell. Holmes is the picture of contentment and intellectual excitement. He lights his pipe and begins to ruminate. He notes that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are collaborating on the lie. There was no way that the murderer could have killed Douglas and left in the amount of time allotted. The assassin must have been alone with Douglas for some time before killing him. The gunshot was clearly the cause of death, but it most likely happened earlier than Barker described. In fact, the housekeeper had mentioned hearing a muffled noise like a door slamming a half hour before the gunshot was said to have gone off, and this was probably the real shot. What, he wonders, did Barker and Mrs. Douglas do in that half hour. It is a badly stage-managed affair, he observes. Watson asks if he thinks the two of them murdered Douglas; Holmes prefers not to answer that directly, though he indicates that they were certainly involved somehow. Everyone questioned told him that the Douglases seemed very much in love. There is also the issue of the "Valley of Fear," and association of danger with Douglas. Watson is skeptical of this, and Holmes humors him. He says yes, perhaps they made all that up to cover their tracks, but the choice of the shotgun as weapon makes no sense. It is also absurd that they would take the dead man's wedding ring; this practically advertised their putative affair. Holmes continues, suggesting that it seems likely that an outsider connected to Douglas who was desirous of seeking some sort of vengeance came and killed the man. Barker and Mrs. Douglas arrived, Holmes speculates, and the assassin spoke to them and convinced them that if they said anything he would reveal a scandalous secret about Douglas. The man then escaped and decided to go on foot and left his bicycle. Barker and Mrs. Douglas set up the scene. Watson is a bit more convinced, but still wary. Holmes announces he needs a night alone in the study to think about this. He says he needs only an umbrella, which Watson points out is a useless weapon. That evening, MacDonald and Mason return. MacDonald is pleased because he was able to trace the bicycle to a man named Hargrave. This man, clearly an American but carrying a British suitcase and the bicycle, checked into a hotel two days ago. There is no more information about his background, and no knowledge of what he did after he left yesterday with his bicycle. MacDonald reads the description of the man, which is quite curious because it sounds like Douglas, the murdered man. MacDonald offers a theory as to what happened. Hargrave carried the shotgun in his valise and set off for Manor House. He hid his bicycle and waited for Douglas. He intended to use the gun outside where it would have attracted no undue notice. Douglas never came outside, so Hargrave snuck into the house, shot Douglas, and escaped. Holmes nods in appreciation, and tells them bluntly Barker and Mrs. Douglas are in a conspiracy together. Mason sighs and says that the woman has never been to America, and thus this is all very strange. Holmes tells them his plan to stay in the study and figure out why there is only one dumbbell. Watson retires to bed. Holmes wakes him in the middle of the night and asks if Watson would be afraid to sleep in the same room as a lunatic or an idiot. Watson is surprised and says no, and Holmes replies that that is a good thing


prompt:
Chapter: On the day following the evening which had contained so many exciting
events, McMurdo moved his lodgings from old Jacob Shafter's and took up
his quarters at the Widow MacNamara's on the extreme outskirts of the
town. Scanlan, his original acquaintance aboard the train, had occasion
shortly afterwards to move into Vermissa, and the two lodged together.
There was no other boarder, and the hostess was an easy-going old
Irishwoman who left them to themselves; so that they had a freedom for
speech and action welcome to men who had secrets in common.

Shafter had relented to the extent of letting McMurdo come to his meals
there when he liked; so that his intercourse with Ettie was by no means
broken. On the contrary, it drew closer and more intimate as the weeks
went by.

In his bedroom at his new abode McMurdo felt it safe to take out the
coining moulds, and under many a pledge of secrecy a number of brothers
from the lodge were allowed to come in and see them, each carrying away
in his pocket some examples of the false money, so cunningly struck that
there was never the slightest difficulty or danger in passing it. Why,
with such a wonderful art at his command, McMurdo should condescend to
work at all was a perpetual mystery to his companions; though he made it
clear to anyone who asked him that if he lived without any visible means
it would very quickly bring the police upon his track.

One policeman was indeed after him already; but the incident, as luck
would have it, did the adventurer a great deal more good than harm.
After the first introduction there were few evenings when he did not
find his way to McGinty's saloon, there to make closer acquaintance with
"the boys," which was the jovial title by which the dangerous gang who
infested the place were known to one another. His dashing manner and
fearlessness of speech made him a favourite with them all; while the
rapid and scientific way in which he polished off his antagonist in
an "all in" bar-room scrap earned the respect of that rough community.
Another incident, however, raised him even higher in their estimation.

Just at the crowded hour one night, the door opened and a man entered
with the quiet blue uniform and peaked cap of the mine police. This was
a special body raised by the railways and colliery owners to supplement
the efforts of the ordinary civil police, who were perfectly helpless
in the face of the organized ruffianism which terrorized the district.
There was a hush as he entered, and many a curious glance was cast at
him; but the relations between policemen and criminals are peculiar
in some parts of the States, and McGinty himself, standing behind his
counter, showed no surprise when the policeman enrolled himself among
his customers.

"A straight whisky; for the night is bitter," said the police officer.
"I don't think we have met before, Councillor?"

"You'll be the new captain?" said McGinty.

"That's so. We're looking to you, Councillor, and to the other leading
citizens, to help us in upholding law and order in this township.
Captain Marvin is my name."

"We'd do better without you, Captain Marvin," said McGinty coldly; "for
we have our own police of the township, and no need for any imported
goods. What are you but the paid tool of the capitalists, hired by them
to club or shoot your poorer fellow citizen?"

"Well, well, we won't argue about that," said the police officer
good-humouredly. "I expect we all do our duty same as we see it; but we
can't all see it the same." He had drunk off his glass and had turned to
go, when his eyes fell upon the face of Jack McMurdo, who was scowling
at his elbow. "Hullo! Hullo!" he cried, looking him up and down. "Here's
an old acquaintance!"

McMurdo shrank away from him. "I was never a friend to you nor any other
cursed copper in my life," said he.

"An acquaintance isn't always a friend," said the police captain,
grinning. "You're Jack McMurdo of Chicago, right enough, and don't you
deny it!"

McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not denying it," said he. "D'ye
think I'm ashamed of my own name?"

"You've got good cause to be, anyhow."

"What the devil d'you mean by that?" he roared with his fists clenched.

"No, no, Jack, bluster won't do with me. I was an officer in Chicago
before ever I came to this darned coal bunker, and I know a Chicago
crook when I see one."

McMurdo's face fell. "Don't tell me that you're Marvin of the Chicago
Central!" he cried.

"Just the same old Teddy Marvin, at your service. We haven't forgotten
the shooting of Jonas Pinto up there."

"I never shot him."

"Did you not? That's good impartial evidence, ain't it? Well, his death
came in uncommon handy for you, or they would have had you for shoving
the queer. Well, we can let that be bygones; for, between you and
me--and perhaps I'm going further than my duty in saying it--they could
get no clear case against you, and Chicago's open to you to-morrow."

"I'm very well where I am."

"Well, I've given you the pointer, and you're a sulky dog not to thank
me for it."

"Well, I suppose you mean well, and I do thank you," said McMurdo in no
very gracious manner.

"It's mum with me so long as I see you living on the straight," said
the captain. "But, by the Lord! if you get off after this, it's another
story! So good-night to you--and good-night, Councillor."

He left the bar-room; but not before he had created a local hero.
McMurdo's deeds in far Chicago had been whispered before. He had put off
all questions with a smile, as one who did not wish to have greatness
thrust upon him. But now the thing was officially confirmed. The bar
loafers crowded round him and shook him heartily by the hand. He was
free of the community from that time on. He could drink hard and show
little trace of it; but that evening, had his mate Scanlan not been at
hand to lead him home, the feted hero would surely have spent his night
under the bar.

On a Saturday night McMurdo was introduced to the lodge. He had thought
to pass in without ceremony as being an initiate of Chicago; but there
were particular rites in Vermissa of which they were proud, and these
had to be undergone by every postulant. The assembly met in a large
room reserved for such purposes at the Union House. Some sixty members
assembled at Vermissa; but that by no means represented the full
strength of the organization, for there were several other lodges in
the valley, and others across the mountains on each side, who exchanged
members when any serious business was afoot, so that a crime might be
done by men who were strangers to the locality. Altogether there were
not less than five hundred scattered over the coal district.

In the bare assembly room the men were gathered round a long table. At
the side was a second one laden with bottles and glasses, on which some
members of the company were already turning their eyes. McGinty sat at
the head with a flat black velvet cap upon his shock of tangled black
hair, and a coloured purple stole round his neck, so that he seemed to
be a priest presiding over some diabolical ritual. To right and left
of him were the higher lodge officials, the cruel, handsome face of Ted
Baldwin among them. Each of these wore some scarf or medallion as emblem
of his office.

They were, for the most part, men of mature age; but the rest of the
company consisted of young fellows from eighteen to twenty-five, the
ready and capable agents who carried out the commands of their seniors.
Among the older men were many whose features showed the tigerish,
lawless souls within; but looking at the rank and file it was difficult
to believe that these eager and open-faced young fellows were in very
truth a dangerous gang of murderers, whose minds had suffered such
complete moral perversion that they took a horrible pride in their
proficiency at the business, and looked with deepest respect at the man
who had the reputation of making what they called "a clean job."

To their contorted natures it had become a spirited and chivalrous thing
to volunteer for service against some man who had never injured them,
and whom in many cases they had never seen in their lives. The crime
committed, they quarrelled as to who had actually struck the fatal
blow, and amused one another and the company by describing the cries and
contortions of the murdered man.

At first they had shown some secrecy in their arrangements; but at
the time which this narrative describes their proceedings were
extraordinarily open, for the repeated failure of the law had proved to
them that, on the one hand, no one would dare to witness against them,
and on the other they had an unlimited number of stanch witnesses upon
whom they could call, and a well-filled treasure chest from which they
could draw the funds to engage the best legal talent in the state. In
ten long years of outrage there had been no single conviction, and
the only danger that ever threatened the Scowrers lay in the victim
himself--who, however outnumbered and taken by surprise, might and
occasionally did leave his mark upon his assailants.

McMurdo had been warned that some ordeal lay before him; but no one
would tell him in what it consisted. He was led now into an outer room
by two solemn brothers. Through the plank partition he could hear the
murmur of many voices from the assembly within. Once or twice he caught
the sound of his own name, and he knew that they were discussing his
candidacy. Then there entered an inner guard with a green and gold sash
across his chest.

"The Bodymaster orders that he shall be trussed, blinded, and entered,"
said he.

The three of them removed his coat, turned up the sleeve of his right
arm, and finally passed a rope round above the elbows and made it fast.
They next placed a thick black cap right over his head and the upper
part of his face, so that he could see nothing. He was then led into the
assembly hall.

It was pitch dark and very oppressive under his hood. He heard the
rustle and murmur of the people round him, and then the voice of McGinty
sounded dull and distant through the covering of his ears.

"John McMurdo," said the voice, "are you already a member of the Ancient
Order of Freemen?"

He bowed in assent.

"Is your lodge No. 29, Chicago?"

He bowed again.

"Dark nights are unpleasant," said the voice.

"Yes, for strangers to travel," he answered.

"The clouds are heavy."

"Yes, a storm is approaching."

"Are the brethren satisfied?" asked the Bodymaster.

There was a general murmur of assent.

"We know, Brother, by your sign and by your countersign that you are
indeed one of us," said McGinty. "We would have you know, however, that
in this county and in other counties of these parts we have certain
rites, and also certain duties of our own which call for good men. Are
you ready to be tested?"

"I am."

"Are you of stout heart?"

"I am."

"Take a stride forward to prove it."

As the words were said he felt two hard points in front of his eyes,
pressing upon them so that it appeared as if he could not move forward
without a danger of losing them. None the less, he nerved himself to
step resolutely out, and as he did so the pressure melted away. There
was a low murmur of applause.

"He is of stout heart," said the voice. "Can you bear pain?"

"As well as another," he answered.

"Test him!"

It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming out, for an
agonizing pain shot through his forearm. He nearly fainted at the sudden
shock of it; but he bit his lip and clenched his hands to hide his
agony.

"I can take more than that," said he.

This time there was loud applause. A finer first appearance had never
been made in the lodge. Hands clapped him on the back, and the hood
was plucked from his head. He stood blinking and smiling amid the
congratulations of the brothers.

"One last word, Brother McMurdo," said McGinty. "You have already sworn
the oath of secrecy and fidelity, and you are aware that the punishment
for any breach of it is instant and inevitable death?"

"I am," said McMurdo.

"And you accept the rule of the Bodymaster for the time being under all
circumstances?"

"I do."

"Then in the name of Lodge 341, Vermissa, I welcome you to its
privileges and debates. You will put the liquor on the table, Brother
Scanlan, and we will drink to our worthy brother."

McMurdo's coat had been brought to him; but before putting it on he
examined his right arm, which still smarted heavily. There on the flesh
of the forearm was a circle with a triangle within it, deep and red, as
the branding iron had left it. One or two of his neighbours pulled up
their sleeves and showed their own lodge marks.

"We've all had it," said one; "but not all as brave as you over it."

"Tut! It was nothing," said he; but it burned and ached all the same.

When the drinks which followed the ceremony of initiation had all been
disposed of, the business of the lodge proceeded. McMurdo, accustomed
only to the prosaic performances of Chicago, listened with open ears and
more surprise than he ventured to show to what followed.

"The first business on the agenda paper," said McGinty, "is to read the
following letter from Division Master Windle of Merton County Lodge 249.
He says:

"Dear Sir:

"There is a job to be done on Andrew Rae of Rae & Sturmash, coal owners
near this place. You will remember that your lodge owes us a return,
having had the service of two brethren in the matter of the patrolman
last fall. You will send two good men, they will be taken charge of by
Treasurer Higgins of this lodge, whose address you know. He will show
them when to act and where. Yours in freedom,

"J.W. WINDLE D.M.A.O.F."

"Windle has never refused us when we have had occasion to ask for the
loan of a man or two, and it is not for us to refuse him." McGinty
paused and looked round the room with his dull, malevolent eyes. "Who
will volunteer for the job?"

Several young fellows held up their hands. The Bodymaster looked at them
with an approving smile.

"You'll do, Tiger Cormac. If you handle it as well as you did the last,
you won't be wrong. And you, Wilson."

"I've no pistol," said the volunteer, a mere boy in his teens.

"It's your first, is it not? Well, you have to be blooded some time. It
will be a great start for you. As to the pistol, you'll find it waiting
for you, or I'm mistaken. If you report yourselves on Monday, it will be
time enough. You'll get a great welcome when you return."

"Any reward this time?" asked Cormac, a thick-set, dark-faced,
brutal-looking young man, whose ferocity had earned him the nickname of
"Tiger."

"Never mind the reward. You just do it for the honour of the thing.
Maybe when it is done there will be a few odd dollars at the bottom of
the box."

"What has the man done?" asked young Wilson.

"Sure, it's not for the likes of you to ask what the man has done. He
has been judged over there. That's no business of ours. All we have to
do is to carry it out for them, same as they would for us. Speaking of
that, two brothers from the Merton lodge are coming over to us next week
to do some business in this quarter."

"Who are they?" asked someone.

"Faith, it is wiser not to ask. If you know nothing, you can testify
nothing, and no trouble can come of it. But they are men who will make a
clean job when they are about it."

"And time, too!" cried Ted Baldwin. "Folk are gettin' out of hand in
these parts. It was only last week that three of our men were turned
off by Foreman Blaker. It's been owing him a long time, and he'll get it
full and proper."

"Get what?" McMurdo whispered to his neighbour.

"The business end of a buckshot cartridge!" cried the man with a loud
laugh. "What think you of our ways, Brother?"

McMurdo's criminal soul seemed to have already absorbed the spirit of
the vile association of which he was now a member. "I like it well,"
said he. "'Tis a proper place for a lad of mettle."

Several of those who sat around heard his words and applauded them.

"What's that?" cried the black-maned Bodymaster from the end of the
table.

"'Tis our new brother, sir, who finds our ways to his taste."

McMurdo rose to his feet for an instant. "I would say, Eminent
Bodymaster, that if a man should be wanted I should take it as an honour
to be chosen to help the lodge."

There was great applause at this. It was felt that a new sun was pushing
its rim above the horizon. To some of the elders it seemed that the
progress was a little too rapid.

"I would move," said the secretary, Harraway, a vulture-faced old
graybeard who sat near the chairman, "that Brother McMurdo should wait
until it is the good pleasure of the lodge to employ him."

"Sure, that was what I meant; I'm in your hands," said McMurdo.

"Your time will come, Brother," said the chairman. "We have marked you
down as a willing man, and we believe that you will do good work in
these parts. There is a small matter to-night in which you may take a
hand if it so please you."

"I will wait for something that is worth while."

"You can come to-night, anyhow, and it will help you to know what
we stand for in this community. I will make the announcement later.
Meanwhile," he glanced at his agenda paper, "I have one or two more
points to bring before the meeting. First of all, I will ask the
treasurer as to our bank balance. There is the pension to Jim Carnaway's
widow. He was struck down doing the work of the lodge, and it is for us
to see that she is not the loser."

"Jim was shot last month when they tried to kill Chester Wilcox of
Marley Creek," McMurdo's neighbour informed him.

"The funds are good at the moment," said the treasurer, with the
bankbook in front of him. "The firms have been generous of late. Max
Linder & Co. paid five hundred to be left alone. Walker Brothers sent in
a hundred; but I took it on myself to return it and ask for five. If I
do not hear by Wednesday, their winding gear may get out of order. We
had to burn their breaker last year before they became reasonable. Then
the West Section Coaling Company has paid its annual contribution. We
have enough on hand to meet any obligations."

"What about Archie Swindon?" asked a brother.

"He has sold out and left the district. The old devil left a note for us
to say that he had rather be a free crossing sweeper in New York than a
large mine owner under the power of a ring of blackmailers. By Gar! it
was as well that he made a break for it before the note reached us! I
guess he won't show his face in this valley again."

An elderly, clean-shaved man with a kindly face and a good brow rose
from the end of the table which faced the chairman. "Mr. Treasurer," he
asked, "may I ask who has bought the property of this man that we have
driven out of the district?"

"Yes, Brother Morris. It has been bought by the State & Merton County
Railroad Company."

"And who bought the mines of Todman and of Lee that came into the market
in the same way last year?"

"The same company, Brother Morris."

"And who bought the ironworks of Manson and of Shuman and of Van Deher
and of Atwood, which have all been given up of late?"

"They were all bought by the West Gilmerton General Mining Company."

"I don't see, Brother Morris," said the chairman, "that it matters to us
who buys them, since they can't carry them out of the district."

"With all respect to you, Eminent Bodymaster, I think it may matter very
much to us. This process has been going on now for ten long years.
We are gradually driving all the small men out of trade. What is the
result? We find in their places great companies like the Railroad or the
General Iron, who have their directors in New York or Philadelphia, and
care nothing for our threats. We can take it out of their local bosses;
but it only means that others will be sent in their stead. And we are
making it dangerous for ourselves. The small men could not harm us. They
had not the money nor the power. So long as we did not squeeze them too
dry, they would stay on under our power. But if these big companies find
that we stand between them and their profits, they will spare no pains
and no expense to hunt us down and bring us to court."

There was a hush at these ominous words, and every face darkened as
gloomy looks were exchanged. So omnipotent and unchallenged had they
been that the very thought that there was possible retribution in the
background had been banished from their minds. And yet the idea struck a
chill to the most reckless of them.

"It is my advice," the speaker continued, "that we go easier upon the
small men. On the day that they have all been driven out the power of
this society will have been broken."

Unwelcome truths are not popular. There were angry cries as the speaker
resumed his seat. McGinty rose with gloom upon his brow.

"Brother Morris," said he, "you were always a croaker. So long as the
members of this lodge stand together there is no power in the United
States that can touch them. Sure, have we not tried it often enough in
the lawcourts? I expect the big companies will find it easier to pay
than to fight, same as the little companies do. And now, Brethren,"
McGinty took off his black velvet cap and his stole as he spoke, "this
lodge has finished its business for the evening, save for one small
matter which may be mentioned when we are parting. The time has now come
for fraternal refreshment and for harmony."

Strange indeed is human nature. Here were these men, to whom murder was
familiar, who again and again had struck down the father of the family,
some man against whom they had no personal feeling, without one thought
of compunction or of compassion for his weeping wife or helpless
children, and yet the tender or pathetic in music could move them to
tears. McMurdo had a fine tenor voice, and if he had failed to gain the
good will of the lodge before, it could no longer have been withheld
after he had thrilled them with "I'm Sitting on the Stile, Mary," and
"On the Banks of Allan Water."

In his very first night the new recruit had made himself one of the most
popular of the brethren, marked already for advancement and high office.
There were other qualities needed, however, besides those of good
fellowship, to make a worthy Freeman, and of these he was given an
example before the evening was over. The whisky bottle had passed round
many times, and the men were flushed and ripe for mischief when their
Bodymaster rose once more to address them.

"Boys," said he, "there's one man in this town that wants trimming up,
and it's for you to see that he gets it. I'm speaking of James Stanger
of the Herald. You've seen how he's been opening his mouth against us
again?"

There was a murmur of assent, with many a muttered oath. McGinty took a
slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket.

"LAW AND ORDER!"

That's how he heads it.

"REIGN OF TERROR IN THE COAL AND IRON DISTRICT

"Twelve years have now elapsed since the first assassinations which
proved the existence of a criminal organization in our midst. From that
day these outrages have never ceased, until now they have reached a
pitch which makes us the opprobrium of the civilized world. Is it for
such results as this that our great country welcomes to its bosom the
alien who flies from the despotisms of Europe? Is it that they shall
themselves become tyrants over the very men who have given them shelter,
and that a state of terrorism and lawlessness should be established
under the very shadow of the sacred folds of the starry Flag of Freedom
which would raise horror in our minds if we read of it as existing
under the most effete monarchy of the East? The men are known. The
organization is patent and public. How long are we to endure it? Can we
forever live--

"Sure, I've read enough of the slush!" cried the chairman, tossing the
paper down upon the table. "That's what he says of us. The question I'm
asking you is what shall we say to him?"

"Kill him!" cried a dozen fierce voices.

"I protest against that," said Brother Morris, the man of the good brow
and shaved face. "I tell you, Brethren, that our hand is too heavy in
this valley, and that there will come a point where in self-defense
every man will unite to crush us out. James Stanger is an old man. He
is respected in the township and the district. His paper stands for all
that is solid in the valley. If that man is struck down, there will be a
stir through this state that will only end with our destruction."

"And how would they bring about our destruction, Mr. Standback?" cried
McGinty. "Is it by the police? Sure, half of them are in our pay and
half of them afraid of us. Or is it by the law courts and the judge?
Haven't we tried that before now, and what ever came of it?"

"There is a Judge Lynch that might try the case," said Brother Morris.

A general shout of anger greeted the suggestion.

"I have but to raise my finger," cried McGinty, "and I could put two
hundred men into this town that would clear it out from end to end."
Then suddenly raising his voice and bending his huge black brows into
a terrible frown, "See here, Brother Morris, I have my eye on you, and
have had for some time! You've no heart yourself, and you try to take
the heart out of others. It will be an ill day for you, Brother Morris,
when your own name comes on our agenda paper, and I'm thinking that it's
just there that I ought to place it."

Morris had turned deadly pale, and his knees seemed to give way under
him as he fell back into his chair. He raised his glass in his trembling
hand and drank before he could answer. "I apologize, Eminent Bodymaster,
to you and to every brother in this lodge if I have said more than I
should. I am a faithful member--you all know that--and it is my fear
lest evil come to the lodge which makes me speak in anxious words. But I
have greater trust in your judgment than in my own, Eminent Bodymaster,
and I promise you that I will not offend again."

The Bodymaster's scowl relaxed as he listened to the humble words. "Very
good, Brother Morris. It's myself that would be sorry if it were needful
to give you a lesson. But so long as I am in this chair we shall be a
united lodge in word and in deed. And now, boys," he continued, looking
round at the company, "I'll say this much, that if Stanger got his full
deserts there would be more trouble than we need ask for. These editors
hang together, and every journal in the state would be crying out for
police and troops. But I guess you can give him a pretty severe warning.
Will you fix it, Brother Baldwin?"

"Sure!" said the young man eagerly.

"How many will you take?"

"Half a dozen, and two to guard the door. You'll come, Gower, and you,
Mansel, and you, Scanlan, and the two Willabys."

"I promised the new brother he should go," said the chairman.

Ted Baldwin looked at McMurdo with eyes which showed that he had not
forgotten nor forgiven. "Well, he can come if he wants," he said in a
surly voice. "That's enough. The sooner we get to work the better."

The company broke up with shouts and yells and snatches of drunken
song. The bar was still crowded with revellers, and many of the brethren
remained there. The little band who had been told off for duty passed
out into the street, proceeding in twos and threes along the sidewalk
so as not to provoke attention. It was a bitterly cold night, with a
half-moon shining brilliantly in a frosty, star-spangled sky. The men
stopped and gathered in a yard which faced a high building. The words,
"Vermissa Herald" were printed in gold lettering between the brightly
lit windows. From within came the clanking of the printing press.

"Here, you," said Baldwin to McMurdo, "you can stand below at the door
and see that the road is kept open for us. Arthur Willaby can stay with
you. You others come with me. Have no fears, boys; for we have a dozen
witnesses that we are in the Union Bar at this very moment."

It was nearly midnight, and the street was deserted save for one or two
revellers upon their way home. The party crossed the road, and, pushing
open the door of the newspaper office, Baldwin and his men rushed in and
up the stair which faced them. McMurdo and another remained below.
From the room above came a shout, a cry for help, and then the sound of
trampling feet and of falling chairs. An instant later a gray-haired man
rushed out on the landing.

He was seized before he could get farther, and his spectacles came
tinkling down to McMurdo's feet. There was a thud and a groan. He was on
his face, and half a dozen sticks were clattering together as they fell
upon him. He writhed, and his long, thin limbs quivered under the
blows. The others ceased at last; but Baldwin, his cruel face set in
an infernal smile, was hacking at the man's head, which he vainly
endeavoured to defend with his arms. His white hair was dabbled with
patches of blood. Baldwin was still stooping over his victim, putting in
a short, vicious blow whenever he could see a part exposed, when McMurdo
dashed up the stair and pushed him back.

"You'll kill the man," said he. "Drop it!"

Baldwin looked at him in amazement. "Curse you!" he cried. "Who are you
to interfere--you that are new to the lodge? Stand back!" He raised his
stick; but McMurdo had whipped his pistol out of his pocket.

"Stand back yourself!" he cried. "I'll blow your face in if you lay a
hand on me. As to the lodge, wasn't it the order of the Bodymaster that
the man was not to be killed--and what are you doing but killing him?"

"It's truth he says," remarked one of the men.

"By Gar! you'd best hurry yourselves!" cried the man below. "The windows
are all lighting up, and you'll have the whole town here inside of five
minutes."

There was indeed the sound of shouting in the street, and a little group
of compositors and pressmen was forming in the hall below and nerving
itself to action. Leaving the limp and motionless body of the editor
at the head of the stair, the criminals rushed down and made their way
swiftly along the street. Having reached the Union House, some of them
mixed with the crowd in McGinty's saloon, whispering across the bar to
the Boss that the job had been well carried through. Others, and among
them McMurdo, broke away into side streets, and so by devious paths to
their own homes.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: McMurdo moves to the Widow MacNamara's on the outskirts of town; Scanlan moves there as well. Shafter still lets McMurdo eat his meals at the boarding house, and thus his relationship with Ettie continues. McMurdo shows off his coining molds to his visitors; he says that he would do this full-time if the police weren't after him. One day at the saloon a new member of the mine police comes in for a drink. McGinty greets him amiably but tells the man, Captain Marvin, that they do not need his services in the town. Marvin remains good-humored, but suddenly he sees McMurdo and calls him out as a criminal from Chicago. McMurdo is rude to him; however, Marvin says his name is now clear in Chicago, and that he will only get in trouble if he does something wrong here. The tale of McMurdo's exploits makes him even more of a hero in the miners' eyes. On Saturday night, McMurdo attends the lodge meeting for his initiation. McGinty sits at front like some sort of priest. Old men and enthusiastic young men talk; the young men boast of murderous deeds. The proceedings of these meetings are very open; they used to be secret, but they no longer have to be because no authority can stop them from doing as they please. McMurdo knows there will be some sort of ordeal for his initiation, but does not know what it will be like. McGinty orders him bound and blindfolded, asks him questions to prove he knows the code, asks him to prove his bravery by walking forward blindly, and to prove he can withstand pain by branding him with the symbol. Though the pain is excessive, he handles himself well, and all the men are impressed. He accepts the rules of the Bodymaster and is officially welcomed in. After this official business ensues. One man is to be killed in order to fulfill a pledge to another lodge. Two young men are given the task, and McMurdo says he would like to do this as well. Many people approve of his audacity, but others think things are moving quickly. McGinty says that his time will come, but he can come hear another matter that evening. They then discuss a pension for Jim Carnaway's widow; Jim was killed when the raid to kill Chester Wilcox failed. An elderly man with a kind face rises and asks who is taking over all the small mining companies. The answer is State & Merton County Railroad Company, which seems to be making massive inroads in the area. Morris suggests they not drive out all the small bosses because once the big companies are fully in charge they will have the resources to hurt the union and bring them to court. People are hushed and grumble. Morris says they ought to go easy on the small men; McGinty considers this briefly and says there is nothing to worry about. It is then time for refreshments and singing, and McMurdo's fine tenor distinguishes him. The Bodymaster rises again and reads a passage from the newspaper editor, James Stanger. It is very critical of the union, and the men become angry. They want to do something about it, but Morris speaks again and says they cannot: Stanger is respected in the township and could bring about their destruction. McGinty scoffs and then becomes angry with Morris. Morris backs down and apologizes. Baldwin and a few other young men get the task to hurt Stanger, and McMurdo is one of these men. They head to the office that evening after establishing an alibi at the bar. The street is deserted and dark. McMurdo guards the door, and the other men go inside and beat up Stanger. Stanger tries to escape, but McMurdo stops him. The men almost kill the editor, but McMurdo stops them, reminding them that McGinty didn't want him killed. Lights come on after people nearby hear the commotion. The men flee


prompt:
Chapter: When McMurdo awoke next morning he had good reason to remember his
initiation into the lodge. His head ached with the effect of the drink,
and his arm, where he had been branded, was hot and swollen. Having his
own peculiar source of income, he was irregular in his attendance at his
work; so he had a late breakfast, and remained at home for the morning
writing a long letter to a friend. Afterwards he read the Daily Herald.
In a special column put in at the last moment he read:

OUTRAGE AT THE HERALD OFFICE--EDITOR SERIOUSLY INJURED.

It was a short account of the facts with which he was himself more
familiar than the writer could have been. It ended with the statement:

The matter is now in the hands of the police; but it can hardly be hoped
that their exertions will be attended by any better results than in
the past. Some of the men were recognized, and there is hope that a
conviction may be obtained. The source of the outrage was, it need
hardly be said, that infamous society which has held this community in
bondage for so long a period, and against which the Herald has taken so
uncompromising a stand. Mr. Stanger's many friends will rejoice to hear
that, though he has been cruelly and brutally beaten, and though he has
sustained severe injuries about the head, there is no immediate danger
to his life.

Below it stated that a guard of police, armed with Winchester rifles,
had been requisitioned for the defense of the office.

McMurdo had laid down the paper, and was lighting his pipe with a hand
which was shaky from the excesses of the previous evening, when there
was a knock outside, and his landlady brought to him a note which had
just been handed in by a lad. It was unsigned, and ran thus:

I should wish to speak to you, but would rather not do so in your house.
You will find me beside the flagstaff upon Miller Hill. If you will come
there now, I have something which it is important for you to hear and
for me to say.

McMurdo read the note twice with the utmost surprise; for he could not
imagine what it meant or who was the author of it. Had it been in a
feminine hand, he might have imagined that it was the beginning of one
of those adventures which had been familiar enough in his past life. But
it was the writing of a man, and of a well educated one, too. Finally,
after some hesitation, he determined to see the matter through.

Miller Hill is an ill-kept public park in the very centre of the town.
In summer it is a favourite resort of the people, but in winter it is
desolate enough. From the top of it one has a view not only of the whole
straggling, grimy town, but of the winding valley beneath, with its
scattered mines and factories blackening the snow on each side of it,
and of the wooded and white-capped ranges flanking it.

McMurdo strolled up the winding path hedged in with evergreens until he
reached the deserted restaurant which forms the centre of summer gaiety.
Beside it was a bare flagstaff, and underneath it a man, his hat drawn
down and the collar of his overcoat turned up. When he turned his face
McMurdo saw that it was Brother Morris, he who had incurred the anger of
the Bodymaster the night before. The lodge sign was given and exchanged
as they met.

"I wanted to have a word with you, Mr. McMurdo," said the older man,
speaking with a hesitation which showed that he was on delicate ground.
"It was kind of you to come."

"Why did you not put your name to the note?"

"One has to be cautious, mister. One never knows in times like these how
a thing may come back to one. One never knows either who to trust or who
not to trust."

"Surely one may trust brothers of the lodge."

"No, no, not always," cried Morris with vehemence. "Whatever we say,
even what we think, seems to go back to that man McGinty."

"Look here!" said McMurdo sternly. "It was only last night, as you know
well, that I swore good faith to our Bodymaster. Would you be asking me
to break my oath?"

"If that is the view you take," said Morris sadly, "I can only say that
I am sorry I gave you the trouble to come and meet me. Things have come
to a bad pass when two free citizens cannot speak their thoughts to each
other."

McMurdo, who had been watching his companion very narrowly, relaxed
somewhat in his bearing. "Sure I spoke for myself only," said he. "I am
a newcomer, as you know, and I am strange to it all. It is not for me to
open my mouth, Mr. Morris, and if you think well to say anything to me I
am here to hear it."

"And to take it back to Boss McGinty!" said Morris bitterly.

"Indeed, then, you do me injustice there," cried McMurdo. "For myself I
am loyal to the lodge, and so I tell you straight; but I would be a poor
creature if I were to repeat to any other what you might say to me in
confidence. It will go no further than me; though I warn you that you
may get neither help nor sympathy."

"I have given up looking for either the one or the other," said Morris.
"I may be putting my very life in your hands by what I say; but, bad as
you are--and it seemed to me last night that you were shaping to be as
bad as the worst--still you are new to it, and your conscience cannot
yet be as hardened as theirs. That was why I thought to speak with you."

"Well, what have you to say?"

"If you give me away, may a curse be on you!"

"Sure, I said I would not."

"I would ask you, then, when you joined the Freeman's society in Chicago
and swore vows of charity and fidelity, did ever it cross your mind that
you might find it would lead you to crime?"

"If you call it crime," McMurdo answered.

"Call it crime!" cried Morris, his voice vibrating with passion. "You
have seen little of it if you can call it anything else. Was it crime
last night when a man old enough to be your father was beaten till the
blood dripped from his white hairs? Was that crime--or what else would
you call it?"

"There are some would say it was war," said McMurdo, "a war of two
classes with all in, so that each struck as best it could."

"Well, did you think of such a thing when you joined the Freeman's
society at Chicago?"

"No, I'm bound to say I did not."

"Nor did I when I joined it at Philadelphia. It was just a benefit club
and a meeting place for one's fellows. Then I heard of this place--curse
the hour that the name first fell upon my ears!--and I came to better
myself! My God! to better myself! My wife and three children came with
me. I started a drygoods store on Market Square, and I prospered well.
The word had gone round that I was a Freeman, and I was forced to join
the local lodge, same as you did last night. I've the badge of shame on
my forearm and something worse branded on my heart. I found that I was
under the orders of a black villain and caught in a meshwork of crime.
What could I do? Every word I said to make things better was taken as
treason, same as it was last night. I can't get away; for all I have in
the world is in my store. If I leave the society, I know well that it
means murder to me, and God knows what to my wife and children. Oh, man,
it is awful--awful!" He put his hands to his face, and his body shook
with convulsive sobs.

McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "You were too soft for the job," said
he. "You are the wrong sort for such work."

"I had a conscience and a religion; but they made me a criminal among
them. I was chosen for a job. If I backed down I knew well what would
come to me. Maybe I'm a coward. Maybe it's the thought of my poor little
woman and the children that makes me one. Anyhow I went. I guess it will
haunt me forever.

"It was a lonely house, twenty miles from here, over the range yonder.
I was told off for the door, same as you were last night. They could
not trust me with the job. The others went in. When they came out
their hands were crimson to the wrists. As we turned away a child was
screaming out of the house behind us. It was a boy of five who had seen
his father murdered. I nearly fainted with the horror of it, and yet I
had to keep a bold and smiling face; for well I knew that if I did not
it would be out of my house that they would come next with their bloody
hands and it would be my little Fred that would be screaming for his
father.

"But I was a criminal then, part sharer in a murder, lost forever in
this world, and lost also in the next. I am a good Catholic; but the
priest would have no word with me when he heard I was a Scowrer, and I
am excommunicated from my faith. That's how it stands with me. And I see
you going down the same road, and I ask you what the end is to be. Are
you ready to be a cold-blooded murderer also, or can we do anything to
stop it?"

"What would you do?" asked McMurdo abruptly. "You would not inform?"

"God forbid!" cried Morris. "Sure, the very thought would cost me my
life."

"That's well," said McMurdo. "I'm thinking that you are a weak man and
that you make too much of the matter."

"Too much! Wait till you have lived here longer. Look down the valley!
See the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it! I tell you that
the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower than that over the heads of
the people. It is the Valley of Fear, the Valley of Death. The terror is
in the hearts of the people from the dusk to the dawn. Wait, young man,
and you will learn for yourself."

"Well, I'll let you know what I think when I have seen more," said
McMurdo carelessly. "What is very clear is that you are not the man for
the place, and that the sooner you sell out--if you only get a dime a
dollar for what the business is worth--the better it will be for you.
What you have said is safe with me; but, by Gar! if I thought you were
an informer--"

"No, no!" cried Morris piteously.

"Well, let it rest at that. I'll bear what you have said in mind,
and maybe some day I'll come back to it. I expect you meant kindly by
speaking to me like this. Now I'll be getting home."

"One word before you go," said Morris. "We may have been seen together.
They may want to know what we have spoken about."

"Ah! that's well thought of."

"I offer you a clerkship in my store."

"And I refuse it. That's our business. Well, so long, Brother Morris,
and may you find things go better with you in the future."

That same afternoon, as McMurdo sat smoking, lost in thought beside the
stove of his sitting-room, the door swung open and its framework was
filled with the huge figure of Boss McGinty. He passed the sign, and
then seating himself opposite to the young man he looked at him steadily
for some time, a look which was as steadily returned.

"I'm not much of a visitor, Brother McMurdo," he said at last. "I guess
I am too busy over the folk that visit me. But I thought I'd stretch a
point and drop down to see you in your own house."

"I'm proud to see you here, Councillor," McMurdo answered heartily,
bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard. "It's an honour that I
had not expected."

"How's the arm?" asked the Boss.

McMurdo made a wry face. "Well, I'm not forgetting it," he said; "but
it's worth it."

"Yes, it's worth it," the other answered, "to those that are loyal and
go through with it and are a help to the lodge. What were you speaking
to Brother Morris about on Miller Hill this morning?"

The question came so suddenly that it was well that he had his answer
prepared. He burst into a hearty laugh. "Morris didn't know I could earn
a living here at home. He shan't know either; for he has got too much
conscience for the likes of me. But he's a good-hearted old chap. It was
his idea that I was at a loose end, and that he would do me a good turn
by offering me a clerkship in a drygoods store."

"Oh, that was it?"

"Yes, that was it."

"And you refused it?"

"Sure. Couldn't I earn ten times as much in my own bedroom with four
hours' work?"

"That's so. But I wouldn't get about too much with Morris."

"Why not?"

"Well, I guess because I tell you not. That's enough for most folk in
these parts."

"It may be enough for most folk; but it ain't enough for me,
Councillor," said McMurdo boldly. "If you are a judge of men, you'll
know that."

The swarthy giant glared at him, and his hairy paw closed for an instant
round the glass as though he would hurl it at the head of his companion.
Then he laughed in his loud, boisterous, insincere fashion.

"You're a queer card, for sure," said he. "Well, if you want reasons,
I'll give them. Did Morris say nothing to you against the lodge?"

"No."

"Nor against me?"

"No."

"Well, that's because he daren't trust you. But in his heart he is not
a loyal brother. We know that well. So we watch him and we wait for
the time to admonish him. I'm thinking that the time is drawing near.
There's no room for scabby sheep in our pen. But if you keep company
with a disloyal man, we might think that you were disloyal, too. See?"

"There's no chance of my keeping company with him; for I dislike the
man," McMurdo answered. "As to being disloyal, if it was any man but you
he would not use the word to me twice."

"Well, that's enough," said McGinty, draining off his glass. "I came
down to give you a word in season, and you've had it."

"I'd like to know," said McMurdo, "how you ever came to learn that I had
spoken with Morris at all?"

McGinty laughed. "It's my business to know what goes on in this
township," said he. "I guess you'd best reckon on my hearing all that
passes. Well, time's up, and I'll just say--"

But his leavetaking was cut short in a very unexpected fashion. With a
sudden crash the door flew open, and three frowning, intent faces glared
in at them from under the peaks of police caps. McMurdo sprang to his
feet and half drew his revolver; but his arm stopped midway as he became
conscious that two Winchester rifles were levelled at his head. A man
in uniform advanced into the room, a six-shooter in his hand. It was
Captain Marvin, once of Chicago, and now of the Mine Constabulary. He
shook his head with a half-smile at McMurdo.

"I thought you'd be getting into trouble, Mr. Crooked McMurdo of
Chicago," said he. "Can't keep out of it, can you? Take your hat and
come along with us."

"I guess you'll pay for this, Captain Marvin," said McGinty. "Who are
you, I'd like to know, to break into a house in this fashion and molest
honest, law-abiding men?"

"You're standing out in this deal, Councillor McGinty," said the police
captain. "We are not out after you, but after this man McMurdo. It is
for you to help, not to hinder us in our duty."

"He is a friend of mine, and I'll answer for his conduct," said the
Boss.

"By all accounts, Mr. McGinty, you may have to answer for your own
conduct some of these days," the captain answered. "This man McMurdo
was a crook before ever he came here, and he's a crook still. Cover him,
Patrolman, while I disarm him."

"There's my pistol," said McMurdo coolly. "Maybe, Captain Marvin, if you
and I were alone and face to face you would not take me so easily."

"Where's your warrant?" asked McGinty. "By Gar! a man might as well live
in Russia as in Vermissa while folk like you are running the police.
It's a capitalist outrage, and you'll hear more of it, I reckon."

"You do what you think is your duty the best way you can, Councillor.
We'll look after ours."

"What am I accused of?" asked McMurdo.

"Of being concerned in the beating of old Editor Stanger at the Herald
office. It wasn't your fault that it isn't a murder charge."

"Well, if that's all you have against him," cried McGinty with a laugh,
"you can save yourself a deal of trouble by dropping it right now. This
man was with me in my saloon playing poker up to midnight, and I can
bring a dozen to prove it."

"That's your affair, and I guess you can settle it in court to-morrow.
Meanwhile, come on, McMurdo, and come quietly if you don't want a gun
across your head. You stand wide, Mr. McGinty; for I warn you I will
stand no resistance when I am on duty!"

So determined was the appearance of the captain that both McMurdo and
his boss were forced to accept the situation. The latter managed to have
a few whispered words with the prisoner before they parted.

"What about--" he jerked his thumb upward to signify the coining plant.

"All right," whispered McMurdo, who had devised a safe hiding place
under the floor.

"I'll bid you good-bye," said the Boss, shaking hands. "I'll see Reilly
the lawyer and take the defense upon myself. Take my word for it that
they won't be able to hold you."

"I wouldn't bet on that. Guard the prisoner, you two, and shoot him if
he tries any games. I'll search the house before I leave."

He did so; but apparently found no trace of the concealed plant. When he
had descended he and his men escorted McMurdo to headquarters. Darkness
had fallen, and a keen blizzard was blowing so that the streets were
nearly deserted; but a few loiterers followed the group, and emboldened
by invisibility shouted imprecations at the prisoner.

"Lynch the cursed Scowrer!" they cried. "Lynch him!" They laughed and
jeered as he was pushed into the police station. After a short, formal
examination from the inspector in charge he was put into the common
cell. Here he found Baldwin and three other criminals of the night
before, all arrested that afternoon and waiting their trial next
morning.

But even within this inner fortress of the law the long arm of the
Freemen was able to extend. Late at night there came a jailer with a
straw bundle for their bedding, out of which he extracted two bottles of
whisky, some glasses, and a pack of cards. They spent a hilarious night,
without an anxious thought as to the ordeal of the morning.

Nor had they cause, as the result was to show. The magistrate could not
possibly, on the evidence, have held them for a higher court. On the one
hand the compositors and pressmen were forced to admit that the light
was uncertain, that they were themselves much perturbed, and that it was
difficult for them to swear to the identity of the assailants; although
they believed that the accused were among them. Cross examined by the
clever attorney who had been engaged by McGinty, they were even more
nebulous in their evidence.

The injured man had already deposed that he was so taken by surprise by
the suddenness of the attack that he could state nothing beyond the fact
that the first man who struck him wore a moustache. He added that he
knew them to be Scowrers, since no one else in the community could
possibly have any enmity to him, and he had long been threatened on
account of his outspoken editorials. On the other hand, it was clearly
shown by the united and unfaltering evidence of six citizens, including
that high municipal official, Councillor McGinty, that the men had been
at a card party at the Union House until an hour very much later than
the commission of the outrage.

Needless to say that they were discharged with something very near to an
apology from the bench for the inconvenience to which they had been put,
together with an implied censure of Captain Marvin and the police for
their officious zeal.

The verdict was greeted with loud applause by a court in which McMurdo
saw many familiar faces. Brothers of the lodge smiled and waved. But
there were others who sat with compressed lips and brooding eyes as the
men filed out of the dock. One of them, a little, dark-bearded, resolute
fellow, put the thoughts of himself and comrades into words as the
ex-prisoners passed him.

"You damned murderers!" he said. "We'll fix you yet!"

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The next morning McMurdo sees a newspaper report detailing the attack; it seems Mr. Stanger survived and recognized some of the men. A note arrives from the landlady. It is unsigned and asks McMurdo to meet Stanger up on Mason Hill. McMurdo has no idea who wrote it, but he walks to the hill out of curiosity. In the isolated area he finds Brother Morris. Morris asks the surprised McMurdo if he can talk to him in confidence. McMurdo is clear that he is loyal to McGinty but will listen to his brother and not squeal on him. Morris goes into an anguished account of the violence he has had to perpetrate; he says that he wants to leave but fears for his wife and kids. He never knew the union was like this, and feels his conscience and religion threatened; he has even been excommunicated. He says the union brings terror to the valley and McMurdo should be aware of that. McMurdo arrogantly says that he is fine, but that he may consider Morris' warning some day. Morris says that before they disband they ought to consider what they will say when asked why they talked; they agree to say that Morris offered McMurdo a clerkship and the young man refused. Later that day McGinty pays McMurdo a visit. They exchange pleasantries and McGinty abruptly asks what he was talking to Morris about. McMurdo laughs, repeats the lie, and sets McGinty's mind at ease when the Bodymaster asks further questions regarding Morris criticizing the union. As they talk the door suddenly bursts open. Captain Marvin and two other men enter forcefully and arrest McMurdo. Despite McGinty's threats, McMurdo is taken away for his involvement in the beating of Stanger. Amazingly, though, nothing comes of the trial. There is no evidence, the witnesses admit the light was unclear and they saw no one definitively, and even Stanger says he saw little. The alibis stand, McMurdo and the others are acquitted, and the police are even implicitly censured. However, the people seem angry with the murderers getting off, and they shake their fists at the Brothers