On the countenances of the men can be read the exultation of their hearts, that at least one of their tyrants has encountered his Nemesis. Faces here and there are wreathed in smiles, as though their possessors were hastening to a fete. Some are grave, for the thought of the retribution that the Magnates will demand, and which they knew so well how to secure, is enough to bring a pallor to the cheek. There are men in the eddying thousands who have felt the hot lead of Latimer and Hazleton burn into their backs and the recollection makes them shudder. They are again upon a highway, but is this a protection against the violence of their masters? They are now, as then, unarmed, but is this a safeguard against the rifles of the hirelings?
From the bridge that connects the shores of the river, to the mansion of the Coal King, is a distance of two miles. The broad avenue affords an excellent concourse and down it the throng fairly runs. They traverse the distance in twenty minutes.
An army advancing into an enemy's country could not preserve better order. Far in advance of the main body of the toilers is the vanguard, a group of twenty of the acknowledged leaders of the men. It is at their suggestion that the cowed wretches have mustered up courage enough to cross the bridge and enter upon the interdicted boulevard. So it is incumbent upon them to show no trepidation.
Immediately behind them are the more adventurous ones, followed by the women and children, who, like angels, tread where men fear to go. The great mass of the crowd is composed of the workmen of the town. The faint-hearted and the cowardly bring up the rear. When the marble steps that lead up to the mansion are reached, the vanguard halts. The impetus of the entire line is arrested as if by magic. An unheard, invisible signal is obeyed, the signal of fear. Then the men in advance beckon to the people to come forward.
A score of young men respond as if to a summons for volunteers, and in their wake press the multitude.
The tumult ceases. The moment for action is approaching and men concentrate their attention on what is being done by the leaders.
"I have come for the body of Carl Metz," shouts Foreman O'Neil, from the foot of the terrace; his voice ringing with a tone of defiance.
"I have come for the body, and if you do not bring it out we will go in after it."
This ultimatum is addressed to the private detective who stands on the piazza of the Coal Magnate's palace, as a sentinel.
He does not seem disconcerted at the sight of so great a number of people. On the contrary his mouth curls in a derisive smile.