The news that two miners and a boy had probably been killed spread through the village rapidly, and Cale Billings was in Taylor's groggery when one of the late rioters brought the intelligence.
"It's a wonder they don't accuse us of havin' somethin' to do with the accident," the newcomer added, and the proprietor said sternly:
"I don't want to drive customers away, but if any who come here have had a hand in murder, they'd better not show their heads 'round this place again."
Billings looked disturbed, but made no reply. Although having had no direct share in the crime, he knew he was really an accomplice, and the knowledge that Taylor might inform against him was by no means pleasant.
It was eight o'clock in the evening when Skip ventured to come down from the hillside, and he looked like a boy who had been very ill. Even at this late hour he did not dare to walk through the village, but skulked around the outskirts until he saw Chunky, whom he hailed in a whisper.
"Where have you been?" Fred's chute mate asked in surprise.
"I had some work on the other side of the hill."
"Have you been there all day?"
"Yes. Jest got back. Are those fellows dead!"
Ordinarily Chunky was not quick to arrive at conclusions, but now he asked in a suspicious tone: