forced
back upon the works they had so recently left. All had happened in the
course of a very few minutes.

George, on his way to his home, some half mile away, had made scarce
half the distance when his ears were assailed by the noise of conflict
somewhere behind him. He stopped and listened, the yells growing
louder and fiercer every instant. Then he darted back towards the pit,
reaching the spot just in time to see his men make a dash for the
shelter of the sheds around the mouth, followed by a howling,
threatening mob.

In a moment the youngster sprang through the entrance of the largest
of the sheds, and closed the door, shooting home the two thick rough
bars of wood that did duty for bolts, amid shouts from his men of "The
young gaffer! We'll all stick to him!" And in spite of his youth,
George was at once installed as captain of the little Fairburn band.
He had always been highly popular with the men of the colliery; they
liked his entire freedom from vain show and swagger, and his
pleasant-spoken manner.

"What have we in the way of weapons, lads?" he asked, taking a hasty
glance round the dimly-lit shed. Darkness was coming on apace even
outside; within the shed the men had to grope their way about.

There was very little that would serve, except a number of pickaxes, a
few shovels, and two or three hayforks belonging to the stables. These
were served out, and then one man found the master's gun, with a
powder-flask and a handful of sparrow shot.

"Better let me have that," said George, quietly relieving the man of
the weapon, the old overlooker approving with a "Aye, that's right;
you'll keep a cooler head than Tom there."

The mob outside surged down on the door in force, and with loud yells.
The door stood the shock, and the major part of the attackers in a
trice turned their attention to the smaller buildings dotted here and
there about the pit's mouth. One by one these sheds were pulled to
pieces, to the ever-increasing delight of the mob. George and his men
were powerless to stop the destruction.

"We must not venture out," the boy said, "unless the scoundrels turn
their attention to the windlasses and the gear."

So his men had to grind their teeth in rage and look on helplessly.

As was expected, the rioters presently came back to the big shed, one
of them, evidently the leader, advancing with a felling-axe.

"Keep back, rascal!" shouted George. "Keep from the door, or I'll put
a few peppe