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