t all self-control. Each man is acting on his own
responsibility.

Of the ten miners who run toward Harleigh, not one is spared. Three lie
in the road; the snow about them tinged with their life's blood. Another
is clinging with a death grip to a stunted tree, which he caught as he
staggered forward, with three bullets in the back.

"Mercy! mercy!" cry several of the miners. But their wail is lost on the
ears of the Coal and Iron Police. The police are there to kill, not to
grant mercy.

Now a miner falls on his knees and prays to God for protection.

This attitude of submission is not heeded; a bullet topples him over.

With their hands above their head, some of the men walk deliberately
toward the deputies. Indians will recognize this as the sign of
surrender, and will give quarter. But the deputies, with unerring aim,
shoot down the voluntary captive.

It would not be so terrible if the miners were returning the fire, if
they were offering any resistance. But they are absolutely unarmed.
Their mission has been to present a petition to the miners of Harleigh.
The slaves of the South had enjoyed the right of petition. How could
these twentieth century miners anticipate that the sheriff would
massacre them on the highway for seeking to present a petition?

"Have you shot any one?" asks one of the deputies of his nearest
companion.

"Shot any one! Well, I should think I had. I've seen four drop. Here
goes a fifth."

To stand, to run, to fall to the ground, all are equally futile as means
of escape. Extermination is all that will stay the fire of the police.

Sheriff Marlin and Captain Grout stand in the middle of the road. Metz,
O'Connor, and Nevins, a mine foreman, are standing beside them.

O'Connor carries the white flag; Nevins the National emblem.

"Disarm those men," Marlin directs the Captain.

"Disarm them?" Captain Grout repeats, inquiringly.

"Certainly. They have sticks in their hands."

Two deputies, who have exhausted their supply of cartridges in their