No sure list of dead and wounded for that evening's battle of the Stag will ever be compiled. The guests scattered like a flock of blackbirds. Some fled limping and groaning, others nursing an injured arm, while three or four, too badly hurt to travel, were dragged into nooks of safety by friends who'd come through untouched. There was blood to the east, blood to the west, on the Twenty-eighth Street pavements, and a wounded gentleman was picked up in Broadway, two blocks away. The wounded one, full of a fine prudence and adhering strictly to gang teachings, declared that the bullet which had struck him was a bullet of mystery. Also, he gave his word of honor that, personally, he had never once heard of the Stag. When the police reached the field of battle--wearing the ill-used airs of folk who had been unwarrantably disturbed--they found Casey and Whitey Dutch dead on the floor, and Fog-eye groaning in a corner. To these--counting the injured Brother Bill and the prudent one picked up in Broadway, finally identified as Sanky Dunn--rumor added two dead and eleven wounded. Leoni? The Central Office dicks who met that lamp of loveliness the other evening in Broadway reported her as in abundant spirits, and more beautiful than ever. She had received a letter from McTaffe, she said, who sent his love, and her eyes shone like twin stars because of the joy she felt. “Mack always had a good heart,” said Leoni. Paper-Box Johnny--all in tears--bore sorrowful word of her loss to Mrs. Casey, calling that matron from her slumbers to receive it. Paper-Box managed delicately. “It's time to dig up black!” sobbed Paper-Box; “they've copped Phil. “Copped Phil?” repeated Mrs. Casey, sleepily. “Where is he?” “On a slab in the morgue. Youse'd better chase yourself over.” “All right,” returned Mrs. Casey, making ready to go back to bed, “I will after awhile.” VIII. THE WAGES OF THE SNITCH Knowledge is power, and power is a good thing, as you yourself well know. Since Eve opened the way, and she and Adam paid the price--a high one, I sometimes think--you are entitled to every kind of knowledge. Also, you are entitled to all that you can get. But having acquired knowledge, you are not entitled to peddle it out in secret to Central Office bulls, at a cost of liberty and often life to other men. When you do that you are a snitch, and have thrown away your right to live. Anyone is free to kill you out of hand, having regard only to his own safety. For such is the common law of Gangland. Let me ladle out a cautionary spoonful.