“Yes! But I must not stop here palaverin’ wid you, when the rest of the boys are on the mountain, jist starvin’ wid hunger and thirst!” “Well, I’ll get some whisky an’ go up wid ye!” “You go wid me? Why, you’re sick, lad; an’ last night I said to Gibbons that ye looked like a passible braze might blow ye away like a flash o’ smoke!” “But I’m betther this mornin’—have passed the crisis of me disase, the docther has it—an’ a bit of exercise will do me no harrum in the worruld!” “Well, if you can sthand it I ken,” said Doyle, and, after securing a little extra clothing for himself, the detective started for Ringtown Mountain. Happily, the spot was no more than three hundred yards distant from Cooney’s residence, and they were soon in the presence of Hurley, Gibbons, and Morris, who were found sitting upon logs, rocks, and the ground, all covered with dust and perspiration, completely exhausted by their morning’s work and the succeeding rapid journey from the Patch to Shenandoah. Tom Hurley was the first to talk of the murder. In answer to McKenna’s query, he said, in substance: “Oh, Bully Bill’s safe enough for the coroner by this time! When we got to Mahanoy City, we went direct to Mike O’Brien’s house, as told by Frank McAndrew, an’ Mike took us to Mrs. Costello’s, where he got us some whisky and somethin’ to eat, and a bottle of the raal stuff to take wid us, an’ about daylight, with his directions, we started for the Patch, where Thomas lived. We went and sat by the drift-mouth, an’ watched Thomas’ house until he came out and went up to the colliery stable, the big doors of which were sprung wide open. After he had been in a while, an’ talked wid the stable boss, an’ the boss had left, we jist walked slowly up to the place. I stepped into the side door of the stable, through the blacksmith’s shop, an’ Gibbons in the other, an’ blazed away at him, as he stood, wid one hand on a horse’s mane. The fellow was game to the last. He had no weapon, but he just threw his black hat in my face, an’ then, after bein’ hit three or four times, ran behind the horses. I fired again, an’ he was worse hit, an’ rather staggered. After that, Gibbons and Doyle sent him three or four, an’ he fell, so did wan of the horses, an’ then John Morris, he came up, put in his pistol an’ fired the last shot. Bully Bill never said wan word afther that, but lay quiet like, partly under the horse that was down. I have an idea that Bill Thomas won’t shoot any more of us in this world. He’s surely done for!”