McKenna was the most eccentric and savage appearing Mollie Maguire in the whole seven hundred. His old, soft hat, knocked in at the sides, yellow hair flying wildly in the breeze, a long, patched, gray coat, with two revolvers in his belt, beside a big hickory club which he carried in his hand; even the men from Chicago looked upon him as a prominent target to receive the contents of their already directed weapons. By the side of the detective was a sleek bull-terrier, which he had carefully raised and just brought out, trained ready for the pit, its tongue protruding, and showing the white teeth appearing fully as murderous and ugly as his master. The Mollies knew—if the rest did not—that each one of those bright gun-barrels could send sixteen deadly messengers into their ranks without reloading. They also knew that Linden—“Captain Jack,” as he there received christening—was at the head of the force and would fight to the last drop of blood in his body. His rifle would be aimed with those of his followers. Walker realized the gravity of the situation in a moment, and did not repeat his order. Soon there was a whisper of consultation. McKenna suggested that “twenty times sixteen wor three hundred an’ twenty, an’ that was the number that must fall before them Winchesters were exhausted! An’ wur it all worth even fifty lives?” The Marshal and other leading men thought not, and, scowling fiercely back at Linden and his Spartan band, they quietly moved on, in the direction of the bridge, leaving the breaker undisturbed. The muzzles of the Winchesters and the faces of the men behind them showed that the police were not to be trifled with. The mob had decided—and wisely too—it was not a propitious moment to compel Linden and his men to retire—that another time might as well be selected for seizing the colliery and forcing a suspension of work. Jack Delaney, Peirce Walker, Ben Johnson, Fitzpatrick, and John Gibbons, who had all been industrious in raising and organizing the rabble, it was noticed, found themselves among the foremost to recognize the force there was in Linden’s metallic argument. The awkward squad surged along toward Mahanoy City, forcing those it encountered to join the ranks. At Hazleton a prisoner was rescued, and the law defied. Fox’s Colliery, which had begun to work, was stopped by force, and the men driven home. The owners of Bowman’s Colliery, hearing that the crowd was coming, sent off their miners and discontinued operations before the advance guard hove in sight. The Sheriff made a stand, with a few men, at Jackson’s Hill, but he was derided, loudly cursed; and the communists marched onward in spite of the law and its minions. The Foundry Colliery was stopped, and its men ran away in a fright. Soon word was brought that three hundred men, from the vicinity of Hazleton, had already entered Mahanoy City, caused a disturbance, and some of their number been arrested by the police and placed in the lock up.