The fifth of July arrived, but not the men promised from Big Mine Run. Certainly they did not show themselves to the committee of Shenandoah Division, McKenna, John Morris, and Mike Darcy, appointed to receive and lead them up to their victim. To state the whole truth, this committee was purposely dispersed by McKenna, who had no desire to see James killed, and if Dolan’s party came to the picnic there were none present to show them the least attention. It is more than probable they never reached the vicinity. The operative sent Morris to the base-ball ground, on a plea that he should bring home Tom Hurley. Morris at first obeyed orders, but found Hurley so drunk that he could not be forced away, hence went in for a spree on his own account and remained absent until past midnight. Darcy was dispatched in another direction, with a different excuse, and McKenna then waited alone—waited in the city of Shenandoah, where he conferred with Linden, informing him of the plans afloat, and telling him to have his men near the picnic grounds, in case his own schemes to prevent bloodshed should miscarry. Returning to the festivities, after it was entirely too late to expect the Big Mine Run men, the detective continued the watch. Dancing was ended and the lights nearly all put out when he left—and Gomer James had once more made a narrow escape. Why the young man would persist in staying in the neighborhood, after the repeated notifications he had received to leave, or fail to take precautions against sudden surprises, was more than the detectives could easily explain. But the murderous order was more successful in other localities. It never paused or permitted its purposes to entirely fail. The work was often slow, while the assassins stayed their hands from week to week, but in few known instances were attempts, once prepared for, easily abandoned until the task had met at least partial performance. Wm. Thomas was a living evidence of the fact. Time was yet to bring forth many dead and silent witnesses to testify to the same thing. The city of Tamaqua, in Schuylkill County, is a handsome place of five thousand inhabitants, located fifteen miles north-northeast of Pottsville, on the Catawissa Railroad, and connected with the Philadelphia and Reading Railway by a branch from Port Clinton. Like all the larger mountain towns of Pennsylvania, Tamaqua has narrow streets, brick sidewalks, steep ascents and descents, good hotels, fine business and residence structures, and a mixed population, in a great measure dependent upon the mining business for support. There are seven or eight churches, which ring out their musical chimes on the Sabbath day, with the usual complement of banks, offices, and warehouses. Broad Street is a principal thoroughfare. The town, or borough, has its municipal officers, magistrates, and a small city police.