“Phil Nash!” exclaimed Dormer, “what is this you’re afther doin’ now?” “I’ll whip this fellow, or me name’s not Nash!” was the angry response. “Two can play at that trick!” retorted McKenna. Then the combatants came together again, despite the presence of the big pacificator, Nash aiming a swinging blow with his fist upon the detective, but happily missing him. McKenna was more fortunate. His stroke, full at the side of the face of Nash, hit the mark, stopping with force behind his opponent’s left ear, and tumbling him to the floor as if he had been a felled ox. When able to do so, he regained his feet, and, for the second time, essayed to draw his revolver; but Dormer, seizing both the young man’s arms, held him in a vise-like grip, as a mere child, saying: “No you don’t, Phil! You’ve tried that once too often already, and I now recommend ye to drop the matther directly! McKenna, here, is an old-timer, an’ was inside the ring when you were a wee gossoon! An’ you’re breakin’ the rules in attackin’ him!” It was strange to see how quickly Dormer’s words wrought a change in the irate bruiser. He released himself, promising to obey the saloon-keeper, and, saying he’d make it all right, caught both of the operative’s hands in his own, and abjectly begged to be forgiven for his violence. “Sure, an’ I didn’t know ye wur wan of us!” he said. Of course McKenna, who was unhurt, and had not been knocked down, could well afford to be generous, and freely forgave the miner. They exchanged civilities, and drank a noggin with Dormer, to seal peace and reconciliation. During the short walk to the depot, the ensuing day, McKenna was accompanied by Dormer and Kelly, now his warm and inseparable friends. At the train, the tavern-keeper took the detective aside, and gave him, beside the letter to Lawler—which he had previously put in his possession—several separate slips of paper, bearing the names and addresses of a number of leading Mollies. Among them were John Gallagher, of Coaldale, and John Mahoney, _alias_ the Cat, of Gilberton. Each slip contained the information that the bearer was a particular friend of the writer, looking for a job of work. “Jist plaze to remember,” said the Pottsville giant, “that you’re not to brathe a blessed word to any wan, that I tould ye a single point! You see I’m out, at the present, an’ it wouldn’t be the right thing to be makin’ myself too forward like, wid even an old head in the business! So, kape dark! None of ’em will refuse ye help in gettin’ work, depind on that!” “I’ll jist mind well what ye say, an’ many thanks for your kindness, beside!” returned McKenna, as the bell struck thrice, warning passengers that the cars were about to move.