The detective was now competent to encounter modern as well as old-time Mollie Maguires. He apprehended no more trouble from the questions of Dormer, Lawler, or even Jack Kehoe himself, and felt that however imperfect his introductory work with the order in the coal country might have been, he was then prepared to meet all members of the order, and enabled, from his late instructions, to suit his companions. The danger coming from sudden inquiries, made by strangers, he no longer dreaded. Just as well posted in the mysteries of the society as anybody well could be—he had already learned that there were no degrees beyond the initiatory in the Ancient Order—he believed he could work his way into a division, or into the good graces of the people as well as any man with whom he had conversed. In fact, his memory, which was retentive to a degree, treasured every sign and password and toast much better, he discovered, than did the minds of many of his associates, some of whom had joined the body many years before, and who would therefore be presumably far more familiar with its interior workings than a mere tyro in the business. As a general rule his comrades were wholly uneducated, and their laborious occupations debarred mental exercise. In this regard McKenna held an advantage, and was really better qualified for office in the division than any member he had ever met. He had not been long in the order when this was apparent to his friends, and they commenced talking of him in connection with one of the chairs to be vacated at the next annual election. Surely, he must not for the present leave Shenandoah. This was a strangely inconsistent society. Having for the public eye a motto to all appearances as elevated in tone as that of any secret order in the land, and professing the noblest moral principles, its members were, with some exceptions, assassins, murderers, incendiaries, thieves, midnight marauders, gamblers, and men who did not scruple to perform almost any act of violence or cowardice that a depraved nature or abnormal animal instinct might conceive. Having “unity and true Christian charity” as its ostensible guiding-star, its constituent parts were at war each with the other—excepting in the perpetration of dark deeds, in which they stood firmly together—and one member jealous of the power obtained by another. Professing benignity and the utmost benevolence, it was a combination of enmity and malice for purposes of blood and outrage, brutally manufacturing widows and orphans—not caring for and cherishing them. Its adherents were certainly not particular as to the moral endowments of their initiates. McKenna was quickly accepted, yet he had not been at all cautious in concealing from Lawler and his friends that he was—at least, professedly, an escaped manslayer, and one who would not hesitate to deal in counterfeit currency, or pursue any other calling by which money could be made or old grudges repaid.