A miner rushes up the bank on the left to get out of the range of the police on that side. He is riddled by the bullets from the opposite side. Another dives into a snow bank; it affords him no protection. "Pot that woodchuck," shouts Captain Grout to one of his men. A bullet is sent into the hole. The miner springs to his feet; then drops dead. The line of carnage is now stretched out for two hundred yards. There is no return fire. So the armed police come out from cover and pursue their victims. The police have lost all self-control. Each man is acting on his own responsibility. Of the ten miners who run toward Harleigh, not one is spared. Three lie in the road; the snow about them tinged with their life's blood. Another is clinging with a death grip to a stunted tree, which he caught as he staggered forward, with three bullets in the back. "Mercy! mercy!" cry several of the miners. But their wail is lost on the ears of the Coal and Iron Police. The police are there to kill, not to grant mercy. Now a miner falls on his knees and prays to God for protection. This attitude of submission is not heeded; a bullet topples him over. With their hands above their head, some of the men walk deliberately toward the deputies. Indians will recognize this as the sign of surrender, and will give quarter. But the deputies, with unerring aim, shoot down the voluntary captive. It would not be so terrible if the miners were returning the fire, if they were offering any resistance. But they are absolutely unarmed. Their mission has been to present a petition to the miners of Harleigh. The slaves of the South had enjoyed the right of petition. How could these twentieth century miners anticipate that the sheriff would massacre them on the highway for seeking to present a petition? "Have you shot any one?" asks one of the deputies of his nearest companion. "Shot any one! Well, I should think I had. I've seen four drop. Here goes a fifth." To stand, to run, to fall to the ground, all are equally futile as means of escape. Extermination is all that will stay the fire of the police. Sheriff Marlin and Captain Grout stand in the middle of the road. Metz, O'Connor, and Nevins, a mine foreman, are standing beside them. O'Connor carries the white flag; Nevins the National emblem. "Disarm those men," Marlin directs the Captain. "Disarm them?" Captain Grout repeats, inquiringly. "Certainly. They have sticks in their hands." Two deputies, who have exhausted their supply of cartridges in their magazine rifles, stop reloading and rush upon Nevins. They beat him over the head with their rifle butts. The flag is snatched out of his hands. O'Connor is dealt a blow an instant later. The subjugation of the unarmed miners is accomplished. One by one the Coal and Iron Police return. Some of them bring in captives who have escaped death, but who still have felt the sting of the bullets.