“Look here, Walker,” he began at once, his quick temper rising anew as he thought of the story Sanny Robertson had told him.  “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to get out of here and away from the place; and if you are not gone in that time I shall inform the police.  I know the whole story regarding the setting of the contracts.  Sanny has told me, and if I was doing right I would not give you a single minute.”

Walker seemed to calm down all at once, and his eyes became cringing as those of a kicked cur as he stood before the angry mine-owner.

“But I hinna telt you a’ he has done,” said Sanny Robertson, who came up just then in time to hear Mr. Rundell’s words.  “The dirty black-hearted brute murdered Geordie Sinclair.  He telt me himsel’ one nicht at the time when we were drinkin’ together.  He kent a’ aboot Geordie workin’ on the boss ground an’ sent him to his death to get rid of him because in a soft moment I had telt Geordie hoo the contracts were set.  He was feart Geordie wad tell you.  He’s a black-hearted murderer, an’ noo he has added Mag’s death to his list o’ damnation.  Tak’ that! an’ that! you dirty villain!  I’ll save the hangman the bother o’ feenishin’ you!” and Sanny was upon Walker tearing at him like a cat, and clawing his face with his nails, punching, biting and kicking him as hard as he could drive his hands and feet.

The attack was so sudden that Walker went down, and Sanny was on top of him before anyone could intervene.

“I’ll tear the thrapple oot o’ you, you dirty swine!” he squealed, as he tugged at Black Jock’s throat.

Mr. Rundell and a couple of laborers soon pulled Sanny up, though he struggled to maintain his hold upon the throat of his adversary.

“Let me at him,” he yelled, striving to get free.  “Let me at him, an’ I’ll save the hangman a guid lot o’ bother stretchin’ his dirty neck!  Oh, you swine!  You dirty murderin’ beast!” he shrieked, as he tried to break away from the restraining hands which held him.

But Sanny was soon overpowered, and Walker, bounding to his feet, was off up the railway towards his home, terror filling his heart, and his mind reeling with fear.

Mr. Rundell quickly organized a band of men to descend the shaft and recover Mag’s body, and soon the whole village was in possession of the news, and the excitement was intense.

They gathered her up, a mass of dirty, pulpy flesh, scraping the remains together and shoveling them into a rude improvised box, the head and eyes being the only part of the body that resembled anything like a human being.

“Hell to my sowl, but this is the warst job that ever I got,” said Archie Braidhurst, as he scraped a mass of blood and bones, mud and rags, together.  “It’s a hell o’ a daith to dee.”

“Ay, puir lassie,” replied Adam Lindsay.  “She’s made a splash at the hinner end.  Mag ay cried that it was best to mak’ a splash aboot the things you did; but, by sirs, she has made yin this time.  What an awfu’ mess!”