The night that followed was so quiet that Harvey believed the strikers had been awed by his threat to appeal to the law and by the determined front of the new men.

“It’s a dear lesson,” he said to himself, “but they need it, and it is high time it was taught to them.”

The next morning the whistle sent out its ear-splitting screech, whose echoes swung back and forth, like so many pendulums between the hills, but to the amazement of Harvey Bradley, not a person was seen coming toward the mills.  The whistle called them again, and Hugh O’Hara and Tom Hansell strolled leisurely up the street to the office, where Mr. Bradley wonderingly awaited them.

“You’ll have to blow that whistle a little louder,” said O’Hara, with a tantalizing grin.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Those chaps all left town last night; they must be about forty miles away; you see we explained matters to them; I don’t think, if I was you, I would feel bad about it; they believe they can get along better at Carville than at Bardstown.”

For the first time since the trouble began, Harvey Bradley lost his temper.  To be defied and taunted in this manner was more than he could bear.  He vowed over again that not one of the strikers should do another day’s work for him, even if he begged for it on his knees and he was starving.  He at once telegraphed to Vining, fully one hundred miles away, where he knew there were many people idle, for one hundred men who would not only come, but stay.  He preferred those who knew something about the business, but the first need was that the men would remain at their posts, and if necessary fight for their positions.  He guaranteed larger wages than he had ever paid experienced hands, but he wanted no man who would not help hold the fort against all comers.  The superintendent was on his mettle; he meant to win.

Having sent off this message, for which it cannot be denied, Harvey had every legal and moral warrant, he set out on a long tramp through the woods at the rear of Bardstown.  It was a crisp autumn day, and the long brisk walk did him much good.  The glow came to his cheeks, his blood was warmed, and his brain cleared by the invigorating exercise.  So much indeed did he enjoy it that he kept it up until, to his surprise, he saw that it was growing dark, and he was several miles from home.

It was snowing, though not heavily.  He walked fast, but, when night had fully come, paused with the uncomfortable discovery that he was hopelessly lost in the woods.

“Well, this is pleasant!” he exclaimed, looking around in vain for some landmark in the gloom.  “I believe I shall have to spend the night out doors, though I seem to be following some sort of path.”

He struck a match, shading it with his hand from the chilly wind, and stooped down.  Yes; there was an unmistakable trail, and with renewed hope he hurried on, taking care not to stray to either side.  Within the next ten minutes, to his delight, he caught the twinkle of a star-like point of light among the trees, a short distance ahead.