Her suggestion is followed by a score of other trembling wretches. The
strangest shroud that ever wrapped mortal remains is used in the
interment.
The bodies of Metz and Purdy are still being carried by the miners. Now
a priest who has accompanied the funeral from the time it crossed the
bridge, is escorted through the crowd to the edge of the grave.
"Will you conduct the burial service over these two bodies?" Trueman
asks of the man of God.
"Neither was prepared for death," protests the priest.
"That is all the more reason for your offering up prayers for their
souls."
"Were they of my faith?" inquires the priest.
"They are dead now and faith has nothing to do with the matter. We want
you as a Christian to pronounce the words of the burial service over
these bodies."
"One of these men was a murderer," further protests the priest.
"Which one?" demands Trueman.
"They say Mete killed German Purdy," is the response.
"And a hundred men within call of us will tell you that Gorman Purdy
killed fifty men in his time," retorts a bystander. These words, so
bitter yet so just, would be cruel indeed for the ears of Ethel Purdy;
but she has lapsed into semi-consciousness. Harvey still holds her in
his arms; he seems oblivious of the burden he has borne for more than a
mile and a half.
"I cannot go through the forms of the church over the grave of these
men," the priest declares emphatically.
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