"Have you heard, Mr. MacGreagor?" Charles interrupted, "Mr. Grantham, the man you sold your mine to, sold it himself not two months ago, and the new owner claims the mine is all played out. He claims Grantham knew it all along and swindled him."

"Good heavens," said Hannish.

Charles continued, "Did you know, Mr. MacGreagor? Did you know the mine was nearly played out when you sold it?"

"Charles, what a thing to ask," Claymore scolded. "Count the man fortunate to have gotten out when he did."

Hannish was not pleased; not with the question or with the insulting way he kept looking at McKenna. "I dinna know. We were turning out several tons of silver ore a day when I sold the mine."

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"Of course, you did not know," Claymore said. "Forgive the boy his manners, Hannish."

Hannish gave Charles ample time to apologize, but Charles was distracted by the platter of potatoes. "I prefer my potatoes mashed," said Charles.

Dugan pulled the platter back, took the serving fork, and smashed three of the potatoes. "Will this do, Sir?" he asked, offering the platter again to Charles.

Charles frowned, but picked up the serving fork anyway. "I suppose it will have to." He failed to notice a slight smile on the face of his host.

"You spoke of trouble in the gold mines, Claymore," said Hannish, taking a roll out of the napkin-lined basket Keith held. "What sort of trouble?"

"The same as always - the union demands more and more for their workers. You were not here when The Western Federation of Miners came into being. I do not blame the union completely, you understand."

"Who do you blame?" McKenna asked. She watched Keith set the breadbasket on the sideboard, pick up a platter, and offer a pork chop to Abigail.

"I blame the greed of certain owners. How did they think they could ask the hard rock miners to work ten hours instead of eight for the same pay? Of course, the minors went on strike, why wouldn't they? We had no choice but to bring in the strikebreakers. That didn't work, so the sheriff deputized and armed 1,200 men. Governor Waite had to settle that one and the mine owners finally relented."

Claymore took a moment to add two pork chops to his plate before he continued, "In the end, eight hours of work per day was agreed upon, just as I said it should be. The owners were the ones who paid the deputies and it was an awful thing that happened after. The twelve hundred ruffians began terrorizing Cripple Creek."

"Terrorizing it how?" McKenna asked.




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