A well-built cottage on the main, forward-going road that led from the gate to an inner stockade, was probably headquarters for the chief engineers.
Not one sign of conscious life appeared.

Men were lying here, there, in the roadways, in the porches, in the shadow of the power-plant where dynamos were still merrily singing.

Few were armed.

Most of them here were workers, judging by their garb and by the tools still in some hands.
The four pioneers gave them no heed, but pushed steadily on.

In the road lay a couple of pigeons, farther on a sparrow, and still farther a sleeping dog, showed how complete had been the effect of the lethal pellets.
The inner stockade was now close.