The little town of Nanty Glo* in west Pennsylvania's Blacklick Valley lay deserted in the rain. On Roberts Street, where most of the town's stores are, trade was at a standstill. A few women in cloth coats, hunched under umbrellas, trudged through the cold downpour that denied the spring time promise of the imperceptibly greening hills. The rain came down ceaselessly, sluicing and gurgling through the empty back yards, past privies and chicken coops, under the broken wooden sidewalks, running at last into the muddy waters of Blacklick Creek, the narrow stream that bisects the town.
Here, at Nanty Glo last...
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