"Clang clang clang," the sound of hammering rose in the mining camp, where miners labored vigorously, while several overseers watched maliciously from the side, ready to mercilessly whip anyone who slacked off.
Old Marlon, dripping with sweat, knocked off a chunk of iron ore and struggled to carry it aside. If he moved too slowly, he immediately received a lash.
"Crack!"
Old Marlon turned his head to see an overseer, cursing and barking, named Ross, shouting, "Old Marlon, can't you move any faster? If everyone worked like you, this mining camp would've shut down long ago!"
Old Marlon glanced at him but ignored the comment. He had been working here for many years and was one of the most senior miners. He wasn't afraid of the overseers; he did as much work as he was paid for.
With a "thud," he dumped the ore onto the pile and, without looking at Ross, turned and went back to the wall of the mine to continue mining in silence.
