Book + 

IV + 

The Will of King Coal + 

I + 

The pit of death was giving up its secrets. The hoist was busy, and cage-load after cage-load came up, with bodies dead and bodies living and bodies only to be classified after machines had pumped air into them for a while. Hal stood in the rain and watched the crowd and thought that he had never witnessed a scene so compelling to pity and terror. The silence that would fall when anyone appeared who might have news to tell! The sudden shriek of anguish from some woman whose hopes were struck dead! The moans of sympathy that ran through the crowd, alternating with cheers at some good tidings, shaking the souls of the multitude as a storm of wind shakes a reed-field! + 

And the stories that ran through the camp⁠—brought up from the underground world⁠—stories of incredible sufferings, and of still more incredible heroisms! Men who had been four days without food or water, yet had resisted being carried out of the mine, proposing to stay and help rescue others! Men who had lain together in the darkness and silence, keeping themselves alive by the water which seeped from the rocks overhead, taking turns lying face upwards where the drops fell, or wetting pieces of their clothing and sucking out the moisture! Members of the rescue parties would tell how they knocked upon the barriers, and heard the faint answering signals of the imprisoned men; how madly they toiled to cut through, and how, when at last a little hole appeared, they heard the cries of joy, and saw the eyes of men shining from the darkness, while they waited, gasping, for the hole to grow bigger, so that water and food might be passed in! + 

In some places they were fighting the fire. Long lines of hose had been sent down, and men were moving forward foot by foot, as the smoke and steam were sucked out ahead of them by the fan. Those who did this work were taking their lives in their hands, yet they went without hesitation. There was always hope of finding men in barricaded rooms beyond. + 

Hal sought out Jeff Cotton at the entrance to the tipple-room, which had been turned into a temporary hospital. It was the first time the two had met since the revelation in Percy’s car, and the camp-marshal’s face took on a rather sheepish grin. “Well, Mr. Warner, you win,” he remarked; and after a little arguing he agreed to permit a couple of women to go into the tipple-room and make a list of the injured, and go out and give the news to the crowd. Hal went to the Minettis to ask Mary Burke to attend to this; but Rosa said that Mary had gone out after he and Miss Arthur had left, and no one knew where she was. So Hal went to Mrs. David, who consented to get a couple of friends, and do the work without being called a “committee.” “I won’t have any damned committees!” the camp-marshal had declared. + 

So the night passed, and part of another day. A clerk from the office came to Hal with a sealed envelope, containing a telegram, addressed in care of Cartwright. “I most urgently beg of you to come home at once. It will be distressing to Dad if he hears what has happened, and it will not be possible to keep the matter from him for long.” + 

As Hal read, he frowned; evidently the Harrigans had got busy without delay! He went to the office and telephoned his answer. “Am planning to leave in a day or two. Trust you will make an effort to spare Dad until you have heard my story.” + 

This message troubled Hal. It started in his mind long arguments with his brother, and explanations and apologies to his father. He loved the old man tenderly. What a shame if some emissary of the Harrigans were to get to him to upset him with misrepresentations! + 

Also these ideas had a tendency to make Hal homesick; they brought more vividly to his thoughts the outside world, with its physical allurements⁠—there being a limit to the amount of unwholesome meals and dirty beds and repulsive sights a man of refinement can force himself to endure. Hal found himself obsessed by a vision of a club dining-room, with odours of grilled steaks and hot rolls, and the colours of salads and fresh fruits and cream. The conviction grew suddenly strong in him that his work in North Valley was nearly done! + 

Another night passed, and another day. The last of the bodies had been brought out, and the corpses shipped down to Pedro for one of those big wholesale funerals which are a feature of mine-life. The fire was out, and the rescue-crews had given place to a swarm of carpenters and timbermen, repairing the damage and making the mine safe. The reporters had gone; Billy Keating having clasped Hal’s hand, and promised to meet him for luncheon at the club. An agent of the “Red Cross” was on hand, and was feeding the hungry out of Mrs. Curtis’s subscription-list. What more was there for Hal to do⁠—except to bid goodbye to his friends, and assure them of his help in the future? + 

First among these friends was Mary Burke, whom he had had no chance to talk to since the meeting with Jessie. He realised that Mary had been deliberately avoiding him. She was not in her home, and he went to inquire at the Rafferties’, and stopped for a goodbye chat with the old woman whose husband he had saved. + 

Rafferty was going to pull through. His wife had been allowed in to see him, and tears rolled down her shrunken cheeks as she told about it. He had been four days and nights blocked up in a little tunnel, with no food or water, save for a few drops of coffee which he had shared with other men. He could still not speak, he could hardly move a hand; but there was life in his eyes, and his look had been a greeting from the soul she had loved and served these thirty years and more. Mrs. Rafferty sang praises to the Rafferty God, who had brought him safely through these perils; it seemed obvious that He must be more efficient than the Protestant God of Johannson, the giant Swede, who had lain by Rafferty’s side and given up the ghost. + 

But the doctor had stated that the old Irishman would never be good to work again; and Hal saw a shadow of terror cross the sunshine of Mrs. Rafferty’s rejoicing. How could a doctor say a thing like that? Rafferty was old, to be sure; but he was tough⁠—and could any doctor imagine how hard a man would try who had a family looking to him? Sure, he was not the one to give up for a bit of pain now and then! Besides him, there was only Tim who was earning; and though Tim was a good lad, and worked steady, any doctor ought to know that a big family could not be kept going on the wages of one eighteen-year-old pit-boy. As for the other lads, there was a law that said they were too young to work. Mrs. Rafferty thought there should be someone to put a little sense into the heads of them that made the laws⁠—for if they wanted to forbid children to work in coal-mines, they should surely provide some other way to feed the children. + 

Hal listened, agreeing sympathetically, and meantime watching her, and learning more from her actions than from her words. She had been obedient to the teachings of her religion, to be fruitful and multiply; she had fed three grown sons into the maw of industry, and had still eight children and a man to care for. Hal wondered if she had ever rested a single minute of daylight in all her fifty-four years. Certainly not while he had been in her house! Even now, while praising the Rafferty God and blaming the capitalist lawmakers, she was getting a supper, moving swiftly, silently, like a machine. She was lean as an old horse that has toiled across a desert; the skin over her cheekbones was tight as stretched rubber, and cords stood out in her wrists like piano-wires. + 

And now she was cringing before the spectre of destitution. He asked what she would do about it, and saw the shadow of terror cross her face again. There was one recourse from starvation, it seemed⁠—to have her children taken from her, and put in some institution! At the mention of this, one of the special nightmares of the poor, the old woman began to sob and cry again that the doctor was wrong; he would see, and Hal would see⁠—Old Rafferty would be back at his job in a week or two! + 

II + 

Hal went out on the street again. It was the hour which would have been sunset in a level region; the tops of the mountains were touched with a purple light, and the air was fresh and chill with early fall. Down the darkening streets he saw a gathering of men; there was shouting, and people running towards the place, so he hurried up, with the thought in his mind, “What’s the matter now?” There were perhaps a hundred men crying out, their voices mingling like the sound of waves on the sea. He could make out words: “Go on! Go on! We’ve had enough of it! Hurrah!” + 

“What’s happened?” he asked, of someone on the outskirts; and the man, recognising him, raised a cry which ran through the throng: “Joe Smith! He’s the boy for us! Come in here, Joe! Give us a speech!” + 

But even while Hal was asking questions, trying to get the situation clear, other shouts had drowned out his name. “We’ve had enough of them walking over us!” And somebody cried, more loudly, “Tell us about it! Tell it again! Go on!” + 

A man was standing upon the steps of a building at one side. Hal stared in amazement; it was Tim Rafferty. Of all people in the world⁠—Tim, the lighthearted and simple, Tim of the laughing face and the merry Irish blue eyes! Now his sandy hair was tousled and his features distorted with rage. “Him near dead!” he yelled. “Him with his voice gone, and couldn’t move his hand! Eleven years he’s slaved for them, and near killed in an accident that’s their own fault⁠—every man in this crowd knows it’s their own fault, by God!” + 

“Sure thing! You’re right!” cried a chorus of voices “Tell it all!” + 

“They give him twenty-five dollars and his hospital expenses⁠—and what’ll his hospital expenses be? They’ll have him out on the street again before he’s able to stand. You know that⁠—they done it to Pete Cullen!” + 

“You bet they did!” + 

“Them damned lawyers in there⁠—gettin’ ’em to sign papers when they don’t know what they’re doin’. An’ me that might help him can’t get near! By Christ, I say it’s too much! Are we slaves, or are we dogs, that we have to stand such things?” + 

“We’ll stand no more of it!” shouted one. “We’ll go in there and see to it ourselves!” + 

“Come on!” shouted another. “To hell with their gunmen!” + 

Hal pushed his way into the crowd. “Tim!” he cried. “How do you know this?” + 

“There’s a fellow in there seen it.” + 

“Who?” + 

“I can’t tell you⁠—they’d fire him; but it’s somebody you know as well as me. He come and told me. They’re beatin’ me old father out of damages!” + 

“They do it all the time!” shouted Wauchope, an English miner at Hal’s side. “That’s why they won’t let us in there.” + 

“They done the same thing to my father!” put in another voice. Hal recognised Andy, the Greek boy. + 

“And they want to start Number Two in the mornin’!” yelled Tim. “Who’ll go down there again? And with Alec Stone, him that damns the men and saves the mules!” + 

“We’ll not go back in them mines till they’re safe!” shouted Wauchope. “Let them sprinkle them⁠—or I’m done with the whole business.” + 

“And let ’em give us our weights!” cried another. “We’ll have a check-weighman, and we’ll get what we earn!” + 

So again came the cry, “Joe Smith! Give us a speech, Joe! Soak it to ’em! You’re the boy!” + 

Hal stood helpless, dismayed. He had counted his fight won⁠—and here was another beginning! The men were looking to him, calling upon him as the boldest of the rebels. Only a few of them knew about the sudden change in his fortunes. + 

Even while he hesitated, the line of battle had swept past him; the Englishman, Wauchope, sprang upon the steps and began to address the throng. He was one of the bowed and stunted men, but in this emergency he developed sudden lung-power. Hal listened in astonishment; this silent and dull-looking fellow was the last he would have picked for a fighter. Tom Olson had sounded him out, and reported that he would hear nothing, so they had dismissed him from mind. And here he was, shouting terrible defiance! + 

“They’re a set of robbers and murderers! They rob us everywhere we turn! For my part, I’ve had enough of it! Have you?” + 

There was a roar from everyone within reach of his voice. They had all had enough. + 

“All right, then⁠—we’ll fight them!” + 

“Hurrah! Hurrah! We’ll have our rights!” + 

Jeff Cotton came up on the run, with “Bud” Adams and two or three of the gunmen at his heels. The crowd turned upon them, the men on the outskirts clenching their fists, showing their teeth like angry dogs. Cotton’s face was red with rage, but he saw that he had a serious matter in hand; he turned and went for more help⁠—and the mob roared with delight. Already they had begun their fight! Already they had won their first victory! + 

III + 

The crowd moved down the street, shouting and cursing as it went. Someone started to sing the “Marseillaise,” and others took it up, and the words mounted to a frenzy: + 

“To arms! To arms, ye brave! + 

March on, march on, all hearts resolved + 

On victory or death!” + 

There were the oppressed of many nations in this crowd; they sang in a score of languages, but it was the same song. They would sing a few bars, and the yells of others would drown them out. “March on! March on! All hearts resolved!” Some rushed away in different directions to spread the news, and very soon the whole population of the village was on the spot; the men waving their caps, the women lifting up their hands and shrieking⁠—or standing terrified, realising that babies could not be fed upon revolutionary singing. + 

Tim Rafferty was raised up on the shoulders of the crowd and made to tell his story once more. While he was telling it, his old mother came running, and her shrieks rang above the clamour: “Tim! Tim! Come down from there! What’s the matter wid ye?” She was twisting her hands together in an agony of fright; seeing Hal, she rushed up to him. “Get him out of there, Joe! Sure, the lad’s gone crazy! They’ll turn us out of the camp, they’ll give us nothin’ at all⁠—and what’ll become of us? Mother of God, what’s the matter with the b’y?” She called to Tim again; but Tim paid no attention, if he heard her. Tim was on the march to Versailles! + 

Someone shouted that they would go to the hospital to protect the injured men from the “damned lawyers.” Here was something definite, and the crowd moved in that direction, Hal following with the stragglers, the women and children, and the less bold among the men. He noticed some of the clerks and salaried employees of the company; presently he saw Jeff Cotton again, and heard him ordering these men to the office to get revolvers. + 

“Big Jack” David came along with Jerry Minetti, and Hal drew back to consult with them. Jerry was on fire. It had come⁠—the revolt he had been looking forward to for years! Why were they not making speeches, getting control of the men and organising them? + 

Jack David voiced uncertainty. They had to consider if this outburst could mean anything permanent. + 

Jerry answered that it would mean what they chose to make it mean. If they took charge, they could guide the men and hold them together. Wasn’t that what Tom Olson had wanted? + 

No, said the big Welshman, Olson had been trying to organise the men secretly, as preliminary to a revolt in all the camps. That was quite another thing from an open movement, limited to one camp. Was there any hope of success for such a movement? If not, they would be foolish to start, they would only be making sure of their own expulsion. + 

Jerry turned to Hal. What did he think? + 

And so at last Hal had to speak. It was hard for him to judge, he said. He knew so little about labour matters. It was to learn about them that he had come to North Valley. It was a hard thing to advise men to submit to such treatment as they had been getting; but on the other hand, anyone could see that a futile outbreak would discourage everybody, and make it harder than ever to organise them. + 

So much Hal spoke; but there was more in his mind, which he could not speak. He could not say to these men, “I am a friend of yours, but I am also a friend of your enemy, and in this crisis I cannot make up my mind to which side I owe allegiance. I’m bound by a duty of politeness to the masters of your lives; also, I’m anxious not to distress the girl I am to marry!” No, he could not say such things. He felt himself a traitor for having them in his mind, and he could hardly bring himself to look these men in the eye. Jerry knew that he was in some way connected with the Harrigans; probably he had told the rest of Hal’s friends, and they had been discussing it and speculating about the meaning of it. Suppose they should think he was a spy? + 

So Hal was relieved when Jack David spoke firmly. They would only be playing the game of the enemy if they let themselves be drawn in prematurely. They ought to have the advice of Tom Olson. + 

Where was Olson? Hal asked; and David explained that on the day when Hal had been thrown out of camp, Olson had got his “time” and set out for Sheridan, the local headquarters of the union, to report the situation. He would probably not come back; he had got his little group together, he had planted the seed of revolt in North Valley. + 

They discussed back and forth the problem of getting advice. It was impossible to telephone from North Valley without everything they said being listened to; but the evening train for Pedro left in a few minutes, and “Big Jack” declared that someone ought to take it. The town of Sheridan was only fifteen or twenty miles from Pedro, and there would be a union official there to advise them; or they might use the long distance telephone, and persuade one of the union leaders in Western City to take the midnight train, and be in Pedro next morning. + 

Hal, still hoping to withdraw himself, put this task off on Jack David. They emptied out the contents of their pockets, so that he might have funds enough, and the big Welshman darted off to catch the train. In the meantime Jerry and Hal agreed to keep in the background, and to seek out the other members of their group and warn them to do the same. + 

IV + 

This programme was a convenient one for Hal; but as he was to find almost at once, it had been adopted too late. He and Jerry started after the crowd, which had stopped in front of one of the company buildings; and as they came nearer they heard someone making a speech. It was the voice of a woman, the tones rising clear and compelling. They could not see the speaker, because of the throng, but Hal recognised her voice, and caught his companion by the arm. “It’s Mary Burke!” + 

Mary Burke it was, for a fact; and she seemed to have the crowd in a kind of frenzy. She would speak one sentence, and there would come a roar from the throng; she would speak another sentence, and there would come another roar. Hal and Jerry pushed their way in, to where they could make out the words of this litany of rage. + 

“Would they go down into the pit themselves, do ye think?” + 

“They would not!” + 

“Would they be dressed in silks and laces, do ye think?” + 

“They would not!” + 

“Would they have such fine soft hands, do ye think?” + 

“They would not!” + 

“Would they hold themselves too good to look at ye?” + 

“They would not! They would not!” + 

And Mary swept on: “If only ye’d stand together, they’d come to ye on their knees to ask for terms! But ye’re cowards, and they play on your fears! Ye’re traitors, and they buy ye out! They break ye into pieces, they do what they please with ye⁠—and then ride off in their private cars, and leave gunmen to beat ye down and trample on your faces! How long will ye stand it? How long?” + 

The roar of the mob rolled down the street and back again. “We’ll not stand it! We’ll not stand it!” Men shook their clenched fists, women shrieked, even children shouted curses. “We’ll fight them! We’ll slave no more for them!” + 

And Mary found a magic word. “We’ll have a union!” she shouted. “We’ll get together and stay together! If they refuse us our rights, we’ll know what to answer⁠—we’ll have a strike!” + 

There was a roar like the crashing of thunder in the mountains. Yes, Mary had found the word! For many years it had not been spoken aloud in North Valley, but now it ran like a flash of gunpowder through the throng. “Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!” It seemed as if they would never have enough of it. Not all of them had understood Mary’s speech, but they knew this word, “Strike!” They translated and proclaimed it in Polish and Bohemian and Italian and Greek. Men waved their caps, women waved their aprons⁠—in the semidarkness it was like some strange kind of vegetation tossed by a storm. Men clasped one another’s hands, the more demonstrative of the foreigners fell upon one another’s necks. “Strike! Strike! Strike!” + 

“We’re no longer slaves!” cried the speaker. “We’re men⁠—and we’ll live as men! We’ll work as men⁠—or we’ll not work at all! We’ll no longer be a herd of cattle, that they can drive about as they please! We’ll organise, we’ll stand together⁠—shoulder to shoulder! Either we’ll win together, or we’ll starve and die together! And not a man of us will yield, not a man of us will turn traitor! Is there anybody here who’ll scab on his fellows?” + 

There was a howl, which might have come from a pack of wolves. Let the man who would scab on his fellows show his dirty face in that crowd! + 

“Ye’ll stand by the union?” + 

“We’ll stand by it!” + 

“Ye’ll swear?” + 

“We’ll swear!” + 

She flung her arms to heaven with a gesture of passionate adjuration. “Swear it on your lives! To stick to the rest of us, and never a man of ye give way till ye’ve won! Swear! Swear!” + 

Men stood, imitating her gesture, their hands stretched up to the sky. “We swear! We swear!” + 

“Ye’ll not let them break ye! Ye’ll not let them frighten ye!” + 

“No! No!” + 

“Stand by your word, men! Stand by it! ’Tis the one chance for your wives and childer!” The girl rushed on⁠—exhorting with leaping words and passionate outflung arms⁠—a tall, swaying figure of furious rebellion. Hal listened to the speech and watched the speaker, marvelling. Here was a miracle of the human soul, here was hope born of despair! And the crowd around her⁠—they were sharing the wonderful rebirth; their waving arms, their swaying forms responded to Mary as an orchestra to the baton of a leader. + 

A thrill shook Hal⁠—a thrill of triumph! He had been beaten down himself, he had wanted to run from this place of torment; but now there was hope in North Valley⁠—now there would be victory, freedom! + 

Ever since he had come to the coal-country, the knowledge had been growing in Hal that the real tragedy of these people’s lives was not their physical suffering, but their mental depression⁠—the dull, hopeless misery in their minds. This had been driven into his consciousness day by day, both by what he saw and by what others told him. Tom Olson had first put it into words: “Your worst troubles are inside the heads of the fellows you’re trying to help!” How could hope be given to men in this environment of terrorism? Even Hal himself, young and free as he was, had been brought to despair. He came from a class which is accustomed to say, “Do this,” or “Do that,” and it will be done. But these mine-slaves had never known that sense of power, of certainty; on the contrary, they were accustomed to having their efforts balked at every turn, their every impulse to happiness or achievement crushed by another’s will. + 

But here was this miracle of the human soul! Here was hope in North Valley! Here were the people rising⁠—and Mary Burke at their head! It was his vision come true⁠—Mary Burke with a glory in her face, and her hair shining like a crown of gold! Mary Burke mounted upon a snow-white horse, wearing a robe of white, soft and lustrous⁠—like Joan of Arc, or a leader in a suffrage parade! Yes, and she was at the head of a host, he had the music of its marching in his ears! + 

Underneath Hal’s jesting words had been a real vision, a real faith in this girl. Since that day when he had first discovered her, a wild rose of the mining-camp taking in the family wash, he had realised that she was no pretty young working-girl, but a woman with a mind and a personality. She saw farther, she felt more deeply than the average of these wage-slaves. Her problem was the same as theirs, yet more complex. When he had wanted to help her and had offered to get her a job, she had made clear that what she craved was not merely relief from drudgery, but a life with intellectual interest. So then the idea had come to him that Mary should become a teacher, a leader of her people. She loved them, she suffered for them and with them, and at the same time she had a mind that was capable of seeking out the causes of their misery. But when he had gone to her with plans of leadership, he had been met by her corroding despair; her pessimism had seemed to mock his dreams, her contempt for these mine-slaves had belittled his efforts in their behalf and in hers. + 

And now, here she was taking up the role he had planned for her! Her very soul was in this shouting throng, he thought. She had lived the lives of these people, shared their every wrong, been driven to rebellion with them. Being a mere man, Hal missed one important point about this startling development; he did not realise that Mary’s eloquence was addressed, not merely to the Rafferties and the Wauchopes, and the rest of the North Valley mine-slaves, but to a certain magazine-cover girl, clad in a mackintosh and a pale green hat and a soft and filmy and horribly expensive motoring veil! + 

V + 

Mary’s speech was brought to a sudden end. A group of the men had moved down the street, and there arose a disturbance there. The noise of it swelled louder, and more people began to move in that direction. Mary turned to look, and all at once the whole throng surged down the street. + 

The trouble was at the hospital. In front of this building was a porch, and on it Cartwright and Alec Stone were standing, with a group of the clerks and office-employees, among whom Hal saw Predovich, Johnson, the postmaster, and Si Adams. At the foot of the steps stood Tim Rafferty, with a swarm of determined men at his back. He was shouting, “We want them lawyers out of there!” + 

The superintendent himself had undertaken to parley with him. “There are no lawyers in here, Rafferty.” + 

“We don’t trust you!” And the crowd took up the cry: “We’ll see for ourselves!” + 

“You can’t go into this building,” declared Cartwright. + 

“I’m goin’ to see my father!” shouted Tim. “I’ve got a right to see my father, ain’t I?” + 

“You can see him in the morning. You can take him away, if you want to. We’ve no desire to keep him. But he’s asleep now, and you can’t disturb the others.” + 

“You weren’t afraid to disturb them with your damned lawyers!” And there was a roar of approval⁠—so loud that Cartwright’s denial could hardly be heard. + 

“There have been no lawyers near him, I tell you.” + 

“It’s a lie!” shouted Wauchope. “They been in there all day, and you know it. We mean to have them out.” + 

“Go on, Tim!” cried Andy, the Greek boy, pushing his way to the front. “Go on!” cried the others; and thus encouraged, Rafferty started up the steps. + 

“I mean to see my father!” As Cartwright caught him by the shoulder, he yelled, “Let me go, I say!” + 

It was evident that the superintendent was trying his best not to use violence; he was ordering his own followers back at the same time that he was holding the boy. But Tim’s blood was up; he shoved forward, and the superintendent, either striking him or trying to ward off a blow, threw him backwards down the steps. There was an uproar of rage from the throng; they surged forward, and at the same time some of the men on the porch drew revolvers. + 

The meaning of that situation was plain enough. In a moment more the mob would be up the steps, and there would be shooting. And if once that happened, who could guess the end? Wrought up as the crowd was, it might not stop till it had fired every company building, perhaps not until it had murdered every company representative. + 

Hal had resolved to keep in the background, but he saw that to keep in the background at that moment would be an act of cowardice, almost a crime. He sprang forward, his cry rising above the clamour. “Stop, men! Stop!” + 

There was probably no other man in North Valley who could have got himself heeded at that moment. But Hal had their confidence, he had earned the right to be heard. Had he not been to prison for them, had they not seen him behind the bars? “Joe Smith!” The cry ran from one end of the excited throng to the other. + 

Hal was fighting his way forward, shoving men to one side, imploring, commanding silence. “Tim Rafferty! Wait!” And Tim, recognising the voice, obeyed. + 

Once clear of the press, Hal sprang upon the porch, where Cartwright did not attempt to interfere with him. + 

“Men!” he cried. “Hold on a moment! This isn’t what you want! You don’t want a fight!” He paused for an instant; but he knew that no mere negative would hold them at that moment. They must be told what they did want. Just now he had learned the particular words that would carry, and he proclaimed them at the top of his voice: “What you want is a union! A strike!” + 

He was answered by a roar from the crowd, the loudest yet. Yes, that was what they wanted! A strike! And they wanted Joe Smith to organise it, to lead it. He had been their leader once, he had been thrown out of camp for it. How he had got back they were not quite clear⁠—but here he was, and he was their darling. Hurrah for him! They would follow him to hell and back! + 

And wasn’t he the boy with the nerve! Standing there on the porch of the hospital, right under the very noses of the bosses, making a union speech to them, and the bosses never daring to touch him! The crowd, realising this situation, went wild with delight. The English-speaking men shouted assent to his words; and those who could not understand, shouted because the others did. + 

They did not want fighting⁠—of course not! Fighting would not help them! What would help them was to get together, and stand a solid body of free men. There would be a union committee, able to speak for all of them, to say that no man would go to work any more until justice was secured! They would have an end to the business of discharging men because they asked for their rights, of blacklisting men and driving them out of the district because they presumed to want what the laws of the state awarded them! + 

VI + 

How long could a man expect to stand on the steps of a company building, with a super and a pit-boss at his back, and organise a union of mineworkers? Hal realised that he must move the crowd from that perilous place. + 

“You’ll do what I say, now?” he demanded; and when they agreed in chorus, he added the warning: “There’ll be no fighting! And no drinking! If you see any man drunk tonight, sit on him and hold him down!” + 

They laughed and cheered. Yes, they would keep straight. Here was a job for sober men, you bet! + 

“And now,” Hal continued, “the people in the hospital. We’ll have a committee go in and see about them. No noise⁠—we don’t want to disturb the sick men. We only want to make sure nobody else is disturbing them. Someone will go in and stay with them. Does that suit you?” + 

Yes, that suited them. + 

“All right,” said Hal. “Keep quiet for a moment.” + 

And he turned to the superintendent. “Cartwright,” said he, “we want a committee to go in and stay with our people.” Then, as the superintendent started to expostulate, he added, in a low voice, “Don’t be a fool, man! Don’t you see I’m trying to save your life?” + 

The superintendent knew how bad it would be for discipline to let Hal carry his point with the crowd; but also he saw the immediate danger⁠—and he was not sure of the courage and shooting ability of bookkeepers and stenographers. + 

“Be quick, man!” exclaimed Hal. “I can’t hold these people long. If you don’t want hell breaking loose, come to your senses.” + 

“All right,” said Cartwright, swallowing his dignity. + 

And Hal turned to the men and announced the concession. There was a shout of triumph. + 

“Now, who’s to go?” said Hal, when he could be heard again; and he looked about at the upturned faces. There Were Tim and Wauchope, the most obvious ones; but Hal decided to keep them under his eye. He thought of Jerry Minetti and of Mrs. David⁠—but remembered his agreement with “Big Jack,” to keep their own little group in the background. Then he thought of Mary Burke; she had already done herself all the harm she could do, and she was a person the crowd would trust. He called her, and called Mrs. Ferris, an American woman in the crowd. The two came up the steps, and Hal turned to Cartwright. + 

“Now, let’s have an understanding,” he said. “These people are going in to stay with the sick men, and to talk to them if they want to, and nobody’s going to give them any orders but the doctors and nurses. Is that right?” + 

“All right,” said the superintendent, sullenly. + 

“Good!” said Hal. “And for God’s sake have a little sense and stand by your word; this crowd has had all it can endure, and if you do any more to provoke it, the consequences will be on you. And while you’re about it, see that the saloons are closed and kept closed until this trouble is settled. And keep your people out of the way⁠—don’t let them go about showing their guns and making faces.” + 

Without waiting to hear the superintendent’s reply, Hal turned to the throng, and held up his hand for silence. “Men,” he said, “we have a big job to do⁠—we’re going to organise a union. And we can’t do it here in front of the hospital. We’ve made too much noise already. Let’s go off quietly, and have our meeting on the dump in back of the powerhouse. Does that suit you?” + 

They answered that it suited them; and Hal, having seen the two women passed safely into the hospital, sprang down from the porch to lead the way. Jerry Minetti came to his side, trembling with delight; and Hal clutched him by the arm and whispered, excitedly, “Sing, Jerry! Sing them some Dago song!” + 

VII + 

They got to the place appointed without any fighting. And meantime Hal had worked out in his mind a plan for communicating with this polyglot horde. He knew that half the men could not understand a word of English, and that half the remainder understood very little. Obviously, if he was to make matters clear to them, they must be sorted out according to nationality, and a reliable interpreter found for each group. + 

The process of sorting proved a slow one, involving no end of shouting and good-natured jostling⁠—Polish here, Bohemian here, Greek here, Italian here! When this job had been done, and a man found from each nationality who understood enough English to translate to his fellows, Hal started in to make a speech. But before he had spoken many sentences, pandemonium broke loose. All the interpreters started interpreting at the same time⁠—and at the top of their lungs; it was like a parade with the bands close together! Hal was struck dumb; then he began to laugh, and the various audiences began to laugh; the orators stopped, perplexed⁠—then they too began to laugh. So wave after wave of merriment rolled over the throng; the mood of the assembly was changed all at once, from rage and determination to the wildest hilarity. Hal learned his first lesson in the handling of these hordes of childlike people, whose moods were quick, whose tempers were balanced upon a fine point. + 

It was necessary for him to make his speech through to the end, and then move the various audiences apart, to be addressed by the various interpreters. But then arose a new difficulty. How could anyone control these floods of eloquence? How be sure that the message was not being distorted? Hal had been warned by Olson of company detectives who posed as workers, gaining the confidence of men in order to incite them to violence. And certainly some of these interpreters were violent-looking, and one’s remarks sounded strange in their translations! + 

There was the Greek orator, for example; a wild man, with wild hair and eyes, who tore all his passions to tatters. He stood upon a barrel-head, with the light of two pit-lamps upon him, and some two score of his compatriots at his feet; he waved his arms, he shook his fists, he shrieked, he bellowed. But when Hal, becoming uneasy, went over and asked another English-speaking Greek what the orator was saying, the answer was that he was promising that the law should be enforced in North Valley! + 

Hal stood watching this perfervid little man, a study in the possibilities of gesture. He drew back his shoulders and puffed out his chest, almost throwing himself backwards off the barrel-head; he was saying that the miners would be able to live like men. He crouched down and bowed his head, moaning; he was telling them what would happen if they gave up. He fastened his fingers in his long black hair and began tugging desperately; he pulled, and then stretched out his empty hands; he pulled again, so hard that it almost made one cry out with pain to watch him. Hal asked what that was for; and the answer was, “He say, ‘Stand by union! Pull one hair, he come out; pull all hairs, no come out’!” It carried one back to the days of Aesop and his fables! + 

Tom Olson had told Hal something about the technique of an organiser, who wished to drill these ignorant hordes. He had to repeat and repeat, until the dullest in his audience had grasped his meaning, had got into his head the all-saving idea of solidarity. When the various orators had talked themselves out, and the audiences had come back to the cinder-heap, Hal made his speech all over again, in words of one syllable, in the kind of pidgin-English which does duty in the camps. Sometimes he would stop to reinforce it with Greek or Italian or Slavish words he had picked up. Or perhaps his eloquence would inflame some one of the interpreters afresh, and he would wait while the man shouted a few sentences to his compatriots. It was not necessary to consider the possibility of boring anyone, for these were patient and long-suffering men, and now desperately in earnest. + 

They were going to have a union; they were going to do the thing in regular form, with membership cards and officials chosen by ballot. So Hal explained to them, step by step. There was no use organising unless they meant to stay organised. They would choose leaders, one from each of the principal language groups; and these leaders would meet and draw up a set of demands, which would be submitted in mass-meeting, and ratified, and then presented to the bosses with the announcement that until these terms were granted, not a single North Valley worker would go back into the pits. + 

Jerry Minetti, who knew all about unions, advised Hal to enroll the men at once; he counted on the psychological effect of having each man come forward and give in his name. But here at once they met a difficulty encountered by all would-be organisers⁠—lack of funds. There must be pencils and paper for the enrollment; and Hal had emptied his pockets for Jack David! He was forced to borrow a quarter, and send a messenger off to the store. It was voted by the delegates that each member as he joined the union should be assessed a dime. There would have to be some telegraphing and telephoning if they were going to get help from the outside world. + 

A temporary committee was named, consisting of Tim Rafferty, Wauchope and Hal, to keep the lists and the funds, and to run things until another meeting could be held on the morrow; also a bodyguard of a dozen of the sturdiest and most reliable men were named to stay by the committee. The messenger came back with pads and pencils, and sitting on the ground by the light of pit-lamps, the interpreters wrote down the names of the men who wished to join the union, each man in turn pledging his word for solidarity and discipline. Then the meeting was declared adjourned till daylight of the morrow, and the workers scattered to their homes to sleep, with a joy and sense of power such as few of them had ever known in their lives before. + 

VIII + 

The committee and its bodyguard repaired to the dining-room of Reminitsky’s, where they stretched themselves out on the floor; no one attempted to interfere with them, and while the majority snored peacefully, Hal and a small group sat writing out the list of demands which were to be submitted to the bosses in the morning. It was arranged that Jerry should go down to Pedro by the early morning train, to get into touch with Jack David and the union officials, and report to them the latest developments. Because the officials were sure to have detectives following them, Hal warned Jerry to go to MacKellar’s house, and have MacKellar bring “Big Jack” to meet him there. Also Jerry must have MacKellar get the Gazette on the long distance phone, and tell Billy Keating about the strike. + 

A hundred things like this Hal had to think of; his head was abuzz with them, so that when he lay down to sleep he could not. He thought about the bosses, and what they might be doing. The bosses would not be sleeping, he felt sure! + 

And then came thoughts about his private-car friends; about the strangeness of this plight into which he had got himself! He laughed aloud in a kind of desperation as he recalled Percy’s efforts to get him away from here. And poor Jessie! What could he say to her now? + 

The bosses made no move that night; and when morning came, the strikers hurried to the meeting-place, some of them without even stopping for breakfast. They came tousled and unkempt, looking anxiously at their fellows, as if unable to credit the memory of the bold thing they had done on the night before. But finding the committee and its bodyguard on hand and ready for business, their courage revived, they felt again the wonderful sentiment of solidarity which had made men of them. Pretty soon speechmaking began, and cheering and singing, which brought out the laggards and the cowards. So in a short while the movement was in full swing, with practically every man, woman and child among the workers present. + 

Mary Burke came from the hospital, where she had spent the night. She looked weary and bedraggled, but her spirit of battle had not slumped. She reported that she had talked with some of the injured men, and that many of them had signed “releases,” whereby the company protected itself against even the threat of a lawsuit. Others had refused to sign, and Mary had been vehement in warning them to stand out. Two other women volunteered to go to the hospital, in order that she might have a chance to rest; but Mary did not wish to rest, she did not feel as if she could ever rest again. + 

The members of the newly-organised union proceeded to elect officers. They sought to make Hal president, but he was shy of binding himself in that irrevocable way, and succeeded in putting the honour off on Wauchope. Tim Rafferty was made treasurer and secretary. Then a committee was chosen to go to Cartwright with the demands of the men. It included Hal, Wauchope, and Tim; an Italian named Marcelli, whom Jerry had vouched for; a representative of the Slavs and one of the Greeks⁠—Rusick and Zammakis, both of them solid and faithful men. Finally, with a good deal of laughter and cheering, the meeting voted to add Mary Burke to this committee. It was a new thing to have a woman in such a role, but Mary was the daughter of a miner and the sister of a breaker-boy, and had as good a right to speak as anyone in North Valley. + 

IX + 

Hal read the document which had been prepared the night before. They demanded the right to have a union without being discharged for it. They demanded a check-weighman, to be elected by the men themselves. They demanded that the mines should be sprinkled to prevent explosions, and properly timbered to prevent falls. They demanded the right to trade at any store they pleased. Hal called attention to the fact that every one of these demands was for a right guaranteed by the laws of the state; this was a significant fact, and he urged the men not to include other demands. After some argument they voted down the proposition of the radicals, who wanted a ten percent increase in wages. Also they voted down the proposition of a syndicalist-anarchist, who explained to them in a jumble of English and Italian that the mines belonged to them, and that they should refuse all compromise and turn the bosses out forthwith. + 

While this speech was being delivered, young Rovetta pushed his way through the crowd and drew Hal to one side. He had been down by the railroad-station and seen the morning train come in. From it had descended a crowd of thirty or forty men, of that “hard citizen” type which every miner in the district could recognise at the first glance. Evidently the company officials had been keeping the telephone-wires busy that night; they were bringing in, not merely this trainload of guards, but automobile loads from other camps⁠—from the Northeastern down the canyon, and from Barela, in a side canyon over the mountain. + 

Hal told this news to the meeting, which received it with howls of rage. So that was the bosses’ plan! Hotheads sprang upon the cinder-heap, half a dozen of them trying to make speeches at once. The leaders had to suppress these too impetuous ones by main force; once more Hal gave the warning of “No fighting!” They were going to have faith in their union; they were going to present a solid front to the company, and the company would learn the lesson that intimidation would not win a strike. + 

So it was agreed, and the committee set out for the company’s office, Wauchope carrying in his hand the written demands of the meeting. Behind the committee marched the crowd in a solid mass; they packed the street in front of the office, while the heroic seven went up the steps and passed into the building. Wauchope made inquiry for Mr. Cartwright, and a clerk took in the message. + 

They stood waiting; and meanwhile, one of the office-people, coming in from the street, beckoned to Hal. He had an envelope in his hand, and gave it over without a word. It was addressed, “Joe Smith,” and Hal opened it, and found within a small visiting card, at which he stared. “Edward S. Warner, Jr.”! + 

For a moment Hal could hardly believe the evidence of his eyesight. Edward in North Valley! Then, turning the card over, he read, in his brother’s familiar handwriting, “I am at Cartwright’s house. I must see you. The matter concerns Dad. Come instantly.” + 

Fear leaped into Hal’s heart. What could such a message mean? + 

He turned quickly to the committee and explained. “My father’s an old man, and had a stroke of apoplexy three years ago. I’m afraid he may be dead, or very ill. I must go.” + 

“It’s a trick!” cried Wauchope excitedly. + 

“No, not possibly,” answered Hal. “I know my brother’s handwriting. I must see him.” + 

“Well,” declared the other, “we’ll wait. We’ll not see Cartwright until you get back.” + 

Hal considered this. “I don’t think that’s wise,” he said. “You can do what you have to do just as well without me.” + 

“But I wanted you to do the talking!” + 

“No,” replied Hal, “that’s your business, Wauchope. You are the president of the union. You know what the men want, as well as I do; you know what they complain of. And besides, there’s not going to be any need of talking with Cartwright. Either he’s going to grant our demands or he isn’t.” + 

They discussed the matter back and forth. Mary Burke insisted that they were pulling Hal away just at the critical moment! He laughed as he answered. She was as good as any man when it came to an argument. If Wauchope showed signs of weakening, let her speak up! + 

X + 

So Hal hurried off, and climbed the street which led to the superintendent’s house, a concrete bungalow set upon a little elevation overlooking the camp. He rang the bell, and the door opened, and in the entrance stood his brother. + 

Edward Warner was eight years older than Hal; the perfect type of the young American business man. His figure was erect and athletic, his features were regular and strong, his voice, his manner, everything about him spoke of quiet decision, of energy precisely directed. As a rule, he was a model of what the tailor’s art could do, but just now there was something abnormal about his attire as well as his manner. + 

Hal’s anxiety had been increasing all the way up the street. “What’s the matter with Dad?” he cried. + 

“Dad’s all right,” was the answer⁠—“that is, for the moment.” + 

“Then what⁠—?” + 

“Peter Harrigan’s on his way back from the East. He’s due in Western City tomorrow. You can see that something will be the matter with Dad unless you quit this business at once.” + 

Hal had a sudden reaction from his fear. “So that’s all!” he exclaimed. + 

His brother was gazing at the young miner, dressed in sooty blue overalls, his face streaked with black, his wavy hair all mussed. “You wired me you were going to leave here, Hal!” + 

“So I was; but things happened that I couldn’t foresee. There’s a strike.” + 

“Yes; but what’s that got to do with it?” Then, with exasperation in his voice, “For God’s sake, Hal, how much farther do you expect to go?” + 

Hal stood for a few moments, looking at his brother. Even in a tension as he was, he could not help laughing. “I know how all this must seem to you, Edward. It’s a long story; I hardly know how to begin.” + 

“No, I suppose not,” said Edward, drily. + 

And Hal laughed again. “Well, we agree that far, at any rate. What I was hoping was that we could talk it all over quietly, after the excitement was past. When I explain to you about conditions in this place⁠—” + 

But Edward interrupted. “Really, Hal, there’s no use of such an argument. I have nothing to do with conditions in Peter Harrigan’s camps.” + 

The smile left Hal’s face. “Would you have preferred to have me investigate conditions in the Warner camps?” Hal had tried to suppress his irritation, but there was simply no way these two could get along. “We’ve had our arguments about these things, Edward, and you’ve always had the best of me⁠—you could tell me I was a child, it was presumptuous of me to dispute your assertions. But now⁠—well, I’m a child no longer, and we’ll have to meet on a new basis.” + 

Hal’s tone, more than his words, made an impression. Edward thought before he spoke. “Well, what’s your new basis?” + 

“Just now I’m in the midst of a strike, and I can hardly stop to explain.” + 

“You don’t think of Dad in all this madness?” + 

“I think of Dad, and of you too, Edward; but this is hardly the time⁠—” + 

“If ever in the world there was a time, this is it!” + 

Hal groaned inwardly. “All right,” he said, “sit down. I’ll try to give you some idea how I got swept into this.” + 

He began to tell about the conditions he had found in this stronghold of the “G.F.C.” As usual, when he talked about it, he became absorbed in its human aspects; a fervour came into his tone, he was carried on, as he had been when he tried to argue with the officials in Pedro. But his eloquence was interrupted, even as it had been then; he discovered that his brother was in such a state of exasperation that he could not listen to a consecutive argument. + 

It was the old, old story; it had been thus as far back as Hal could remember. It seemed one of the mysteries of nature, how she could have brought two such different temperaments out of the same parentage. Edward was practical and positive; he knew what he wanted in the world, and he knew how to get it; he was never troubled with doubts, nor with self-questioning, nor with any other superfluous emotions; he could not understand people who allowed that sort of waste in their mental processes. He could not understand people who got “swept into things.” + 

In the beginning, he had had with Hal the prestige of the elder brother. He was handsome as a young Greek god, he was strong and masterful; whether he was flying over the ice with sure, strong strokes, or cutting the water with his glistening shoulders, or bringing down a partridge with the certainty and swiftness of a lightning stroke, Edward was the incarnation of Success. When he said that one’s ideas were “rot,” when he spoke with contempt of “mollycoddles”⁠—then indeed one suffered in soul, and had to go back to Shelley and Ruskin to renew one’s courage. + 

The questioning of life had begun very early with Hal; there seemed to be something in his nature which forced him to go to the roots of things; and much as he looked up to his wonderful brother, he had been made to realise that there were sides of life to which this brother was blind. To begin with, there were religious doubts; the distresses of mind which plague a young man when first it dawns upon him that the faith he has been brought up in is a higher kind of fairytale. Edward had never asked such questions, apparently. He went to church, because it was the thing to do; more especially because it was pleasing to the young lady he wished to marry to have him put on stately clothes, and escort her to a beautiful place of music and flowers and perfumes, where she would meet her friends, also in stately clothes. How abnormal it seemed to Edward that a young man should give up this pleasant custom, merely because he could not be sure that Jonah had swallowed a whale! + 

But it was when Hal’s doubts attacked his brother’s weekday religion⁠—the religion of the profit-system⁠—that the controversy between them had become deadly. At first Hal had known nothing about practical affairs, and it had been Edward’s duty to answer his questions. The prosperity of the country had been built up by strong men; and these men had enemies⁠—evil-minded persons, animated by jealousy and other base passions, seeking to tear down the mighty structure. At first this devil-theory had satisfied the boy; but later on, as he had come to read and observe, he had been plagued by doubts. In the end, listening to his brother’s conversation, and reading the writings of so-called “muckrakers,” the realisation was forced upon him that there were two types of mind in the controversy⁠—those who thought of profits, and those who thought of human beings. + 

Edward was alarmed at the books Hal was reading; he was still more alarmed when he saw the ideas Hal was bringing home from college. There must have been some strange change in Harrigan in a few years; no one had dreamed of such ideas when Edward was there! No one had written satiric songs about the faculty, or the endowments of eminent philanthropists! + 

In the meantime Edward Warner Senior had had a paralytic stroke, and Edward Junior had taken charge of the company. Three years of this had given him the point of view of a coal-operator, hard and set for a lifetime. The business of a coal-operator was to buy his labour cheap, to turn out the maximum product in the shortest time, and to sell the product at the market price to parties whose credit was satisfactory. If a concern was doing that, it was a successful concern; for anyone to mention that it was making wrecks of the people who dug the coal, was to be guilty of sentimentality and impertinence. + 

Edward had heard with dismay his brother’s announcement that he meant to study industry by spending his vacation as a common labourer. However, when he considered it, he was inclined to think that the idea might not be such a bad one. Perhaps Hal would not find what he was looking for; perhaps, working with his hands, he might get some of the nonsense knocked out of his head! + 

But now the experiment had been made, and the revelation had burst upon Edward that it had been a ghastly failure. Hal had not come to realise that labour was turbulent and lazy and incompetent, needing a strong hand to rule it; on the contrary, he had become one of these turbulent ones himself! A champion of the lazy and incompetent, an agitator, a fomenter of class-prejudice, an enemy of his own friends, and of his brother’s business associates! + 

Never had Hal seen Edward in such a state of excitement. There was something really abnormal about him, Hal realised; it puzzled him vaguely while he talked, but he did not understand it until his brother told how he had come to be here. He had been attending a dinner-dance at the home of a friend, and Percy Harrigan had got him on the telephone at half past eleven o’clock at night. Percy had had a message from Cartwright, to the effect that Hal was leading a riot in North Valley; Percy had painted the situation in such lurid colours that Edward had made a dash and caught the midnight train, wearing his evening clothes, and without so much as a toothbrush with him! + 

Hal could hardly keep from bursting out laughing. His brother, his punctilious and dignified brother, alighting from a sleeping-car at seven o’clock in the morning, wearing a dress suit and a silk hat! And here he was, Edward Warner Junior, the fastidious, who never paid less than a hundred and fifty dollars for a suit of clothes, clad in a “hand-me-down” for which he had expended twelve dollars and forty-eight cents in a “Jew-store” in a coal-town! + 

XI + 

But Edward would not stop for a single smile; his every faculty was absorbed in the task he had before him, to get his brother out of this predicament, so dangerous and so humiliating. Hal had come to a town owned by Edward’s business friends, and had proceeded to meddle in their affairs, to stir up their labouring people and imperil their property. That North Valley was the property of the General Fuel Company⁠—not merely the mines and the houses, but likewise the people who lived in them⁠—Edward seemed to have no doubt whatever; Hal got only exclamations of annoyance when he suggested any other point of view. Would there have been any town of North Valley, if it had not been for the capital and energy of the General Fuel Company? If the people of North Valley did not like the conditions which the General Fuel Company offered them, they had one simple and obvious remedy⁠—to go somewhere else to work. But they stayed; they got out the General Fuel Company’s coal, they took the General Fuel Company’s wages⁠— + 

“Well, they’ve stopped taking them now,” put in Hal. + 

All right, that was their affair, replied Edward. But let them stop because they wanted to⁠—not because outside agitators put them up to it. At any rate, let the agitators not include a member of the Warner family! + 

The elder brother pictured old Peter Harrigan on his way back from the East; the state of unutterable fury in which he would arrive, the storm he would raise in the business world of Western City. Why, it was unimaginable, such a thing had never been heard of! “And right when we’re opening up a new mine⁠—when we need every dollar of credit we can get!” + 

“Aren’t we big enough to stand off Peter Harrigan?” inquired Hal. + 

“We have plenty of other people to stand off,” was the answer. “We don’t have to go out of our way to make enemies.” + 

Edward spoke, not merely as the elder brother, but also as the money-man of the family. When the father had broken down from overwork, and had been changed in one terrible hour from a driving man of affairs into a childish and pathetic invalid, Hal had been glad enough that there was one member of the family who was practical; he had been perfectly willing to see his brother shoulder these burdens, while he went off to college, to amuse himself with satiric songs. Hal had no responsibilities, no one asked anything of him⁠—except that he would not throw sticks into the wheels of the machine his brother was running. “You are living by the coal industry! Every dollar you spend comes from it⁠—” + 

“I know it! I know it!” cried Hal. “That’s the thing that torments me! The fact that I’m living upon the bounty of such wage-slaves⁠—” + 

“Oh, cut it out!” cried Edward. “That’s not what I mean!” + 

“I know⁠—but it’s what I mean! From now on I mean to know about the people who work for me, and what sort of treatment they get. I’m no longer your kid-brother, to be put off with platitudes.” + 

“You know ours are union mines, Hal⁠—” + 

“Yes, but what does that mean? How do we work it? Do we give the men their weights?” + 

“Of course! They have their check-weighmen.” + 

“But then, how do we compete with the operators in this district, who pay for a ton of three thousand pounds?” + 

“We manage it⁠—by economy.” + 

“Economy? I don’t see Peter Harrigan wasting anything here!” Hal paused for an answer, but none came. “Do we buy the check-weighmen? Do we bribe the labour leaders?” + 

Edward coloured slightly. “What’s the use of being nasty, Hal? You know I don’t do dirty work.” + 

“I don’t mean to be nasty, Edward; but you must know that many a businessman can say he doesn’t do dirty work, because he has others do it for him. What about politics, for instance? Do we run a machine, and put our clerks and bosses into the local offices?” + 

Edward did not answer, and Hal persisted, “I mean to know these things! I’m not going to be blind any more!” + 

“All right, Hal⁠—you can know anything you want; but for God’s sake, not now! If you want to be taken for a man, show a man’s common sense! Here’s Old Peter getting back to Western City tomorrow night! Don’t you know that he’ll be after me, raging like a mad bull? Don’t you know that if I tell him I can do nothing⁠—that I’ve been down here and tried to pull you away⁠—don’t you know he’ll go after Dad?” + 

Edward had tried all the arguments, and this was the only one that counted. “You must keep him away from Dad!” exclaimed Hal. + 

“You tell me that!” retorted the other. “And when you know Old Peter! Don’t you know he’ll get at him, if he has to break down the door of the house? He’ll throw the burden of his rage on that poor old man! You’ve been warned about it clearly; you know it may be a matter of life and death to keep Dad from getting excited. I don’t know what he’d do; maybe he’d fly into a rage with you, maybe he’d defend you. He’s old and weak, he’s lost his grip on things. Anyhow, he’d not let Peter abuse you⁠—and like as not he’d drop dead in the midst of the dispute! Do you want to have that on your conscience, along with the troubles of your workingmen friends?” + 

XII + 

Hal sat staring in front of him, silent. Was it a fact that every man had something in his life which palsied his arm, and struck him helpless in the battle for social justice? + 

When he spoke again, it was in a low voice. “Edward, I’m thinking about a young Irish boy who works in these mines. He, too, has a father; and this father was caught in the explosion. He’s an old man, with a wife and seven other children. He’s a good man, the boy’s a good boy. Let me tell you what Peter Harrigan has done to them!” + 

“Well,” said Edward, “whatever it is, it’s all right, you can help them. They won’t need to starve.” + 

“I know,” said Hal, “but there are so many others; I can’t help them all. And besides, can’t you see, Edward⁠—what I’m thinking about is not charity, but justice. I’m sure this boy, Tim Rafferty, loves his father just exactly as much as I love my father; and there are other old men here, with sons who love them⁠—” + 

“Oh, Hal, for Christ’s sake!” exclaimed Edward, in a sort of explosion. He had no other words to express his impatience. “Do you expect to take all the troubles in the world on your shoulders?” And he sprang up and caught the other by the arm. “Boy, you’ve got to come away from here!” + 

Hal got up, without answering. He seemed irresolute, and his brother started to draw him towards the door. “I’ve got a car here. We can get a train in an hour⁠—” + 

Hal saw that he had to speak firmly. “No, Edward,” he said. “I can’t come just yet.” + 

“I tell you you must come!” + 

“I can’t. I made these men a promise!” + 

“In God’s name⁠—what are these men to you? Compared with your own father!” + 

“I can’t explain it, Edward. I’ve talked for half an hour, and I don’t think you’ve even heard me. Suffice it to say that I see these people caught in a trap⁠—and one that my whole life has helped to make. I can’t leave them in it. What’s more, I don’t believe Dad would want me to do it, if he understood.” + 

The other made a last effort at self-control. “I’m not going to call you a sentimental fool. Only, let me ask you one plain question. What do you think you can do for these people?” + 

“I think I can help to win decent conditions for them.” + 

“Good God!” cried Edward; he sighed, in his agony of exasperation. “In Peter Harrigan’s mines! Don’t you realise that he’ll pick them up and throw them out of here, neck and crop⁠—the whole crew, every man in the town, if necessary?” + 

“Perhaps,” answered Hal; “but if the men in the other mines should join them⁠—if the big union outside should stand by them⁠—” + 

“You’re dreaming, Hal! You’re talking like a child! I talked to the superintendent here; he had telegraphed the situation to Old Peter, and had just got an answer. Already he’s acted, no doubt.” + 

“Acted?” echoed Hal. “How do you mean?” He was staring at his brother in sudden anxiety. + 

“They were going to turn the agitators out, of course.” + 

“What? And while I’m here talking!” + 

Hal turned toward the door. “You knew it all the time!” he exclaimed. “You kept me here deliberately!” + 

He was starting away, but Edward sprang and caught him. “What could you have done?” + 

“Turn me loose!” cried Hal, angrily. + 

“Don’t be a fool, Hal! I’ve been trying to keep you out of the trouble. There may be fighting.” + 

Edward threw himself between Hal and the door, and there was a sharp struggle. But the elder man was no longer the athlete, the young bronzed god; he had been sitting at a desk in an office, while Hal had been doing hard labour. Hal threw him to one side, and in a moment more had sprung out of the door, and was running down the slope. + 

XIII + 

Coming to the main street of the village, Hal saw the crowd in front of the office. One glance told him that something had happened. Men were running this way and that, gesticulating, shouting. Some were coming in his direction, and when they saw him they began to yell to him. The first to reach him was Klowoski, the little Pole, breathless; gasping with excitement. “They fire our committee!” + 

“Fire them?” + 

“Fire ’em out! Down canyon!” The little man was waving his arms in wild gestures; his eyes seemed about to start out of his head. “Take ’em off! Whole bunch fellers⁠—gunmen! People see them⁠—come out back door. Got ever’body’s arm tied. Gunmen fellers hold ’em, don’t let ’em holler, can’t do nothin’! Got them cars waitin’⁠—what you call?⁠—” + 

“Automobiles?” + 

“Sure, got three! Put ever’body in, quick like that⁠—they go down road like wind! Go down canyon, all gone! They bust our strike!” And the little Pole’s voice ended in a howl of despair. + 

“No, they won’t bust our strike!” exclaimed Hal. “Not yet!” + 

Suddenly he was reminded of the fact that his brother had followed him⁠—puffing hard, for the run had been strenuous. He caught Hal by the arm, exclaiming, “Keep out of this, I tell you!” + 

Thus while Hal was questioning Klowoski, he was struggling half-unconsciously, to free himself from his brother’s grasp. Suddenly the matter was forced to an issue, for the little Polack emitted a cry like an angry cat, and went at Edward with fingers outstretched like claws. Hal’s dignified brother would have had to part with his dignity, if Hal had not caught Klowoski’s onrush with his other arm. “Let him alone!” he said. “It’s my brother!” Whereupon the little man fell back and stood watching in bewilderment. + 

Hal saw Androkulos running to him. The Greek boy had been in the street back of the office, and had seen the committee carried off; nine people had been taken⁠—Wauchope, Tim Rafferty, and Mary Burke, Marcelli, Zammakis and Rusick, and three others who had served as interpreters on the night before. It had all been done so quickly that the crowd had scarcely realised what was happening. + 

Now, having grasped the meaning of it, the men were beside themselves with rage. They shook their fists, shouting defiance to a group of officials and guards who were visible upon the porch of the office-building. There was a clamour of shouts for revenge. + 

Hal could see instantly the dangers of the situation; he was like a man watching the burning fuse of a bomb. Now, if ever, this polyglot horde must have leadership⁠—wise and cool and resourceful leadership. + 

The crowd, discovering his presence, surged down upon him like a wave. They gathered round him, howling. They had lost the rest of their committee, but they still had Joe Smith. Joe Smith! Hurrah for Joe! Let the gunmen take him, if they could! They waved their caps, they tried to lift him upon their shoulders, so that all could see him. + 

There was clamour for a speech, and Hal started to make his way to the steps of the nearest building, with Edward holding on to his coat. Edward was jostled; he had to part with his dignity⁠—but he did not part with his brother. And when Hal was about to mount the steps, Edward made a last desperate effort, shouting into his ear, “Wait a minute! Wait! Are you going to try to talk to this mob?” + 

“Of course. Don’t you see there’ll be trouble if I don’t?” + 

“You’ll get yourself killed! You’ll start a fight, and get a lot of these poor devils shot! Use your common sense, Hal; the company has brought in guards, and they are armed, and your people aren’t.” + 

“That’s exactly why I have to speak!” + 

The discussion was carried on under difficulties, the elder brother clinging to the younger’s arm, while the younger sought to pull free, and the mob shouted with a single voice, “Speech! Speech!” There were some near by who, like Klowoski, did not relish having this stranger interfering with their champion, and showed signs of a disposition to “mix in”; so at last Edward gave up the struggle, and the orator mounted the steps and faced the throng. + 

XIV + 

Hal raised his arms as a signal for silence. + 

“Boys,” he cried, “they’ve kidnapped our committee. They think they’ll break our strike that way⁠—but they’ll find they’ve made a mistake!” + 

“They will! Right you are!” roared a score of voices. + 

“They forget that we’ve got a union. Hurrah for our North Valley union!” + 

“Hurrah! Hurrah!” The cry echoed to the canyon-walls. + 

“And hurrah for the big union that will back us⁠—the United Mine-Workers of America!” + 

Again the yell rang out; again and again. “Hurrah for the union! Hurrah for the United Mine-Workers!” A big American miner, Ferris, was in the front of the throng, and his voice beat in Hal’s ears like a steam-siren. + 

“Boys,” Hal resumed, when at last he could be heard, “use your brains a moment. I warned you they would try to provoke you! They would like nothing better than to start a scrap here, and get a chance to smash our union! Don’t forget that, boys, if they can make you fight, they’ll smash the union, and the union is our only hope!” + 

Again came the cry: “Hurrah for the union!” Hal let them shout it in twenty languages, until they were satisfied. + 

“Now, boys,” he went on, at last, “they’ve shipped out our committee. They may ship me out in the same way⁠—” + 

“No, they won’t!” shouted voices in the crowd. And there was a bellow of rage from Ferris. “Let them try it! We’ll burn them in their beds!” + 

“But they can ship me out!” argued Hal. “You know they can beat us at that game! They can call on the sheriff, they can get the soldiers, if necessary! We can’t oppose them by force⁠—they can turn out every man, woman and child in the village, if they choose. What we have to get clear is that even that won’t crush our union! Nor the big union outside, that will be backing us! We can hold out, and make them take us back in the end!” + 

Some of Hal’s friends, seeing what he was trying to do, came to his support. “No fighting! No violence! Stand by the union!” And he went on to drive the lesson home; even though the company might evict them, the big union of the four hundred and fifty thousand mineworkers of the country would feed them, it would call out the rest of the workers in the district in sympathy. So the bosses, who thought to starve and cow them into submission, would find their mines lying permanently idle. They would be forced to give way, and the tactics of solidarity would triumph. + 

So Hal went on, recalling the things Olson had told him, and putting them into practice. He saw hope in their faces again, dispelling the mood of resentment and rage. + 

“Now, boys,” said he, “I’m going in to see the superintendent for you. I’ll be your committee, since they’ve shipped out the rest.” + 

The steam-siren of Ferris bellowed again: “You’re the boy! Joe Smith!” + 

“All right, men⁠—now mind what I say! I’ll see the super, and then I’ll go down to Pedro, where there’ll be some officers of the United Mine-workers this morning. I’ll tell them the situation, and ask them to back you. That’s what you want, is it?” + 

That was what they wanted. “Big union!” + 

“All right. I’ll do the best I can for you, and I’ll find some way to get word to you. And meantime you stand firm. The bosses will tell you lies, they’ll try to deceive you, they’ll send spies and troublemakers among you⁠—but you hold fast, and wait for the big union.” + 

Hal stood looking at the cheering crowd. He had time to note some of the faces upturned to him. Pitiful, toil-worn faces they were, each making its separate appeal, telling its individual story of deprivation and defeat. Once more they were transfigured, shining with that wonderful new light which he had seen for the first time the previous evening. It had been crushed for a moment, but it flamed up again; it would never die in the hearts of men⁠—once they had learned the power it gave. Nothing Hal had yet seen moved him so much as this new birth of enthusiasm. A beautiful, a terrible thing it was! + 

Hal looked at his brother, to see how he had been moved. What he saw on his brother’s face was satisfaction, boundless relief. The matter had turned out all right! Hal was coming away! + 

Hal turned again to the men; somehow, after his glance at Edward, they seemed more pitiful than ever. For Edward typified the power they were facing⁠—the unseeing, uncomprehending power that meant to crush them. The possibility of failure was revealed to Hal in a flash of emotion, overwhelming him. He saw them as they would be, when no leader was at hand to make speeches to them. He saw them waiting, their lifelong habit of obedience striving to reassert itself; a thousand fears besetting them, a thousand rumours preying upon them⁠—wild beasts set on them by their cunning enemies. They would suffer, not merely for themselves, but for their wives and children⁠—the very same pangs of dread that Hal suffered when he thought of one old man up in Western City, whose doctors had warned him to avoid excitement. + 

If they stood firm, if they kept their bargain with their leader, they would be evicted from their homes, they would face the cold of the coming winter, they would face hunger and the blacklist. And he, meantime⁠—what would he be doing? What was his part of the bargain? He would interview the superintendent for them, he would turn them over to the “big union”⁠—and then he would go off to his own life of ease and pleasure. To eat grilled steaks and hot rolls in a perfectly appointed club, with suave and softly-moving servitors at his beck! To dance at the country club with exquisite creatures of chiffon and satin, of perfume and sweet smiles and careless, happy charms! No, it was too easy! He might call that his duty to his father and brother, but he would know in his heart that it was treason to life; it was the devil, taking him onto a high mountain and showing him all the kingdoms of the earth! + 

Moved by a sudden impulse, Hal raised his hands once more. “Boys,” he said, “we understand each other now. You’ll not go back to work till the big union tells you. And I, for my part, will stand by you. Your cause is my cause, I’ll go on fighting for you till you have your rights, till you can live and work as men! Is that right?” + 

“That’s right! That’s right!” + 

“Very good, then⁠—we’ll swear to it!” And Hal raised his hands, and the men raised theirs, and amid a storm of shouts, and a frantic waving of caps, he made them the pledge which he knew would bind his own conscience. He made it deliberately, there in his brother’s presence. This was no mere charge on a trench, it was enlisting for a war! But even in that moment of fervour, Hal would have been frightened had he realised the period of that enlistment, the years of weary and desperate conflict to which he was pledging his life. + 

XV + 

Hal descended from his rostrum, and the crowds made way for him, and with his brother at his side he went down the street to the office building, upon the porch of which the guards were standing. His progress was a triumphal one; rough voices shouted words of encouragement in his ears, men jostled and fought to shake his hand or to pat him on the back; they even patted Edward and tried to shake his hand, because he was with Hal, and seemed to have his confidence. Afterwards Hal thought it over and was merry. Such an adventure for Edward! + 

The younger man went up the steps of the building and spoke to the guards. “I want to see Mr. Cartwright.” + 

“He’s inside,” answered one, not cordially. With Edward following, Hal entered, and was ushered into the private office of the superintendent. + 

Having been a workingman, and class-conscious, Hal was observant of the manners of mine-superintendents; he noted that Cartwright bowed politely to Edward, but did not include Edward’s brother. “Mr. Cartwright,” he said, “I have come to you as a deputation from the workers of this camp.” + 

The superintendent did not appear impressed by the announcement. + 

“I am instructed to say that the men demand the redress of four grievances before they return to work. First⁠—” + 

Here Cartwright spoke, in his quick, sharp way. “There’s no use going on, sir. This company will deal only with its men as individuals. It will recognise no deputations.” + 

Hal’s answer was equally quick. “Very well, Mr. Cartwright. In that case, I come to you as an individual.” + 

For a moment the superintendent seemed nonplussed. + 

“I wish to ask four rights which are granted to me by the laws of this state. First, the right to belong to a union, without being discharged for it.” + 

The other had recovered his manner of quiet mastery. “You have that right, sir; you have always had it. You know perfectly well that the company has never discharged anyone for belonging to a union.” + 

The man was looking at Hal, and there was a duel of the eyes between them. A cold anger moved Hal. His ability to endure this sort of thing was at an end. “Mr. Cartwright,” he said, “you are the servant of one of the world’s greatest actors; and you support him ably.” + 

The other flushed and drew back; Edward put in quickly: “Hal, there’s nothing to be gained by such talk!” + 

“He has all the world for an audience,” persisted Hal. “He plays the most stupendous farce⁠—and he and all his actors wearing such solemn faces!” + 

“Mr. Cartwright,” said Edward, with dignity, “I trust you understand that I have done everything I can to restrain my brother.” + 

“Of course, Mr. Warner,” replied the superintendent. “And you must know that I, for my part, have done everything to show your brother consideration.” + 

“Again!” exclaimed Hal. “This actor is a genius!” + 

“Hal, if you have business with Mr. Cartwright⁠—” + 

“He showed me consideration by sending his gunmen to seize me at night, drag me out of a cabin, and nearly twist the arm off me! Such humour never was!” + 

Cartwright attempted to speak⁠—but looking at Edward, not at Hal. “At that time⁠—” + 

“He showed me consideration by having me locked up in jail and fed on bread and water for two nights and a day! Can you beat that humour?” + 

“At that time I did not know⁠—” + 

“By forging my name to a letter and having it circulated in the camp! Finally⁠—most considerate of all⁠—by telling a newspaper man that I had seduced a girl here!” + 

The superintendent flushed still redder. “No!” he declared. + 

“What?” cried Hal. “You didn’t tell Billy Keating of the Gazette that I had seduced a girl in North Valley? You didn’t describe the girl to him⁠—a red-haired Irish girl?” + 

“I merely said, Mr. Warner, that I had heard certain rumours⁠—” + 

“Certain rumours, Mr. Cartwright? The certainty was all of your making! You made a definite and explicit statement to Mr. Keating⁠—” + 

“I did not!” declared the other. + 

“I’ll soon prove it!” And Hal started towards the telephone on Cartwright’s desk. + 

“What are you going to do, Hal?” + 

“I am going to get Billy Keating on the wire, and let you hear his statement.” + 

“Oh, rot, Hal!” cried Edward. “I don’t care anything about Keating’s statement. You know that at that time Mr. Cartwright had no means of knowing who you were.” + 

Cartwright was quick to grasp this support. “Of course not, Mr. Warner! Your brother came here, pretending to be a working boy⁠—” + 

“Oh!” cried Hal. “So that’s it! You think it proper to circulate slanders about working boys in your camp?” + 

“You have been here long enough to know what the morals of such boys are.” + 

“I have been here long enough, Mr. Cartwright, to know that if you want to go into the question of morals in North Valley, the place for you to begin is with the bosses and guards you put in authority, and allow to prey upon women.” + 

Edward broke in: “Hal, there’s nothing to be gained by pursuing this conversation. If you have any business here, get it over with, for God’s sake!” + 

Hal made an effort to recover his self-possession. He came back to the demands of the strike⁠—but only to find that he had used up the superintendent’s self-possession. “I have given you my answer,” declared Cartwright, “I absolutely decline any further discussion.” + 

“Well,” said Hal, “since you decline to permit a deputation of your men to deal with you in plain, businesslike fashion, I have to inform you as an individual that every other individual in your camp refuses to work for you.” + 

The superintendent did not let himself be impressed by this elaborate sarcasm. “All I have to tell you, sir, is that Number Two mine will resume work in the morning, and that anyone who refuses to work will be sent down the canyon before night.” + 

“So quickly, Mr. Cartwright? They have rented their homes from the company, and you know that according to the company’s own lease they are entitled to three days’ notice before being evicted!” + 

Cartwright was so unwise as to argue. He knew that Edward was hearing, and he wished to clear himself. “They will not be evicted by the company. They will be dealt with by the town authorities.” + 

“Of which you yourself are the head?” + 

“I happen to have been elected mayor of North Valley.” + 

“As mayor of North Valley, you gave my brother to understand that you would put me out, did you not?” + 

“I asked your brother to persuade you to leave.” + 

“But you made clear that if he could not do this, you would put me out?” + 

“Yes, that is true.” + 

“And the reason you gave was that you had had instructions by telegraph from Mr. Peter Harrigan. May I ask to what office Mr. Harrigan has been elected in your town?” + 

Cartwright saw his difficulty. “Your brother misunderstood me,” he said, crossly. + 

“Did you misunderstand him, Edward?” + 

Edward had walked to the window in disgust; he was looking at tomato-cans and cinder-heaps, and did not see fit to turn around. But the superintendent knew that he was hearing, and considered it necessary to cover the flaw in his argument. “Young man,” said he, “you have violated several of the ordinances of this town.” + 

“Is there an ordinance against organising a union of the miners?” + 

“No; but there is one against speaking on the streets.” + 

“Who passed that ordinance, if I may ask?” + 

“The town council.” + 

“Consisting of Johnson, postmaster and company-store clerk; Ellison, company bookkeeper; Strauss, company pit-boss; O’Callahan, company saloon-keeper. Have I the list correct?” + 

Cartwright did not answer. + 

“And the fifth member of the town council is yourself, ex-officio⁠—Mr. Enos Cartwright, mayor and company-superintendent.” + 

Again there was no answer. + 

“You have an ordinance against street-speaking; and at the same time your company owns the saloon-buildings, the boardinghouses, the church and the school. Where do you expect the citizens to do their speaking?” + 

“You would make a good lawyer, young man. But we who have charge here know perfectly well what you mean by ‘speaking’!” + 

“You don’t approve, then, of the citizens holding meetings?” + 

“I mean that we don’t consider it necessary to provide agitators with opportunity to incite our employees.” + 

“May I ask, Mr. Cartwright, are you speaking as mayor of an American community, or as superintendent of a coal-mine?” + 

Cartwright’s face had been growing continually redder. Addressing Edward’s back, he said, “I don’t see any reason why this should continue.” + 

And Edward was of the same opinion. He turned. “Really, Hal⁠—” + 

“But, Edward! A man accuses your brother of being a lawbreaker! Have you hitherto known of any criminal tendencies in our family?” + 

Edward turned to the window again and resumed his study of the cinder-heaps and tomato-cans. It was a vulgar and stupid quarrel, but he had seen enough of Hal’s mood to realise that he would go on and on, so long as anyone was indiscreet enough to answer him. + 

“You say, Mr. Cartwright, that I have violated the ordinance against speaking on the street. May I ask what penalty this ordinance carries?” + 

“You will find out when the penalty is exacted of you.” + 

Hal laughed. “From what you said just now, I gather that the penalty is expulsion from the town! If I understand legal procedure, I should have been brought before the justice of the peace⁠—who happens to be another company store-clerk. Instead of that, I am sentenced by the mayor⁠—or is it the company superintendent? May I ask how that comes to be?” + 

“It is because of my consideration⁠—” + 

“When did I ask consideration?” + 

“Consideration for your brother, I mean.” + 

“Oh! Then your ordinance provides that the mayor⁠—or is it the superintendent?⁠—may show consideration for the brother of a lawbreaker, by changing his penalty to expulsion from the town. Was it consideration for Tommie Burke that caused you to have his sister sent down the canyon?” + 

Cartwright clenched his hands. “I’ve had all I’ll stand of this!” + 

He was again addressing Edward’s back; and Edward turned and answered, “I don’t blame you, sir.” Then to Hal, “I really think you’ve said enough!” + 

“I hope I’ve said enough,” replied Hal⁠—“to convince you that the pretence of American law in this coal-camp is a silly farce, an insult and a humiliation to any man who respects the institutions of his country.” + 

“You, Mr. Warner,” said the superintendent, to Edward, “have had experience in managing coal-mines. You know what it means to deal with ignorant foreigners, who have no understanding of American law⁠—” + 

Hal burst out laughing. “So you’re teaching them American law! You’re teaching them by setting at naught every law of your town and state, every constitutional guarantee⁠—and substituting the instructions you get by telegraph from Peter Harrigan!” + 

Cartwright turned and walked to the door. “Young man,” said he, over his shoulder, “it will be necessary for you to leave North Valley this morning. I only hope your brother will be able to persuade you to leave without trouble.” And the bang of the door behind him was the superintendent’s only farewell. + 

XVI + 

Edward turned upon his brother. “Now what the devil did you want to put me through a scene like that for? So undignified! So utterly uncalled for! A quarrel with a man so far beneath you!” + 

Hal stood where the superintendent had left him. He was looking at his brother’s angry face. “Was that all you got out of it, Edward?” + 

“All that stuff about your private character! What do you care what a fellow like Cartwright thinks about you?” + 

“I care nothing at all what he thinks, but I care about having him use such a slander. That’s one of their regular procedures, so Billy Keating says.” + 

Edward answered, coldly, “Take my advice, and realise that when you deny a scandal, you only give it circulation.” + 

“Of course,” answered Hal. “That’s what makes me so angry. Think of the girl, the harm done to her!” + 

“It’s not up to you to worry about the girl.” + 

“Suppose that Cartwright had slandered some woman friend of yours. Would you have felt the same indifference?” + 

“He’d not have slandered any friend of mine; I choose my friends more carefully.” + 

“Yes, of course. What that means is that you choose them among the rich. But I happen to be more democratic in my tastes⁠—” + 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” cried Edward. “You reformers are all alike⁠—you talk and talk and talk!” + 

“I can tell you the reason for that, Edward⁠—a man like you can shut his eyes, but he can’t shut his ears!” + 

“Well, can’t you let up on me for awhile⁠—long enough to get out of this place? I feel as if I were sitting on the top of a volcano, and I’ve no idea when it may break out again.” + 

Hal began to laugh. “All right,” he said; “I guess I haven’t shown much appreciation of your visit. I’ll be more sociable now. My next business is in Pedro, so I’ll go that far with you. There’s one thing more⁠—” + 

“What is it?” + 

“The company owes me money⁠—” + 

“What money?” + 

“Some I’ve earned.” + 

It was Edward’s turn to laugh. “Enough to buy you a shave and a bath?” + 

He took out his wallet, and pulled off several bills; and Hal, watching him, realised suddenly a change which had taken place in his own psychology. Not merely had he acquired the class-consciousness of the workingman, he had acquired the money-consciousness as well. He was actually concerned about the dollars the company owed him! He had earned those dollars by back- and heartbreaking toil, lifting lumps of coal into cars; the sum was enough to keep the whole Rafferty family alive for a week or two. And here was Edward, with a smooth brown leather wallet full of ten- and twenty-dollar bills, which he peeled off without counting, exactly as if money grew on trees, or as if coal came out of the earth and walked into furnaces to the sound of a fiddle and a flute! + 

Edward had of course no idea of these abnormal processes going on in his brother’s mind. He was holding out the bills. “Get yourself some decent things,” he said. “I hope you don’t have to stay dirty in order to feel democratic?” + 

“No,” answered Hal; and then, “How are we going?” + 

“I’ve a car waiting, back of the office.” + 

“So you had everything ready!” But Edward made no answer; afraid of setting off the volcano again. + 

XVII + 

They went out by the rear door of the office, entered the car, and sped out of the village, unseen by the crowd. And all the way down the canyon Edward pleaded with Hal to drop the controversy and come home at once. He brought up the tragic question of Dad again; when that did not avail, he began to threaten. Suppose Hal’s money-resources were to be cut off, suppose he were to find himself left out of his father’s will⁠—what would he do then? Hal answered, without a smile, “I can always get a job as organiser for the United Mine-Workers.” + 

So Edward gave up that line of attack. “If you won’t come,” he declared, “I’m going to stay by you till you do!” + 

“All right,” said Hal. He could not help smiling at this dire threat. “But if I take you about and introduce you to my friends, you must agree that what you hear shall be confidential.” + 

The other made a face of disgust. “What the devil would I want to talk about your friends for?” + 

“I don’t know what might happen,” said Hal. “You’re going to meet Peter Harrigan and take his side, and I can’t tell what you might conceive it your duty to do.” + 

The other exclaimed, with sudden passion, “I’ll tell you right now! If you try to go back to that coal-camp, I swear to God I’ll apply to the courts and have you shut up in a sanitarium. I don’t think I’d have much trouble in persuading a judge that you’re insane.” + 

“No,” said Hal, with a laugh⁠—“not a judge in this part of the world!” + 

Then, after studying his brother’s face for a moment, it occurred to him that it might be well not to let such an idea rest unimpeached in Edward’s mind. “Wait,” said he, “till you meet my friend Billy Keating, of the Gazette, and hear what he would do with such a story! Billy is crazy to have me turn him loose to ‘play up’ my fight with Old Peter!” The conversation went no farther⁠—but Hal was sure that Edward would “put that in his pipe and smoke it.” + 

They came to the MacKellar home in Pedro, and Edward waited in the automobile while Hal went inside. The old Scotchman welcomed him warmly, and told him what news he had. Jerry Minetti had been there that morning, and MacKellar at his request had telephoned to the office of the union in Sheridan, and ascertained that Jack David had brought word about the strike on the previous evening. All parties had been careful not to mention names, for “leaks” in the telephone were notorious, but it was clear who the messenger had been. As a result of the message, Johann Hartman, president of the local union of the miners, was now at the American Hotel in Pedro, together with James Moylan, secretary of the district organisation⁠—the latter having come down from Western City on the same train as Edward. + 

This was all satisfactory; but MacKellar added a bit of information of desperate import⁠—the officers of the union declared that they could not support a strike at the present time! It was premature, it could lead to nothing but failure and discouragement to the larger movement they were planning. + 

Such a possibility Hal had himself realised at the outset. But he had witnessed the new birth of freedom at North Valley, he had seen the hungry, toil-worn faces of men looking up to him for support; he had been moved by it, and had come to feel that the union officials must be moved in the same way. “They’ve simply got to back it!” he exclaimed. “Those men must not be disappointed! They’ll lose all hope, they’ll sink into utter despair! The labour men must realise that⁠—I must make them!” + 

The old Scotchman answered that Minetti had felt the same way. He had flung caution to the winds, and rushed over to the hotel to see Hartman and Moylan. Hal decided to follow, and went out to the automobile. + 

He explained matters to his brother, whose comment was, Of course! It was what he had foretold. The poor, misguided miners would go back to their work, and their would-be leader would have to admit the folly of his course. There was a train for Western City in a couple of hours; it would be a great favour if Hal would arrange to take it. + 

Hal answered shortly that he was going to the American Hotel. His brother might take him there, if he chose. So Edward gave the order to the driver of the car. Incidentally, Edward began asking about clothing-stores in Pedro. While Hal was in the hotel, pleading for the life of his newly-born labour union, Edward would seek a costume in which he could “feel like a human being.” + 

XVIII + 

Hal found Jerry Minetti with the two officials in their hotel-room: Jim Moylan, district secretary, a long, towering Irish boy, black-eyed and black-haired, quick and sensitive, the sort of person one trusted and liked at the first moment; and Johann Hartman, local president, a grey-haired miner of German birth, reserved and slow-spoken, evidently a man of much strength, both physical and moral. He had need of it, anyone could realise, having charge of a union headquarters in the heart of this “Empire of Raymond”! + 

Hal first told of the kidnapping of the committee. This did not surprise the officials, he found; it was the thing the companies regularly did when there was threat of rebellion in the camps. That was why efforts to organise openly were so utterly hopeless. There was no chance for anything but a secret propaganda, maintained until every camp had the nucleus of an organisation. + 

“So you can’t back this strike!” exclaimed Hal. + 

Not possibly, was Moylan’s reply. It would be lost as soon as it was begun. There was no slightest hope of success until a lot of organisation work had been done. + 

“But meantime,” argued Hal, “the union at North Valley will go to pieces!” + 

“Perhaps,” was the reply. “We’ll only have to start another. That’s what the labour movement is like.” + 

Jim Moylan was young, and saw Hal’s mood. “Don’t misunderstand us!” he cried. “It’s heartbreaking⁠—but it’s not in our power to help. We are charged with building up the union, and we know that if we supported everything that looked like a strike, we’d be bankrupt the first year. You can’t imagine how often this same thing happens⁠—hardly a month we’re not called on to handle such a situation.” + 

“I can see what you mean,” said Hal. “But I thought that in this case, right after the disaster, with the men so stirred⁠—” + 

The young Irishman smiled, rather sadly. “You’re new at this game,” he said. “If a mine-disaster was enough to win a strike, God knows our job would be easy. In Barela, just down the canyon from you, they’ve had three big explosions⁠—they’ve killed over five hundred men in the past year!” + 

Hal began to see how, in his inexperience, he had lost his sense of proportion. + 

He looked at the two labour leaders, and recalled the picture of such a person which he had brought with him to North Valley⁠—a hot headed and fiery agitator, luring honest workingmen from their jobs. But here was the situation exactly reversed! Here was he in a blaze of excitement⁠—and two labour leaders turning the fire-hose on him! They sat quiet and businesslike, pronouncing a doom upon the slaves of North Valley. Back to their black dungeons with them! + 

“What can we tell the men?” he asked, making an effort to repress his chagrin. + 

“We can only tell them what I’m telling you⁠—that we’re helpless, till we’ve got the whole district organised. Meantime, they have to stand the gaff; they must do what they can to keep an organisation.” + 

“But all the active men will be fired!” + 

“No, not quite all⁠—they seldom get them all.” + 

Here the stolid old German put in. In the last year the company had turned out more than six thousand men because of union activity or suspicion of it. + 

“Six thousand!” echoed Hal. “You mean from this one district?” + 

“That’s what I mean.” + 

“But there aren’t more than twelve or fifteen thousand men in the district!” + 

“I know that.” + 

“Then how can you ever keep an organisation?” + 

The other answered, quietly, “They treat the new men the same as they treated the old.” + 

Hal thought suddenly of John Edstrom’s ants! Here they were⁠—building their bridge, building it again and again, as often as floods might destroy it! They had not the swift impatience of a youth of the leisure-class, accustomed to having his own way, accustomed to thinking of freedom and decency and justice as necessities of life. Much as Hal learned from the conversation of these men, he learned more from their silences⁠—the quiet, matter-of-fact way they took things which had driven him beside himself with indignation. He began to realise what it would mean to stand by his pledge to those poor devils in North Valley. He would need more than one blaze of excitement; he would need brains and patience and discipline, he would need years of study and hard work! + 

XIX + 

Hal found himself forced to accept the decision of the labour-leaders. They had had experience, they could judge the situation. The miners would have to go back to work, and Cartwright and Alec Stone and Jeff Cotton would drive them as before! All that the rebels could do was to try to keep a secret organisation in the camp. + 

Jerry Minetti mentioned Jack David. He had gone back this morning, without having seen the labour-leaders. So he might escape suspicion, and keep his job, and help the union work. + 

“How about you?” asked Hal. “I suppose you’ve cooked your goose.” + 

Jerry had never heard this phrase, but he got its meaning. “Sure thing!” said he. “Cooked him plenty!” + 

“Didn’t you see the ‘dicks’ downstairs in the lobby?” inquired Hartman. + 

“I haven’t learned to recognise them yet.” + 

“Well, you will, if you stay at this business. There hasn’t been a minute since our office was opened that we haven’t had half a dozen on the other side of the street. Every man that comes to see us is followed back to his camp and fired that same day. They’ve broken into my desk at night and stolen my letters and papers; they’ve threatened us with death a hundred times.” + 

“I don’t see how you make any headway at all!” + 

“They can never stop us. They thought when they broke into my desk, they’d get a list of our organisers. But you see, I carry the lists in my head!” + 

“No small task, either,” put in Moylan. “Would you like to know how many organisers we have at work? Ninety-seven. And they haven’t caught a single one of them!” + 

Hal heard him, amazed. Here was a new aspect of the labour movement! This quiet, resolute old “Dutchy,” whom you might have taken for a delicatessen-proprietor; this merry-eyed Irish boy, whom you would have expected to be escorting a lady to a firemen’s ball⁠—they were captains of an army of sappers who were undermining the towers of Peter Harrigan’s fortress of greed! + 

Hartman suggested that Jerry might take a chance at this sort of work. He would surely be fired from North Valley, so he might as well send word to his family to come to Pedro. In this way he might save himself to work as an organiser; because it was the custom of these company “spotters” to follow a man back to his camp and there identify him. If Jerry took a train for Western City, they would be thrown off the track, and he might get into some new camp and do organising among the Italians. Jerry accepted this proposition with alacrity; it would put off the evil day when Rosa and her little ones would be left to the mercy of chance. + 

They were still talking when the telephone rang. It was Hartman’s secretary in Sheridan, reporting that he had just heard from the kidnapped committee. The entire party, eight men and Mary Burke, had been taken to Horton, a station not far up the line, and put on the train with many dire threats. But they had left the train at the next stop, and declared their intention of coming to Pedro. They were due at the hotel very soon. + 

Hal desired to be present at this meeting, and went downstairs to tell his brother. There was another dispute, of course. Edward reminded Hal that the scenery of Pedro had a tendency to monotony; to which Hal could only answer by offering to introduce his brother to his friends. They were men who could teach Edward much, if he would consent to learn. He might attend the session with the committee⁠—eight men and a woman who had ventured an act of heroism and been made the victims of a crime. Nor were they bores, as Edward might be thinking! There was blue-eyed Tim Rafferty, for example, a silent, smutty-faced gnome who had broken out of his black cavern and spread unexpected golden wings of oratory; and Mary Burke, of whom Edward might read in that afternoon’s edition of the Western City Gazette⁠—a “Joan of Arc of the coal-camps,” or something equally picturesque. But Edward’s mood was not to be enlivened. He had a vision of his brother’s appearance in the paper as the companion of this Hibernian Joan! + 

Hal went off with Jerry Minetti to what his brother described as a “hash-house,” while Edward proceeded in solitary state to the dining-room of the American Hotel. But he was not left in solitary state; pretty soon a sharp-faced young man was ushered to a seat beside him, and started up a conversation. He was a “drummer,” he said; his “line” was hardware, what was Edward’s? Edward answered coldly that he had no “line,” but the young man was not rebuffed⁠—apparently his “line” had hardened his sensibilities. Perhaps Edward was interested in coal-mines? Had he been visiting the camps? He questioned so persistently, and came back so often to the subject, that at last it dawned over Edward what this meant⁠—he was receiving the attention of a “spotter!” Strange to say, the circumstance caused Edward more irritation against Peter Harrigan’s regime than all his brother’s eloquence about oppression at North Valley. + 

XX + 

Soon after dinner the kidnapped committee arrived, bedraggled in body and weary in soul. They inquired for Johann Hartman, and were sent up to the room, where there followed a painful scene. Eight men and a woman who had ventured an act of heroism and been made the victims of a crime could not easily be persuaded to see their efforts and sacrifices thrown on the dump-heap, nor were they timid in expressing their opinions of those who were betraying them. + 

“You been tryin’ to get us out!” cried Tim Rafferty. “Ever since I can remember you been at my old man to help you⁠—an’ here, when we do what you ask, you throw us down!” + 

“We never asked you to go on strike,” said Moylan. + 

“No, that’s true. You only asked us to pay dues, so you fellows could have fat salaries.” + 

“Our salaries aren’t very fat,” replied the young leader, patiently. “You’d find that out if you investigated.” + 

“Well, whatever they are, they go on, while ours stop. We’re on the streets, we’re done for. Look at us⁠—and most of us has got families, too! I got an old mother an’ a lot of brothers and sisters, an’ my old man done up an’ can’t work. What do you think’s to become of us?” + 

“We’ll help you out a little, Rafferty⁠—” + 

“To hell with you!” cried Tim. “I don’t want your help! When I need charity, I’ll go to the county. They’re another bunch of grafters, but they don’t pretend to be friends to the workin’ man.” + 

Here was the thing Tom Olson had told Hal at the outset⁠—the workingmen bedevilled, not knowing whom to trust, suspecting the very people who most desired to help them. “Tim,” he put in, “there’s no use talking like that. We have to learn patience⁠—” + 

And the boy turned upon Hal. “What do you know about it? It’s all a joke to you. You can go off and forget it when you get ready. You’ve got money, they tell me!” + 

Hal felt no resentment at this; it was what he heard from his own conscience. “It isn’t so easy for me as you think, Tim. There are other ways of suffering besides not having money⁠—” + 

“Much sufferin’ you’ll do⁠—with your rich folks!” sneered Tim. + 

There was a murmur of protest from others of the committee. + 

“Good God, Rafferty!” broke in Moylan. “We can’t help it, man⁠—we’re just as helpless as you!” + 

“You say you’re helpless⁠—but you don’t even try!” + 

“Try? Do you want us to back a strike that we know hasn’t a chance? You might as well ask us to lie down and let a load of coal run over us. We can’t win, man! I tell you we can’t win! We’d only be throwing away our organisation!” + 

Moylan became suddenly impassioned. He had seen a dozen sporadic strikes in this district, and many a dozen young strikers, homeless, desolate, embittered, turning their disappointment on him. “We might support you with our funds, you say⁠—we might go on doing it, even while the company ran the mine with scabs. But where would that land us, Rafferty? I seen many a union on the rocks⁠—and I ain’t so old either! If we had a bank, we’d support all the miners of the country, they’d never need to work again till they got their rights. But this money we spend is the money that other miners are earnin’⁠—right now, down in the pits, Rafferty, the same as you and your old man. They give us this money, and they say, ‘Use it to build up the union. Use it to help the men that aren’t organised⁠—take them in, so they won’t beat down our wages and scab on us. But don’t waste it, for God’s sake; we have to work hard to make it, and if we don’t see results, you’ll get no more out of us.’ Don’t you see how that is, man? And how it weighs on us, worse even then the fear that maybe we’ll lose our poor salaries⁠—though you might refuse to believe anything so good of us? You don’t need to talk to me like I was Peter Harrigan’s son. I was a spragger when I was ten years old, and I ain’t been out of the pits so long that I’ve forgot the feeling. I assure you, the thing that keeps me awake at night ain’t the fear of not gettin’ a living, for I give myself a bit of education, working nights, and I know I could always turn out and earn what I need; but it’s wondering whether I’m spending the miners’ money the best way, whether maybe I mightn’t save them a little misery if I hadn’t ’a’ done this or had ’a’ done that. When I come down on that sleeper last night, here’s what I was thinking, Tim Rafferty⁠—all the time I listened to the train bumping⁠—‘Now I got to see some more of the suffering, I got to let some good men turn against us, because they can’t see why we should get salaries while they get the sack. How am I going to show them that I’m working for them⁠—working as hard as I know how⁠—and that I’m not to blame for their trouble?’ ” + 

Here Wauchope broke in. “There’s no use talking any more. I see we’re up against it. We’ll not trouble you, Moylan.” + 

“You trouble me,” cried Moylan, “unless you stand by the movement!” + 

The other laughed bitterly. “You’ll never know what I do. It’s the road for me⁠—and you know it!” + 

“Well, wherever you go, it’ll be the same; either you’ll be fighting for the union, or you’ll be a weight that we have to carry.” + 

The young leader turned from one to another of the committee, pleading with them not to be embittered by this failure, but to turn it to their profit, going on with the work of building up the solidarity of the miners. Every man had to make his sacrifices, to pay his part of the price. The thing of importance was that every man who was discharged should be a spark of unionism, carrying the flame of revolt to a new part of the country. Let each one do his part, and there would soon be no place to which the masters could send for “scabs.” + 

XXI + 

There was one member of this committee whom Hal watched with especial anxiety⁠—Mary Burke. She had not yet said a word; while the others argued and protested, she sat with her lips set and her hands clenched. Hal knew what rage this failure must bring to her. She had risen and struggled and hoped, and the result was what she had always said it would be⁠—nothing! Now he saw her, with eyes large and dark with fatigue, fixed on this fiery young labour-leader. He knew that a war must be going on within her. Would she drop out entirely now? It was the test of her character⁠—as it was the test of the characters of all of them. + 

“If only we’re strong enough and brave enough,” Jim Moylan was saying, “we can use our defeats to educate our people and bring them together. Right now, if we can make the men at North Valley see what we’re doing, they won’t go back beaten, they won’t be bitter against the union, they’ll only go back to wait. And ain’t that a way to beat the bosses⁠—to hold our jobs, and keep the union alive, till we’ve got into all the camps, and can strike and win?” + 

There was a pause; then Mary spoke. “How’re you meanin’ to tell the men?” Her voice was without emotion, but nevertheless, Hal’s heart leaped. Whether Mary had any hope or not, she was going to stay in line with the rest of the ants! + 

Johann Hartman explained his idea. He would have circulars printed in several languages and distributed secretly in the camp, ordering the men back to work. But Jerry met this suggestion with a prompt no. The people would not believe the circulars, they would suspect the bosses of having them printed. Hadn’t the bosses done worse than that, “framing up” a letter from Joe Smith to balk the check-weighman movement? The only thing that would help would be for some of the committee to get into the camp and see the men face to face. + 

“And it got to be quick!” Jerry insisted. “They get notice to work in morning, and them that don’t be fired. They be the best men, too⁠—men we want to save.” + 

Other members of the committee spoke up, agreeing with this. Said Rusick, the Slav, slow-witted and slow-spoken, “Them fellers get mighty damn sore if they lose their job and don’t got no strike.” And Zammakis, the Greek, quick and nervous, “We say strike; we got to say no strike.” + 

What could they do? There was, in the first place, the difficulty of getting away from the hotel, which was being watched by the “spotters.” Hartman suggested that if they went out all together and scattered, the detectives could not follow all of them. Those who escaped might get into North Valley by hiding in the “empties” which went up to the mine. + 

But Moylan pointed out that the company would be anticipating this; and Rusick, who had once been a hobo, put in: “They sure search them cars. They give us plenty hell, too, when they catch us.” + 

Yes, it would be a dangerous mission. Mary spoke again. “Maybe a lady could do it better.” + 

“They’d beat a lady,” said Minetti. + 

“I know, but maybe a lady might fool them. There’s some widows that came to Pedro for the funerals, and they’re wearin’ veils that hide their faces. I might pretend to be one of them and get into the camp.” + 

The men looked at one another. There was an idea! The scowl which had stayed upon the face of Tim Rafferty ever since his quarrel with Moylan, gave place suddenly to a broad grin. + 

“I seen Mrs. Zamboni on the street,” said he. “She had on black veils enough to hide the lot of us.” + 

And here Hal spoke, for the first time since Tim Rafferty had silenced him. “Does anybody know where to find Mrs. Zamboni?” + 

“She stay with my friend, Mrs. Swajka,” said Rusick. + 

“Well,” said Hal, “there’s something you people don’t know about this situation. After they had fired you, I made another speech to the men, and made them swear they’d stay on strike. So now I’ve got to go back and eat my words. If we’re relying on veils and things, a man can be fixed up as well as a woman.” + 

They were staring at him. “They’ll beat you to death if they catch you!” said Wauchope. + 

“No,” said Hal, “I don’t think so. Anyhow, it’s up to me”⁠—he glanced at Tim Rafferty⁠—“because I’m the only one who doesn’t have to suffer for the failure of our strike.” + 

There was a pause. + 

“I’m sorry I said that!” cried Tim, impulsively. + 

“That’s all right, old man,” replied Hal. “What you said is true, and I’d like to do something to ease my conscience.” He rose to his feet, laughing. “I’ll make a peach of a widow!” he said. “I’m going up and have a tea-party with my friend Jeff Cotton!” + 

XXII + 

Hal proposed going to find Mrs. Zamboni at the place where she was staying; but Moylan interposed, objecting that the detectives would surely follow him. Even though they should all go out of the hotel at once, the one person the detective would surely stick to was the arch-rebel and troublemaker, Joe Smith. Finally they decided to bring Mrs. Zamboni to the room. Let her come with Mrs. Swajka or some other woman who spoke English, and go to the desk and ask for Mary Burke, explaining that Mary had borrowed money from her, and that she had to have it to pay the undertaker for the burial of her man. The hotel-clerk might not know who Mary Burke was; but the watchful “spotters” would gather about and listen, and if it was mentioned that Mary was from North Valley, someone would connect her with the kidnapped committee. + 

This was made clear to Rusick, who hurried off, and in the course of half an hour returned with the announcement that the women were on the way. A few minutes later came a tap on the door, and there stood the black-garbed old widow with her friend. She came in; and then came looks of dismay and horrified exclamations. Rusick was requesting her to give up her weeds to Joe Smith! + 

“She say she don’t got nothing else,” explained the Slav. + 

“Tell her I give her plenty money buy more,” said Hal. + 

“Ai! Jesu!” cried Mrs. Zamboni, pouring out a sputtering torrent. + 

“She say she don’t got nothing to put on. She say it ain’t good to go no clothes!” + 

“Hasn’t she got on a petticoat?” + 

“She say petticoat got holes!” + 

There was a burst of laughter from the company, and the old woman turned scarlet from her forehead to her ample throat. “Tell her she wrap up in blankets,” said Hal. “Mary Burke buy her new things.” + 

It proved surprisingly difficult to separate Mrs. Zamboni from her widow’s weeds, which she had purchased with so great an expenditure of time and tears. Never had a respectable lady who had borne sixteen children received such a proposition; to sell the insignia of her grief⁠—and here in a hotel room, crowded with a dozen men! Nor was the task made easier by the unseemly merriment of the men. “Ai! Jesu!” cried Mrs. Zamboni again. + 

“Tell her it’s very, very important,” said Hal. “Tell her I must have them.” And then, seeing that Rusick was making poor headway, he joined in, in the compromise-English one learns in the camps. “Got to have! Sure thing! Got to hide! Quick! Get away from boss! See? Get killed if no go!” + 

So at last the frightened old woman gave way. “She say all turn backs,” said Rusick. And everybody turned, laughing in hilarious whispers, while, with Mary Burke and Mrs. Swajka for a shield, Mrs. Zamboni got out of her waist and skirt, putting a blanket round her red shoulders for modesty’s sake. When Hal put the garments on, there was a foot to spare all round; but after they had stuffed two bed pillows down in the front of him, and drawn them tight at the waistline, the disguise was judged more satisfactory. He put on the old lady’s ample if ragged shoes, and Mary Burke set the widow’s bonnet on his head and adjusted the many veils; after that Mrs. Zamboni’s own brood of children would not have suspected the disguise. + 

It was a merry party for a few minutes; worn and hopeless as Mary had seemed, she was possessed now by the spirit of fun. But then quickly the laughter died. The time for action had come. Mary Burke said that she would stay with what was left of Mrs. Zamboni, to answer the door in case any of the hotel people or the detectives should come. Hal asked Jim Moylan to see Edward, and say that Hal was writing a manifesto to the North Valley workers, and would not be ready to leave until the midnight train. + 

These things agreed upon, Hal shook hands all round, and the eleven men left the room at once, going downstairs and through the lobby, scattering in every direction on the streets. Mrs. Swajka and the pseudo-Mrs. Zamboni followed a minute later⁠—and, as they anticipated, found the lobby swept clear of detectives. + 

XXIII + 

Bidding Mrs. Swajka farewell, Hal set out for the railroad station. But before he had gone a block from the hotel, he ran into his brother, coming straight towards him. + 

Edward’s face wore a bored look; his very manner of carrying the magazine under his arm said that he had selected it in a last hopeless effort against the monotony of Pedro. Such a trick of fate, to take a man of important affairs, and immure him at the mercy of a maniac in a Godforsaken coal-town! What did people do in such a hole? Pay a nickel to look at moving pictures of cowboys and counterfeiters? + 

Edward’s aspect was too much for Hal’s sense of humour. Besides, he had a good excuse; was it not proper to make a test of his disguise, before facing the real danger in North Valley? + 

He placed himself in the path of his brother’s progress, and in Mrs. Zamboni’s high, complaining tones, began, “Mister!” + 

Edward stared at the interrupting black figure. “Mister, you Joe Smith’s brother, hey?” + 

The question had to be repeated before Edward gave his grudging answer. He was not proud of the relationship. + 

“Mister,” continued the whining voice, “my old man got blow up in mine. I get five pieces from my man what I got to bury yesterday in graveyard. I got to pay thirty dollar for bury them pieces and I don’t got no more money left. I don’t got no money from them company fellers. They come lawyer feller and he say maybe I get money for bury my man, if I don’t jay too much. But, Mister, I got eleven children I got to feed, and I don’t got no more man, and I don’t find no new man for old woman like me. When I go home I hear them children crying and I don’t got no food, and them company-stores don’t give me no food. I think maybe you Joe Smith’s brother you good man, maybe you sorry for poor widow-woman, you maybe give me some money, Mister, so I buy some food for them children.” + 

“All right,” said Edward. He pulled out his wallet and extracted a bill, which happened to be for ten dollars. His manner seemed to say, “For heaven’s sake, here!” + 

Mrs. Zamboni clutched the bill with greedy fingers, but was not appeased. “You got plenty money, Mister! You rich man, hey! You maybe give me all them moneys, so I got plenty feed them children? You don’t know them company-stores, Mister, them prices is way up high like mountains; them children is hungry, they cry all day and night, and one piece money don’t last so long. You give me some more piece moneys, Mister⁠—hey?” + 

“I’ll give you one more,” said Edward. “I need some for myself.” He pulled off another bill. + 

“What you need so much, Mister? You don’t got so many children, hey? And you got plenty more money home, maybe!” + 

“That’s all I can give you,” said the man. He took a step to one side, to get round the obstruction in his path. + 

But the obstruction took a step also⁠—and with surprising agility. “Mister, I thank you for them moneys. I tell them children I get moneys from good man. I like you, Mister Smith, you give money for poor widow-woman⁠—you nice man.” + 

And the dreadful creature actually stuck out one of her paws, as if expecting to pat Edward on the cheek, or to chuck him under the chin. He recoiled, as from a contagion; but she followed him, determined to do something to him, he could not be sure what. He had heard that these foreigners had strange customs! + 

“It’s all right! It’s nothing!” he insisted, and fell back⁠—at the same time glancing nervously about, to see if there were spectators of this scene. + 

“Nice man, Mister! Nice man!” cried the old woman, with increasing cordiality. “Maybe some day I find man like you, Mr. Edward Smith⁠—so I don’t stay widow-woman no more. You think maybe you like to marry nice Slavish woman, got plenty nice children?” + 

Edward, perceiving that the matter was getting desperate, sprang to one side. It was a spring which should have carried him to safety; but to his dismay the Slavish widow sprang also⁠—her claws caught him under the armpit, and fastening in his ribs, gave him a ferocious pinch. After which the owner of the claws went down the street, not looking back, but making strange gobbling noises, which might have been the weeping of a bereaved widow in Slavish, or might have been almost anything else. + 

XXIV + 

The train up to North Valley left very soon, and Hal figured that there would be just time to accomplish his errand and catch the last train back. He took his seat in the car without attracting attention, and sat in his place until they were approaching their destination, the last stop up the canyon. There were several of the miners’ women in the car, and Hal picked out one who belonged to Mrs. Zamboni’s nationality, and moved over beside her. She made place, with some remark; but Hal merely sobbed softly, and the woman felt for his hand to comfort him. As his hands were clasped together under the veils, she patted him reassuringly on the knee. + 

At the boundary of the stockaded village the train stopped, and Bud Adams came through the car, scrutinising every passenger. Seeing this, Hal began to sob again, and murmured something indistinct to his companion⁠—which caused her to lean towards him, speaking volubly in her native language. “Bud” passed by. + 

When Hal came to leave the train, he took his companion’s arm; he sobbed some more, and she talked some more, and so they went down the platform, under the very eyes of Pete Hanun, the “breaker of teeth.” Another woman joined them, and they walked down the street, the women conversing in Slavish, apparently without a suspicion of Hal. + 

He had worked out his plan of action. He would not try to talk with the men secretly⁠—it would take too long, and he might be betrayed before he had talked with a sufficient number. One bold stroke was the thing. In half an hour it would be suppertime, and the feeders would gather in Reminitsky’s dining-room. He would give his message there! + 

Hal’s two companions were puzzled that he passed the Zamboni cabin, where presumably the Zamboni brood were being cared for by neighbours. But he let them make what they could of this, and went on to the Minetti home. To the astonished Rosa he revealed himself, and gave her husband’s message⁠—that she should take herself and the children down to Pedro, and wait quietly until she heard from him. She hurried out and brought in Jack David, to whom Hal explained matters. “Big Jack’s” part in the recent disturbance had apparently not been suspected; he and his wife, with Rovetta, Wresmak, and Klowoski, would remain as a nucleus through which the union could work upon the men. + 

The supper-hour was at hand, and the pseudo-Mrs. Zamboni emerged and toddled down the street. As she passed into the dining-room of the boardinghouse, men looked at her, but no one spoke. It was the stage of the meal where everybody was grabbing and devouring, in the effort to get the best of his grabbing and devouring neighbours. The black-clad figure went to the far end of the room; there was a vacant chair, and the figure pulled it back from the table and climbed upon it. Then a shout rang through the room: “Boys! Boys!” + 

The feeders looked up, and saw the widow’s weeds thrown back, and their leader, Joe Smith, gazing out at them. “Boys! I’ve come with a message from the union!” + 

There was a yell; men leaped to their feet, chairs were flung back, falling with a crash to the floor. Then, almost instantly, came silence; you could have heard the movement of any man’s jaws, had any man continued to move them. + 

“Boys! I’ve been down to Pedro and seen the union people. I knew the bosses wouldn’t let me come back, so I dressed up, and here I am!” + 

It dawned upon them, the meaning of this fantastic costume; there were cheers, laughter, yells of delight. + 

But Hal stretched out his hands, and silence fell again. “Listen to me! The bosses won’t let me talk long, and I’ve something important to say. The union leaders say we can’t win a strike now.” + 

Consternation came into the faces before him. There were cries of dismay. He went on: + 

“We are only one camp, and the bosses would turn us out, they’d get in scabs and run the mines without us. What we must have is a strike of all the camps at once. One big union and one big strike! If we walked out now, it would please the bosses; but we’ll fool them⁠—we’ll keep our jobs, and keep our union too! You are members of the union, you’ll go on working for the union! Hooray for the North Valley union!” + 

For a moment there was no response. It was hard for men to cheer over such a prospect! Hal saw that he must touch a different chord. + 

“We mustn’t be cowards, boys! We’ve got to keep our nerve! I’m doing my part⁠—it took nerve to get in here! In Mrs. Zamboni’s clothes, and with two pillows stuffed in front of me!” + 

He thumped the pillows, and there was a burst of laughter. Many in the crowd knew Mrs. Zamboni⁠—it was what comedians call a “local gag.” The laughter spread, and became a gale of merriment. Men began to cheer: “Hurrah for Joe! You’re the girl! Will you marry me, Joe?” And so, of course, it was easy for Hal to get a response when he shouted, “Hurrah for the North Valley union!” + 

Again he raised his hands for silence, and went on again. “Listen, men. They’ll turn me out, and you’re not going to resist them. You’re going to work and keep your jobs, and get ready for the big strike. And you’ll tell the other men what I say. I can’t talk to them all, but you tell them about the union. Remember, there are people outside planning and fighting for you. We’re going to stand by the union, all of us, till we’ve brought these coal-camps back into America!” There was a cheer that shook the walls of the room. Yes, that was what they wanted⁠—to live in America! + 

A crowd of men had gathered in the doorway, attracted by the uproar; Hal noticed confusion and pushing, and saw the head and burly shoulders of his enemy, Pete Hanun, come into sight. + 

“Here come the gunmen, boys!” he cried; and there was a roar of anger from the crowd. Men turned, clenching their fists, glaring at the guard. But Hal rushed on, quickly: + 

“Boys, hear what I say! Keep your heads! I can’t stay in North Valley, and you know it! But I’ve done the thing I came to do, I’ve brought you the message from the union. And you’ll tell the other men⁠—tell them to stand by the union!” + 

Hal went on, repeating his message over and over. Looking from one to another of these toil-worn faces, he remembered the pledge he had made them, and he made it anew: “I’m going to stand by you! I’m going on with the fight, boys!” + 

There came more disturbance at the door, and suddenly Jeff Cotton appeared, with a couple of additional guards, shoving their way into the room, breathless and red in the face from running. + 

“Ah, there’s the marshal!” cried Hal. “You needn’t push, Cotton, there’s not going to be any trouble. We are union men here, we know how to control ourselves. Now, boys, we’re not giving up, we’re not beaten, we’re only waiting for the men in the other camps! We have a union, and we mean to keep it! Three cheers for the union!” + 

The cheers rang out with a will: cheers for the union, cheers for Joe Smith, cheers for the widow and her weeds! + 

“You belong to the union! You stand by it, no matter what happens! If they fire you, you take it on to the next place! You teach it to the new men, you never let it die in your hearts! In union there is strength, in union there is hope! Never forget it, men⁠—Union!” + 

The voice of the camp-marshal rang out. “If you’re coming, young woman, come now!” + 

Hal dropped a shy curtsey. “Oh, Mr. Cotton! This is so sudden!” The crowd howled; and Hal descended from his platform. With coquettish gesturing he replaced the widow’s veils about his face, and tripped mincingly across the dining-room. When he reached the camp-marshal, he daintily took that worthy’s arm, and with the “breaker of teeth” on the other side, and Bud Adams bringing up the rear, he toddled out of the dining-room and down the street. + 

Hungry men gave up their suppers to behold that sight. They poured out of the building, they followed, laughing, shouting, jeering. Others came from every direction⁠—by the time the party had reached the depot, a good part of the population of the village was on hand; and everywhere went the word, “It’s Joe Smith! Come back with a message from the union!” Big, coal-grimed miners laughed till the tears made streaks on their faces; they fell on one another’s necks for delight at this trick which had been played upon their oppressors. + 

Even Jeff Cotton could not withhold his tribute. “By God, you’re the limit!” he muttered. He accepted the “tea-party” aspect of the affair, as the easiest way to get rid of his recurrent guest, and avert the possibilities of danger. He escorted the widow to the train and helped her up the steps, posting escorts at the doors of her car; nor did the attentions of these gallants cease until the train had moved down the canyon and passed the limits of the North Valley stockade! + 

XXV + 

Hal took off his widow’s weeds; and with them he shed the merriment he had worn for the benefit of the men. There came a sudden reaction; he realised that he was tired. + 

For ten days he had lived in a whirl of excitement, scarcely stopping to sleep. Now he lay back in the car-seat, pale, exhausted; his head ached, and he realised that the sum-total of his North Valley experience was failure. There was left in him no trace of that spirit of adventure with which he had set out upon his “summer course in practical sociology.” He had studied his lessons, tried to recite them, and been “flunked.” He smiled a bitter smile, recollecting the careless jesting that had been on his lips as he came up that same canyon: + 

“He keeps them a-roll, that merry old soul⁠— + 

The wheels of industree; + 

A-roll and a-roll, for his pipe and his bowl + 

And his college facultee!” + 

The train arrived in Pedro, and Hal took a hack at the station and drove to the hotel. He still carried the widow’s weeds rolled into a bundle. He might have left them in the train, but the impulse to economy which he had acquired during the last ten weeks had become a habit. He would return them to Mrs. Zamboni. The money he had promised her might better be used to feed her young ones. The two pillows he would leave in the car; the hotel might endure the loss! + 

Entering the lobby, the first person Hal saw was his brother, and the sight of that patrician face made human by disgust relieved Hal’s headache in part. Life was harsh, life was cruel; but here was weary, waiting Edward, that boon of comic relief! + 

Edward demanded to know where the devil he had been; and Hal answered, “I’ve been visiting the widows and orphans.” + 

“Oh!” said Edward. “And while I sit in this hole and stew! What’s that you’ve got under your arm?” + 

Hal looked at the bundle. “It’s a souvenir of one of the widows,” he said, and unrolled the garments and spread them out before his brother’s puzzled eyes. “A lady named Mrs. Swajka gave them to me. They belonged to another lady, Mrs. Zamboni, but she doesn’t need them any more.” + 

“What have you got to do with them?” + 

“It seems that Mrs. Zamboni is going to get married again.” Hal lowered his voice, confidentially. “It’s a romance, Edward⁠—it may interest you as an illustration of the manners of these foreign races. She met a man on the street, a fine, fine man, she says⁠—and he gave her a lot of money. So she went and bought herself some new clothes, and she wants to give these widow’s weeds to the new man. That’s the custom in her country, it seems⁠—her sign that she accepts him as a suitor.” + 

Seeing the look of wonderment growing on his brother’s face, Hal had to stop for a moment to keep his own face straight. “If that man wasn’t serious in his intention, Edward, he’ll have trouble, for I know Mrs. Zamboni’s emotional nature. She’ll follow him about everywhere⁠—” + 

“Hal, that creature is insane!” And Edward looked about him nervously, as if he thought the Slavish widow might appear suddenly in the hotel lobby to demonstrate her emotional nature. + 

“No,” replied Hal, “it’s just one of those differences in national customs.” And suddenly Hal’s face gave way. He began to laugh; he laughed, perhaps more loudly than good form permitted. + 

Edward was much annoyed. There were people in the lobby, and they were staring at him. “Cut it out, Hal!” he exclaimed. “Your fool jokes bore me!” But nevertheless, Hal could see uncertainty in his brother’s face. Edward recognised those widow’s weeds. And how could he be sure about the “national customs” of that grotesque creature who had pinched him in the ribs on the street? + 

“Cut it out!” he cried again. + 

Hal, changing his voice suddenly to the Zamboni key, exclaimed: “Mister, I got eight children I got to feed, and I don’t got no more man, and I don’t find no new man for old woman like me!” + 

So at last the truth in its full enormity began to dawn upon Edward. His consternation and disgust poured themselves out; and Hal listened, his laughter dying. “Edward,” he said, “you don’t take me seriously even yet!” + 

“Good God!” cried the other. “I believe you’re really insane!” + 

“You were up there, Edward! You heard what I said to those poor devils! And you actually thought I’d go off with you and forget about them!” + 

Edward ignored this. “You’re really insane!” he repeated. “You’ll get yourself killed, in spite of all I can do!” + 

But Hal only laughed. “Not a chance of it! You should have seen the tea-party manners of the camp-marshal!” + 

XXVI + 

Edward would have endeavoured to carry his brother away forthwith, but there was no train until late at night; so Hal went upstairs, where he found Moylan and Hartman with Mary Burke and Mrs. Zamboni, all eager to hear his story. As the members of the committee, who had been out to supper, came straggling in, the story was told again, and yet again. They were almost as much delighted as the men in Reminitsky’s. If only all strikes that had to be called off could be called off as neatly as that! + 

Between these outbursts of satisfaction, they discussed their future. Moylan was going back to Western City, Hartman to his office in Sheridan, from which he would arrange to send new organisers into North Valley. No doubt Cartwright would turn off many men⁠—those who had made themselves conspicuous during the strike, those who continued to talk union out loud. But such men would have to be replaced, and the union knew through what agencies the company got its hands. The North Valley miners would find themselves mysteriously provided with union literature in their various languages; it would be slipped under their pillows, or into their dinner-pails, or the pockets of their coats while they were at work. + 

Also there was propaganda to be carried on among those who were turned away; so that, wherever they went, they would take the message of unionism. There had been a sympathetic outburst in Barela, Hal learned⁠—starting quite spontaneously that morning, when the men heard what had happened at North Valley. A score of workers had been fired, and more would probably follow in the morning. Here was a job for the members of the kidnapped committee; Tim Rafferty, for example⁠—would he care to stay in Pedro for a week or two, to meet such men, and give them literature and arguments? + 

This offer was welcome; for life looked desolate to the Irish boy at this moment. He was out of a job, his father was a wreck, his family destitute and helpless. They would have to leave their home, of course; there would be no place for any Rafferty in North Valley. Where they would go, God only knew; Tim would become a wanderer, living away from his people, starving himself and sending home his pitiful savings. + 

Hal was watching the boy, and reading these thoughts. He, Hal Warner, would play the god out of a machine in this case, and in several others equally pitiful. He had the right to sign his father’s name to checks, a privilege which he believed he could retain, even while undertaking the role of Haroun al Raschid in a mine-disaster. But what about the mine-disasters and abortive strikes where there did not happen to be any Haroun al Raschid at hand? What about those people, right in North Valley, who did not happen to have told Hal of their affairs? He perceived that it was only by turning his back and running that he would escape from his adventure with any portion of his self-possession. Truly, this fair-seeming and wonderful civilisation was like the floor of a charnel-house or a field of battle; anywhere one drove a spade beneath its surface, he uncovered horrors, sights for the eyes and stenches for the nostrils that caused him to turn sick! + 

There was Rusick, for example; he had a wife and two children, and not a dollar in the world. In the year and more that he had worked, faithfully and persistently, to get out coal for Peter Harrigan, he had never once been able to get ahead of his bill for the necessities of life at Old Peter’s store. All his belongings in the world could be carried in a bundle on his back, and whether he ever saw these again would depend upon the whim of old Peter’s camp-marshal and guards. Rusick would take to the road, with a ticket purchased by the union. Perhaps he would find a job and perhaps not; in any case, the best he could hope for in life was to work for some other Harrigan, and run into debt at some other company-store. + 

There was Hobianish, a Serbian, and Hernandez, a Mexican, of whom the same things were true, except that one had four children and the other six. Bill Wauchope had only a wife⁠—their babies had died, thank heaven, he said. He did not seem to have been much moved by Jim Moylan’s pleadings; he was down and out; he would take to the road, and beat his way to the East and back to England. They called this a free country! By God, if he were to tell what had happened to him, he could not get an English miner to believe it! + 

Hal gave these men his real name and address, and made them promise to let him know how they got along. He would help a little, he said; in his mind he was figuring how much he ought to do. How far shall a man go in relieving the starvation about him, before he can enjoy his meals in a well-appointed club? What casuist will work out this problem⁠—telling him the percentage he shall relieve of the starvation he happens personally to know about, the percentage of that which he sees on the streets, the percentage of that about which he reads in government reports on the rise in the cost of living. To what extent is he permitted to close his eyes, as he walks along the streets on his way to the club? To what extent is he permitted to avoid reading government reports before going out to dinner-dances with his fiancée? Problems such as these the masters of the higher mathematics have neglected to solve; the wise men of the academies and the holy men of the churches have likewise failed to work out the formulas; and Hal, trying to obtain them by his crude mental arithmetic, found no satisfaction in the results. + 

XXVII + 

Hal wanted a chance to talk to Mary Burke; they had had no intimate talk since the meeting with Jessie Arthur, and now he was going away, for a long time. He wanted to find out what plans Mary had for the future, and⁠—more important yet⁠—what was her state of mind. If he had been able to lift this girl from despair, his summer course in practical sociology had not been all a failure! + 

He asked her to go with him to say goodbye to John Edstrom, whom he had not seen since their unceremonious parting at MacKellar’s, when Hal had fled to Percy Harrigan’s train. Downstairs in the lobby Hal explained his errand to his waiting brother, who made no comment, but merely remarked that he would follow, if Hal had no objection. He did not care to make the acquaintance of the Hibernian Joan of Arc, and would not come close enough to interfere with Hal’s conversation with the lady; but he wished to do what he could for his brother’s protection. So there set out a moonlight procession⁠—first Hal and Mary, then Edward, and then Edward’s dinner-table companion, the “hardware-drummer!” + 

Hal was embarrassed in beginning his farewell talk with Mary. He had no idea how she felt towards him, and he admitted with a guilty pang that he was a little afraid to find out! He thought it best to be cheerful, so he started to tell her how fine he thought her conduct during the strike. But she did not respond to his remarks, and at last he realised that she was labouring with some thoughts of her own. + 

“There’s somethin’ I got to say to ye!” she began, suddenly. “A couple of days ago I knew how I meant to say it, but now I don’t.” + 

“Well,” he laughed, “say it as you meant to.” + 

“No; ’twas bitter⁠—and now I’m on my knees before ye.” + 

“Not that I want you to be bitter,” said Hal, still laughing, “but it’s I that ought to be on my knees before you. I didn’t accomplish anything, you know.” + 

“Ye did all ye could⁠—and more than the rest of us. I want ye to know I’ll never forget it. But I want ye to hear the other thing, too!” + 

She walked on, staring before her, doubling up her hands in agitation. “Well?” said he, still trying to keep a cheerful tone. + 

“Ye remember that day just after the explosion? Ye remember what I said about⁠—about goin’ away with ye? I take it back.” + 

“Oh, of course!” said he, quickly. “You were distracted, Mary⁠—you didn’t know what you were saying.” + 

“No, no! That’s not it! But I’ve changed my mind; I don’t mean to throw meself away.” + 

“I told you you’d see it that way,” he said. “No man is worth it.” + 

“Ah, lad!” said she. “ ’Tis the fine soothin’ tongue ye have⁠—but I’d rather ye knew the truth. ’Tis that I’ve seen the other girl; and I hate her!” + 

They walked for a bit in silence. Hal had sense enough to realise that here was a difficult subject. “I don’t want to be a prig, Mary,” he said gently; “but you’ll change your mind about that, too. You’ll not hate her; you’ll be sorry for her.” + 

She laughed⁠—a raw, harsh laugh. “What kind of a joke is that?” + 

“I know⁠—it may seem like one. But it’ll come to you some day. You have a wonderful thing to live and fight for; while she”⁠—he hesitated a moment, for he was not sure of his own ideas on this subject⁠—“she has so many things to learn; and she may never learn them. She’ll miss some fine things.” + 

“I know one of the fine things she does not mean to miss,” said Mary, grimly; “that’s Mr. Hal Warner.” Then, after they had walked again in silence: “I want ye to understand me, Mr. Warner⁠—” + 

“Ah, Mary!” he pleaded. “Don’t treat me that way! I’m Joe.” + 

“All right,” she said, “Joe ye shall be. ’Twill remind ye of a pretty adventure⁠—bein’ a workin’ man for a few weeks. Well, that’s a part of what I have to tell ye. I’ve got my pride, even if I’m only a poor miner’s daughter; and the other day I found out me place.” + 

“How do you mean?” he asked. + 

“Ye don’t understand? Honest?” + 

“No, honest,” he said. + 

“Ye’re stupid with women, Joe. Ye didn’t see what the girl did to me! ’Twas some kind of a bug I was to her. She was not sure if I was the kind that bites, but she took no chances⁠—she threw me off, like that.” And Mary snapped her hand, as one does when troubled with a bug. + 

“Ah, now!” pleaded Hal. “You’re not being fair!” + 

“I’m bein’ just as fair as I’ve got it in me to be, Joe. I been off and had it all out. I can see this much⁠—’tis not her fault, maybe⁠—’tis her class; ’tis all of ye⁠—the very best of ye, even yeself, Joe Smith!” + 

“Yea,” he replied, “Tim Rafferty said that.” + 

“Tim said too much⁠—but a part of it was true. Ye think ye’ve come here and been one of us workin’ people. But don’t your own sense tell you the difference, as if it was a canyon a million miles across⁠—between a poor ignorant creature in a minin’ camp, and a rich man’s daughter, a lady? Ye’d tell me not to be ashamed of poverty; but would ye ever put me by the side of her⁠—for all your fine feelin’s of friendship for them that’s beneath ye? Didn’t ye show that at the Minettis’?” + 

“But don’t you see, Mary⁠—” He made an effort to laugh. “I got used to obeying Jessie! I knew her a long time before I knew you.” + 

“Ah, Joe! Ye’ve a kind heart, and a pleasant way of speakin’. But wouldn’t it interest ye to know the real truth? Ye said ye’d come out here to learn the truth!” + 

And Hal answered, in a low voice, “Yes,” and did not interrupt again. + 

XXVIII + 

Mary’s voice had dropped low, and Hal thought how rich and warm it was when she was deeply moved. She went on: + 

“I lived all me life in minin’ camps, Joe Smith, and I seen men robbed and beaten, and women cryin’ and childer hungry. I seen the company, like some great wicked beast that eat them up. But I never knew why, or what it meant⁠—till that day, there at the Minettis’. I’d read about fine ladies in books, ye see; but I’d never been spoke to by one, I’d never had to swallow one, as ye might say. But there I did⁠—and all at once I seemed to know where the money goes that’s wrung out of the miners. I saw why people were robbin’ us, grindin’ the life out of us⁠—for fine ladies like that, to keep them so shinin’ and soft! ’Twould not have been so bad, if she’d not come just then, with all the men and boys dyin’ down in the pits⁠—dyin’ for that soft, white skin, and those soft, white hands, and all those silky things she swished round in. My God, Joe⁠—d’ye know what she seemed to me like? Like a smooth, sleek cat that has just eat up a whole nest full of baby mice, and has the blood of them all over her cheeks!” + 

Mary paused, breathing hard. Hal kept silence, and she went on again: “I had it out with meself, Joe! I don’t want ye to think I’m any better than I am, and I asked meself this question⁠—Is it for the men in the pits that ye hate her with such black murder? Or is it for the one man ye want, and that she’s got? And I knew the answer to that! But then I asked meself another question, too⁠—Would ye be like her if ye could? Would ye do what she’s doin’ right now⁠—would ye have it on your soul? And as God hears me, Joe, ’tis the truth I speak⁠—I’d not do it! No, not for the love of any man that ever walked on this earth!” + 

She had lifted her clenched fist as she spoke. She let it fall again, and strode on, not even glancing at him. “Ye might try a thousand years, Joe, and ye’d not realise the feelin’s that come to me there at the Minettis’. The shame of it⁠—not what she done to me, but what she made me in me own eyes! Me, the daughter of a drunken old miner, and her⁠—I don’t know what her father is, but she’s some sort of princess, and she knows it. And that’s the thing that counts, Joe! ’Tis not that she has so much money, and so many fine things; that she knows how to talk, and I don’t, and that her voice is sweet, and mine is ugly, when I’m ragin’ as I am now. No⁠—’tis that she’s so sure! That’s the word I found to say it; she’s sure⁠—sure⁠—sure! She has the fine things, she’s always had them, she has a right to have them! And I have a right to nothin’ but trouble, I’m hunted all day by misery and fear, I’ve lost even the roof over me head! Joe, ye know I’ve got some temper⁠—I’m not easy to beat down; but when I’d got through bein’ taught me place, I went off and hid meself, I ground me face in the dirt, for the black rage of it! I said to meself, ’Tis true! There’s somethin’ in her better than me! She’s some kind of finer creature.⁠—Look at these hands!” She held them out in the moonlight, with a swift, passionate gesture. “So she’s a right to her man, and I’m a fool to have ever raised me eyes to him! I have to see him go away, and crawl back into me leaky old shack! Yes, that’s the truth! And when I point it out to the man, what d’ye think he says? Why, he tells me gently and kindly that I ought to be sorry for her! Christ! did ye ever hear the like of that?” + 

There was a long silence. Hal could not have said anything now, if he had wished to. He knew that this was what he had come to seek! This was the naked soul of the class-war! + 

“Now,” concluded Mary, with clenched hands, and a voice that corresponded, “now, I’ve had it out. I’m no slave; I’ve just as good a right to life as any lady. I know I’ll never have it, of course; I’ll never wear good clothes, nor live in a decent home, nor have the man I want; but I’ll know that I’ve done somethin’ to help free the workin’ people from the shame that’s put on them. That’s what the strike done for me, Joe! The strike showed me the way. We’re beat this time, but somehow it hasn’t made the difference ye might think. I’m goin’ to make more strikes before I quit, and they won’t all of them be beat!” + 

She stopped speaking; and Hal walked beside her, stirred by a conflict of emotions. His vision of her was indeed true; she would make more strikes! He was glad and proud of that; but then came the thought that while she, a girl, was going on with the bitter war, he, a man, would be eating grilled beefsteaks at the club! + 

“Mary,” he said, “I’m ashamed of myself⁠—” + 

“That’s not it, Joe! Ye’ve no call to be ashamed. Ye can’t help it where ye were born⁠—” + 

“Perhaps not, Mary. But when a man knows he’s never paid for any of the things he’s enjoyed all his life, surely the least he can do is to be ashamed. I hope you’ll try not to hate me as you do the others.” + 

“I never hated ye, Joe! Not for one moment! I tell ye fair and true, I love ye as much as ever. I can say it, because I’d not have ye now; I’ve seen the other girl, and I know ye’d never be satisfied with me. I don’t know if I ought to say it, but I’m thinkin’ ye’ll not be altogether satisfied with her, either. Ye’ll be unhappy either way⁠—God help ye!” + 

The girl had read deeply into his soul in this last speech; so deeply that Hal could not trust himself to answer. They were passing a streetlamp, and she looked at him, for the first time since they had started on their walk, and saw harassment in his face. A sudden tenderness came into her voice. “Joe,” she said; “ye’re lookin’ bad. ’Tis good ye’re goin’ away from this place!” + 

He tried to smile, but the effort was feeble. + 

“Joe,” she went on, “ye asked me to be your friend. Well, I’ll be that!” And she held out the big, rough hand. + 

He took it. “We’ll not forget each other, Mary,” he said. There was a catch in his voice. + 

“Sure, lad!” she exclaimed. “We’ll make another strike some day, just like we did at North Valley!” + 

Hal pressed the big hand; but then suddenly, remembering his brother stalking solemnly in the rear, he relinquished the clasp, and failed to say all the fine things he had in his mind. He called himself a rebel, but not enough to be sentimental before Edward! + 

XXIX + 

They came to the house where John Edstrom was staying. The labouring man’s wife opened the door. In answer to Hal’s question, she said, “The old gentleman’s pretty bad.” + 

“What’s the matter with him?” + 

“Didn’t you know he was hurt?” + 

“No. How?” + 

“They beat him up, sir. Broke his arm, and nearly broke his head.” + 

Hal and Mary exclaimed in chorus, “Who did it? When?” + 

“We don’t know who did it. It was four nights ago.” + 

Hal realised it must have happened while he was escaping from MacKellar’s. “Have you had a doctor for him?” + 

“Yes, sir; but we can’t do much, because my man is out of work, and I have the children and the boarders to look after.” + 

Hal and Mary ran upstairs. Their old friend lay in darkness, but he recognised their voices and greeted them with a feeble cry. The woman brought a lamp, and they saw him lying on his back, his head done up in bandages, and one arm bound in splints. He looked really desperately bad, his kindly old eyes deep-sunken and haggard, and his face⁠—Hal remembered what Jeff Cotton had called him, “that dough-faced old preacher!” + 

They got the story of what had happened at the time of Hal’s flight to Percy’s train. Edstrom had shouted a warning to the fugitives, and set out to run after them; when one of the mine-guards, running past him, had fetched him a blow over the eye, knocking him down. He had struck his head upon the pavement, and lain there unconscious for many hours. When finally someone had come upon him, and summoned a policeman, they had gone through his pockets, and found the address of this place where he was staying written on a scrap of paper. That was all there was to the story⁠—except that Edstrom had refrained from sending to MacKellar for help, because he had felt sure they were all working to get the mine open, and he did not feel he had the right to put his troubles upon them. + 

Hal listened to the old man’s feeble statements, and there came back to him a surge of that fury which his North Valley experience had generated in him. It was foolish, perhaps; for to knock down an old man who had been making trouble was a comparatively slight exercise of the functions of a mine-guard. But to Hal it seemed the most characteristic of all the outrages he had seen; it was an expression of the company’s utter blindness to all that was best in life. This old man, who was so gentle, so patient, who had suffered so much, and not learned to hate, who had kept his faith so true! What did his faith mean to the thugs of the General Fuel Company? What had his philosophy availed him, his saintliness, his hopes for mankind? They had fetched him one swipe as they passed him, and left him lying⁠—alive or dead, it was all the same. + 

Hal had got some satisfaction out of his little adventure in widowhood, and some out of Mary’s self-victory; but there, listening to the old man’s whispered story, his satisfaction died. He realised again the grim truth about his summer’s experience⁠—that the issue of it had been defeat. Utter, unqualified defeat! He had caused the bosses a momentary chagrin; but it would not take them many hours to realise that he had really done them a service in calling off the strike for them. They would start the wheels of industry again, and the workers would be just where they had been before Joe Smith came to be stableman and buddy among them. What was all the talk about solidarity, about hope for the future; what would it amount to in the long run, the daily rolling of the wheels of industry? The workers of North Valley would have exactly the right they had always had⁠—the right to be slaves, and if they did not care for that, the right to be martyrs! + 

Mary sat holding the old man’s hand and whispering words of passionate sympathy, while Hal got up and paced the tiny attic, all ablaze with anger. He resolved suddenly that he would not go back to Western City; he would stay here, and get an honest lawyer to come, and set out to punish the men who were guilty of this outrage. He would test out the law to the limit; if necessary, he would begin a political fight, to put an end to coal-company rule in this community. He would find someone to write up these conditions, he would raise the money and publish a paper to make them known! Before his surging wrath had spent itself, Hal Warner had actually come out as a candidate for governor, and was overturning the Republican machine⁠—all because an unidentified coal-company detective had knocked a dough-faced old miner into the gutter and broken his arm! + 

XXX + 

In the end, of course, Hal had to come down to practical matters. He sat by the bed and told the old man tactfully that his brother had come to see him and had given him some money. This brother had plenty of money, so Edstrom could be taken to the hospital; or, if he preferred, Mary could stay near here and take care of him. They turned to the landlady, who had been standing in the doorway; she had three boarders in her little home, it seemed, but if Mary could share a bed with the landlady’s two children, they might make out. In spite of Hal’s protest, Mary accepted this offer; he saw what was in her mind⁠—she would take some of his money, because of old Edstrom’s need, but she would take just as little as she possibly could. + 

John Edstrom of course knew nothing of events since his injury, so Hal told him the story briefly⁠—though without mentioning the transformation which had taken place in the miner’s buddy. He told about the part Mary had played in the strike; trying to entertain the poor old man, he told how he had seen her mounted upon a snow-white horse, and wearing a robe of white, soft and lustrous, like Joan of Arc, or the leader of a suffrage parade. + 

“Sure,” said Mary, “he’s forever callin’ attention to this old dress!” + 

Hal looked; she was wearing the same blue calico. “There’s something mysterious about that dress,” said he. “It’s one of those that you read about in fairy-stories, that forever patch themselves, and keep themselves new and starchy. A body only needs one dress like that!” + 

“Sure, lad,” she answered. “There’s no fairies in coal-camps⁠—unless ’tis meself, that washes it at night, and dries it over the stove, and irons it next mornin’.” + 

She said this with unwavering cheerfulness; but even the old miner lying in pain on the cot could realise the tragedy of a young girl’s having only one old dress in her love-hunting season. He looked at the young couple, and saw their evident interest in each other; after the fashion of the old, he was disposed to help along the romance. “She may need some orange blossoms,” he ventured, feebly. + 

“Go along with ye!” laughed Mary, still unwavering. + 

“Sure,” put in Hal, with hasty gallantry, “ ’tis a blossom she is herself! A rose in a mining-camp⁠—and there’s a dispute about her in the poetry-books. One tells you to leave her on her stalk, and another says to gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a-flying!” + 

“Ye’re mixin’ me up,” said Mary. “A while back I was ridin’ on a white horse.” + 

“I remember,” said Old Edstrom, “not so far back, you were an ant, Mary.” + 

Her face became grave. To jest about her personal tragedy was one thing, to jest about the strike was another. “Yes, I remember. Ye said I’d stay in the line! Ye were wiser than me, Mr. Edstrom.” + 

“That’s one of the things that come with being old, Mary.” He moved his gnarled old hand toward hers. “You’re going on, now?” he asked. “You’re a unionist now, Mary?” + 

“I am that!” she answered, promptly, her grey eyes shining. + 

“There’s a saying,” said he⁠—“once a striker, always a striker. Find a way to get some education for yourself, Mary, and when the big strike comes you’ll be one of those the miners look to. I’ll not be here, I know⁠—the young people must take my place.” + 

“I’ll do my part,” she answered. Her voice was low; it was a kind of benediction the old man was giving her. + 

The woman had gone downstairs to attend to her children; she came back now to say that there was a gentleman at the door, who wanted to know when his brother was coming. Hal remembered suddenly⁠—Edward had been pacing up and down all this while, with no company but a “hardware drummer!” The younger brother’s resolve to stay in Pedro had already begun to weaken somewhat, and now it weakened still further; he realised that life is complex, that duties conflict! He assured the old miner again of his ability to see that he did not suffer from want, and then he bade him farewell for a while. + 

He started out, and Mary went as far as the head of the stairway with him. He took the girl’s big, rough hand in his⁠—this time with no one to see. “Mary,” he said, “I want you to know that nothing will make me forget you; and nothing will make me forget the miners.” + 

“Ah, Joe!” she cried. “Don’t let them win ye away from us! We need ye so bad!” + 

“I’m going back home for a while,” he answered, “but you can be sure that no matter what happens in my life, I’m going to fight for the working people. When the big strike comes, as we know it’s coming in this coal-country, I’ll be here to do my share.” + 

“Sure lad,” she said, looking him bravely in the eye, “and goodbye to ye, Joe Smith.” Her eyes did not waver; but Hal noted a catch in her voice, and he found himself with an impulse to take her in his arms. It was very puzzling. He knew he loved Jessie Arthur; he remembered the question Mary had once asked him⁠—could he be in love with two girls at the same time? It was not in accord with any moral code that had been impressed upon him, but apparently he could! + 

XXXI + 

He went out to the street, where his brother was pacing up and down in a ferment. The “hardware drummer” had made another effort to start a conversation, and had been told to go to hell⁠—no less! + 

“Well, are you through now?” Edward demanded, taking out his irritation on Hal. + 

“Yes,” replied the other. “I suppose so.” He realised that Edward would not be concerned about Edstrom’s broken arm. + 

“Then, for God’s sake, get some clothes on and let’s have some food.” + 

“All right,” said Hal. But his answer was listless, and the other looked at him sharply. Even by the moonlight Edward could see the lines in the face of his younger brother, and the hollows around his eyes. For the first time he realised how deeply these experiences were cutting into the boy’s soul. “You poor kid!” he exclaimed, with sudden feeling. But Hal did not answer; he did not want sympathy, he did not want anything! + 

Edward made a gesture of despair. “God knows, I don’t know what to do for you!” + 

They started back to the hotel, and on the way Edward cast about in his mind for a harmless subject of conversation. He mentioned that he had foreseen the shutting up of the stores, and had purchased an outfit for his brother. There was no need to thank him, he added grimly; he had no intention of travelling to Western City in company with a hobo. + 

So the young miner had a bath, the first real one in a long time. (Never again would it be possible for ladies to say in Hal Warner’s presence that the poor might at least keep clean!) He had a shave; he trimmed his fingernails, and brushed his hair, and dressed himself as a gentleman. In spite of himself he found his cheerfulness partly restored. A strange and wonderful sensation⁠—to be dressed once more as a gentleman. He thought of the saying of the old negro, who liked to stub his toe, because it felt so good when it stopped hurting! + 

They went out to find a restaurant, and on the way one last misadventure befell Edward. Hal saw an old miner walking past, and stopped with a cry: “Mike!” He forgot all at once that he was a gentleman; the old miner forgot it also. He stared for one bewildered moment, then he rushed at Hal and seized him in the hug of a mountain grizzly. + 

“My buddy! My buddy!” he cried, and gave Hal a prodigious thump on the back. “By Judas!” And he gave him a thump with the other hand. “Hey! you old son-of-a-gun!” And he gave him a hairy kiss! + 

But in the very midst of these raptures it dawned over him that there was something wrong about his buddy. He drew back, staring. “You got good clothes! You got rich, hey?” + 

Evidently the old fellow had heard no rumour concerning Hal’s secret. “I’ve been doing pretty well,” Hal said. + 

“What you work at, hey?” + 

“I been working at a strike in North Valley.” + 

“What’s that? You make money working at strike?” + 

Hal laughed, but did not explain. “What you working at?” + 

“I work at strike too⁠—all alone strike.” + 

“No job?” + 

“I work two days on railroad. Got busted track up there. Pay me two-twenty-five a day. Then no more job.” + 

“Have you tried the mines?” + 

“What? Me? They got me all right! I go up to San José. Pit-boss say, ‘Get the hell out of here, you old groucher! You don’t get no more jobs in this district!’ ” + 

Hal looked Mike over, and saw that his dirty old face was drawn and white, belying the feeble cheerfulness of his words. “We’re going to have something to eat,” he said. “Won’t you come with us?” + 

“Sure thing!” said Mike, with alacrity. “I go easy on grub now.” + 

Hal introduced “Mr. Edward Warner,” who said “How do you do?” He accepted gingerly the calloused paw which the old Slovak held out to him, but he could not keep the look of irritation from his face. His patience was utterly exhausted. He had hoped to find a decent restaurant and have some real food; but now, of course, he could not enjoy anything, with this old gobbler in front of him. + 

They entered an all-night lunchroom, where Hal and Mike ordered cheese-sandwiches and milk, and Edward sat and wondered at his brother’s ability to eat such food. Meantime the two cronies told each other their stories, and Old Mike slapped his knee and cried out with delight over Hal’s exploits. “Oh, you buddy!” he exclaimed; then, to Edward, “Ain’t he a daisy, hey?” And he gave Edward a thump on the shoulder. “By Judas, they don’t beat my buddy!” + 

Mike Sikoria had last been seen by Hal from the window of the North Valley jail, when he had been distributing the copies of Hal’s signature, and Bud Adams had taken him in charge. The mine-guard had marched him into a shed in back of the powerhouse, where he had found Kauser and Kalovac, two other fellows who had been arrested while helping in the distribution. + 

Mike detailed the experience with his usual animation. “ ‘Hey, Mister Bud,’ I say, ‘if you going to send me down canyon, I want to get my things.’ ‘You go to hell for your things,’ says he. And then I say, ‘Mister Bud, I want to get my time.’ And he says, ‘I give you plenty time right here!’ And he punch me and throw me over. Then he grab me up’ again and pull me outside, and I see big automobile waiting, and I say, ‘Holy Judas! I get ride in automobile! Here I am, old fellow fifty-seven years old, never been in automobile ride all my days. I think always I die and never get in automobile ride!’ We go down canyon, and I look round and see them mountains, and feel nice cool wind in my face, and I say, ‘Bully for you, Mister Bud, I don’t never forget this automobile. I don’t have such good time any day all my life.’ And he say, ‘Shut your face, you old wop!’ Then we come out on prairie, we go up in Black Hills, and they stop, and say, ‘Get out here, you sons o’ guns.’ And they leave us there all alone. They say, ‘You come back again, we catch you and we rip the guts out of you!’ They go away fast, and we got to walk seven hours, us fellers, before we come to a house! But I don’t mind that, I begged some grub, and then I got job mending track; only I don’t find out if you get out of jail, and I think maybe I lose my buddy and never see him no more.” + 

Here the old man stopped, gazing affectionately at Hal. “I write you letter to North Valley, but I don’t hear nothing, and I got to walk all the way on railroad track to look for you.” + 

How was it? Hal wondered. He had encountered naked horror in this coal-country⁠—yet here he was, not entirely glad at the thought of leaving it! He would miss Old Mike Sikoria, his hairy kiss and his grizzly-bear hug! + 

He struck the old man dumb by pressing a twenty-dollar bill into his hand. Also he gave him the address of Edstrom and Mary, and a note to Johann Hartman, who might use him to work among the Slovaks who came down into the town. Hal explained that he had to go back to Western City that night, but that he would never forget his old friend, and would see that he had a good job. He was trying to figure out some occupation for the old man on his father’s country-place. A pet grizzly! + 

Train-time came, and the long line of dark sleepers rolled in by the depot-platform. It was late⁠—after midnight; but, nevertheless, there was Old Mike. He was in awe of Hal now, with his fine clothes and his twenty-dollar bills; but, nevertheless, under stress of his emotion, he gave him one more hug, and one more hairy kiss. “Goodbye, my buddy!” he cried. “You come back, my buddy! I don’t forget my buddy!” And when the train began to move, he waved his ragged cap, and ran along the platform to get a last glimpse, to call a last farewell. When Hal turned into the car, it was with more than a trace of moisture in his eyes. + 