"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.



SECTION 14.

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 mine-workers 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 trouble-makers
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 life-long
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 black-list. 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.



SECTION 15.

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 working-man, 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 any one 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, business-like 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 any one 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 book-keeper; 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 boarding-houses, 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 employГ©s."

"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 law-breaker! 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 any one 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
law-breaker, 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.



SECTION 17.

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
working-man, 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 heart-breaking 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.



SECTION 18.

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, mis-guided 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."



SECTION 19.

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, any
one 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 business-like, 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!



SECTION 20.

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' down stairs 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.



SECTION 21.

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."



SECTION 22.

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!"



SECTION 23.

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 trouble-maker, 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, some one 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 waist-line, 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 down stairs 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.



SECTION 24.

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
God-forsaken coal-town! What did people do in such a hole? Pay a nickel
to look at moving pictures of cow-boys and counterfeiters?