To his mind the path was clear and straight. "They must be taught the
lesson of solidarity. As individuals, they're helpless in the power of
the great corporations; but if they stand together, if they sell their
labour as a unit--then they really count for something." He paused, and
looked at the other inquiringly. "How do you feel about unions?"

Hal answered, "They're one of the things I want to find out about. You
hear this and that--there's so much prejudice on each side. I want to
help the under dog, but I want to be sure of the right way."

"What other way is there?" And Olson paused. "To appeal to the tender
hearts of the owners?"

"Not exactly; but mightn't one appeal to the world in general--to public
opinion? I was brought up an American, and learned to believe in my
country. I can't think but there's some way to get justice. Maybe if the
men were to go into politics--"

"Politics?" cried Olson. "My God! How long have you been in this place?"

"Only a couple of months."

"Well, stay till November, and see what they do with the ballot-boxes in
these camps!"

"I can imagine, of course--"

"No, you can't. Any more than you could imagine the graft and the
misery!"

"But if the men should take to voting together--"

"How _can_ they take to voting together--when any one who mentions the
idea goes down the canyon? Why, you can't even get naturalisation
papers, unless you're a company man; they won't register you, unless the
boss gives you an O. K. How are you going to make a start, unless you
have a union?"

It sounded reasonable, Hal had to admit; but he thought of the stories
he had heard about "walking delegates," all the dreadful consequences of
"union domination." He had not meant to go in for unionism!

Olson was continuing. "We've had laws passed, a whole raft of laws about
coal-mining--the eight-hour law, the anti-scrip law, the company-store
law, the mine-sprinkling law, the check-weighman law. What difference
has it made in North Valley that there are such laws on the
statute-books? Would you ever even know about them?"

"Ah, now!" said Hal. "If you put it that way--if your movement is to
have the law enforced--I'm with you!"

"But how will you get the law enforced, except by a union? No individual
man can do it--it's 'down the canyon' with him if he mentions the law.
In Western City our union people go to the state officials, but they
never do anything--and why? They know we haven't got the men behind us!
It's the same with the politicians as it is with the bosses--the union
is the thing that counts!"

Hal found this an entirely new argument. "People don't realise that
idea--that men have to be organised to get their _legal_ rights."

And the other threw up his hands with a comical gesture. "My God! If you
want to make a list of the things that people don't realise about us
miners!"



SECTION 29.

Olson was eager to win Hal, and went on to tell all the secrets of his
work. He sought men who believed in unions, and were willing to take the
risk of trying to convert others. In each place he visited he would get
a group together, and would arrange some way to communicate with them
after he left, smuggling in propaganda literature for distribution. So
there would be the nucleus of an organisation. In a year or two they
would have such a nucleus in every camp, and then they would be ready to
come into the open, calling meetings in the towns, and in places in the
canyons to which the miners would flock. So the flame of revolt would
leap up; men would join the movement faster than the companies could get
rid of them, and they would make a demand for their rights, backed with
the threat of a strike throughout the entire district.

"You understand," added Olson, "we have a legal right to organise--even
though the bosses disapprove. You need not stand back on that score."

"Yes," said Hal; "but it occurs to me that as a matter of tactics, it
would be better here in North Valley if you chose some issue there's
less controversy about; if, for instance, you'd concentrate on getting a
check-weighman."

The other smiled. "We'd have to have a union to back the demand; so
what's the difference?"

"Well," argued Hal, "there are prejudices to be reckoned with. Some
people don't like the idea of a union--they think it means tyranny and
violence--"

The organiser laughed. "You aren't convinced but that it does yourself,
are you! Well, all I can tell you is, if you want to tackle the job of
getting a check-weighman in North Valley, I'll not stand in your way!"

Here was an idea--a real idea! Life had grown dull for Hal since he had
become a buddy, working in a place five feet high. This would promise
livelier times!

But was it a thing he wanted to do? So far he had been an observer of
conditions in this coal-camp. He had convinced himself that conditions
were cruel, and he had pretty well convinced himself that the cruelty
was needless and deliberate. But when it came to a question of an action
to be taken--then he hesitated, and old prejudices and fears made
themselves heard. He had been told that labour was "turbulent" and
"lazy," that it had to be "ruled with a strong hand"; now, was he
willing to weaken the strong hand, to ally himself with those who
"fomented labour troubles"?

But this would not be the same thing, he told himself. This suggestion
of Olson's was different from trade unionism, which might be a
demoralising force, leading the workers from one demand to another,
until they were seeking to "dominate industry." This would be merely an
appeal to the law, a test of that honesty and fair dealing to which the
company everywhere laid claim. If, as the bosses proclaimed, the workers
were fully protected by the check-weighman law; if, as all the world was
made to believe, the reason there was no check-weighman was simply
because the men did not ask for one--why, then there would be no harm
done. If on the other hand a demand for a right that was not merely a
legal right, but a moral right as well--if that were taken by the bosses
as an act of rebellion against the company--well, Hal would understand a
little more about the "turbulence" of labour! If, as Old Mike and
Johannson and the rest maintained, the bosses would "make your life one
damn misery" till you left--then he would be ready to make a few damn
miseries for the bosses in return!

"It would be an adventure," said Hal, suddenly.

And the other laughed. "It would that!"

"You're thinking I'll have another Pine Creek experience," Hal added.
"Well, maybe so--but I have to try things out for myself. You see, I've
got a brother at home, and when I think about going in for revolution, I
have imaginary arguments with him. I want to be able to say 'I didn't
swallow anybody's theories; I tried it for myself, and this is what
happened.'"

"Well," replied the organiser, "that's all right. But while you're
seeking education for yourself and your brother, don't forget that I've
already got my education. I _know_ what happens to men who ask for a
check-weighman, and I can't afford to sacrifice myself proving it
again."

"I never asked you to," laughed Hal. "If I won't join your movement, I
can't expect you to join mine! But if I can find a few men who are
willing to take the risk of making a demand for a check-weighman--that
won't hurt your work, will it?"

"Sure not!" said the other. "Just the opposite--it'll give me an object
lesson to point to. There are men here who don't even know they've a
legal right to a check-weighman. There are others who know they don't
get their weights, but aren't sure its the company that's cheating them.
If the bosses should refuse to let any one inspect the weights, if they
should go further and fire the men who ask it--well, there'll be plenty
of recruits for my union local!"

"All right," said Hal. "I'm not setting out to recruit your union local,
but if the company wants to recruit it, that's the company's affair!"
And on this bargain the two shook hands.




BOOK TWO

THE SERFS OF KING COAL




SECTION 1.

Hal was now started upon a new career, more full of excitements than
that of stableman or buddy, with perils greater than those of falling
rock or the hind feet of mules in the stomach. The inertia which
overwork produces had not had time to become a disease with him; youth
was on his side, with its zest for more and yet more experience. He
found it thrilling to be a conspirator, to carry about with him secrets
as dark and mysterious as the passages of the mine in which he worked.

But Jerry Minetti, the first person he told of Tom Olson's purpose in
North Valley, was older in such thrills. The care-free look which Jerry
was accustomed to wear vanished abruptly, and fear came into his eyes.
"I know it come some day," he exclaimed--"trouble for me and Rosa!"

"How do you mean?"

"We get into it--get in sure. I say Rosa, 'Call yourself Socialist--what
good that do? No help any. No use to vote here--they don't count no
Socialist vote, only for joke!' I say, 'Got to have union. Got to
strike!' But Rosa say, 'Wait little bit. Save little bit money, let
children grow up. Then we help, no care if we no got any home.'"

"But we're not going to start a union now!" objected Hal. "I have
another plan for the present."

Jerry, however, was not to be put at ease. "No can wait!" he declared.
"Men no stand it! I say, 'It come some day quick--like blow-up in mine!
Somebody start fight, everybody fight.'" And Jerry looked at Rosa, who
sat with her black eyes fixed anxiously upon her husband. "We get into
it," he said; and Hal saw their eyes turn to the room where Little Jerry
and the baby were sleeping.

Hal said nothing--he was beginning to understand the meaning of
rebellion to such people. He watched with curiosity and pity the
struggle that went on; a struggle as old as the soul of man--between the
voice of self-interest, of comfort and prudence, and the call of duty,
of the ideal. No trumpet sounded for this conflict, only the still small
voice within.

After a while Jerry asked what it was Hal and Olson had planned; and Hal
explained that he wanted to make a test of the company's attitude toward
the check-weighman law. Hal thought it a fine scheme; what did Jerry
think?

Jerry smiled sadly. "Yes, fine scheme for young feller--no got family!"

"That's all right," said Hal, "I'll take the job--I'll be the
check-weighman."

"Got to have committee," said Jerry--"committee go see boss."

"All right, but we'll get young fellows for that too--men who have no
families. Some of the fellows who live in the chicken-coops in
shanty-town. They won't care what happens to them."

But Jerry would not share Hal's smile. "No got sense 'nough, them
fellers. Take sense to stick together." He explained that they would
need a group of men to stand back of the committee; such a group would
have to be organised, to hold meetings in secret--it would be
practically the same thing as a union, would be so regarded by the
bosses and their spotters. And no organisation of any sort was permitted
in the camps. There had been some Serbians who had wanted to belong to a
fraternal order back in their home country, but even that had been
forbidden. If you wanted to insure your life or your health, the company
would attend to it--and get the profit from it. For that matter, you
could not even buy a post-office money-order, to send funds back to the
old country; the post-office clerk, who was at the same time a clerk in
the company-store, would sell you some sort of a store-draft.

So Hal was facing the very difficulties about which Olson had warned
him. The first of them was Jerry's fear. Yet Hal knew that Jerry was no
"coward"; if any man had a contempt for Jerry's attitude, it was because
he had never been in Jerry's place!

"All I'll ask of you now is advice," said Hal. "Give me the names of
some young fellows who are trustworthy, and I'll get their help without
anybody suspecting you."

"You my boarder!" was Jerry's reply to this.

So again Hal was "up against it." "You mean that would get you into
trouble?"

"Sure! They know we talk. They know I talk Socialism, anyhow. They fire
me sure!"

"But how about your cousin, the pit-boss in Number One?"

"He no help. May be get fired himself. Say damn fool--board
check-weighman!"

"All right," said Hal. "Then I'll move away now, before it's too late.
You can say I was a trouble-maker, and you turned me off."

The Minettis sat gazing at each other--a mournful pair. They hated to
lose their boarder, who was such good company, and paid them such good
money. As for Hal, he felt nearly as bad, for he liked Jerry and his
girl-wife, and Little Jerry--even the black-eyed baby, who made so much
noise and interrupted conversation!

"No!" said Jerry. "I no run, away! I do my share!"

"That's all right," replied Hal. "You do your share--but not just yet.
You stay on in the camp and help Olson after I'm fired. We don't want
the best men put out at once."

So, after further argument, it was decided, and Hal saw little Rosa sink
back in her chair and draw a deep breath of relief. The time for
martyrdom was put off; her little three-roomed cabin, her furniture and
her shining pans and her pretty white lace curtains, might be hers for a
few weeks longer!



SECTION 2.

Hal went back to Reminitsky's boarding-house; a heavy sacrifice, but not
without its compensations, because it gave him more chance to talk with
the men.

He and Jerry made up a list of those who could be trusted with the
secret: the list beginning with the name of Mike Sikoria. To be put on a
committee, and sent to interview a boss, would appeal to Old Mike as the
purpose for which he had been put upon earth! But they would not tell
him about it until the last minute, for fear lest in his excitement he
might shout out the announcement the next time he lost one of his cars.

There was a young Bulgarian miner named Wresmak who worked near Hal. The
road into this man's room ran up an incline, and he had hardly been able
to push his "empties" up the grade. While he was sweating and straining
at the task, Alec Stone had come along, and having a giant's contempt
for physical weakness, began to cuff him. The man raised his
arm--whether in offence or to ward off the blow, no one could be sure;
but Stone fell upon him and kicked him all the way down the passage,
pouring out upon him furious curses. Now the man was in another room,
where he had taken out over forty car-loads of rock, and been allowed
only three dollars for it. No one who watched his face when the pit-boss
passed would doubt that this man would be ready to take his chances in a
movement of protest.

Then there was a man whom Jerry knew, who had just come out of the
hospital, after contact with the butt-end of the camp-marshal's
revolver. This was a Pole, who unfortunately did not know a word of
English; but Olson, the organiser, had got into touch with another Pole,
who spoke a little English, and would pass the word on to his
fellow-countryman. Also there was a young Italian, Rovetta, whom Jerry
knew and whose loyalty he could vouch for.

There was another person Hal thought of--Mary Burke. He had been
deliberately avoiding her of late; it seemed the one safe thing to
do--although it seemed also a cruel thing, and left his mind ill at
ease. He went over and over what had happened. How had the trouble got
started? It is a man's duty in such cases to take the blame upon
himself; but a man does not like to take blame upon himself, and he
tries to make it as light as possible. Should Hal say that it was
because he had been too officious that night in helping Mary where the
path was rough? She had not actually needed such help, she was quite as
capable on her feet as he! But he had really gone farther than that--he
had had a definite sentimental impulse; and he had been a cad--he should
have known all along that all this girl's discontent, all the longing of
her starved soul, would become centred upon him, who was so "different,"
who had had opportunity, who made her think of the "poetry-books"!

But here suddenly seemed a solution of the difficulty; here was a new
interest for Mary, a safe channel in which her emotions could run. A
woman could not serve on a miners' committee, but she would be a good
adviser, and her sharp tongue would be a weapon to drive others into
line. Being aflame with this enterprise, Hal became impersonal,
man-fashion--and so fell into another sentimental trap! He did not stop
to think that Mary's interest in the check-weighman movement might be
conditioned in part by a desire to see more of him; still less did it
occur to him that he might be glad for a pretext to see Mary.

No, he was picturing her in a new role, an activity more inspiriting
than cooking and nursing. His "poetry-book" imagination took fire; he
gave her a hope and a purpose, a pathway with a goal at the end. Had
there not been women leaders in every great proletarian movement?

He went to call on her, and met her at the door of her cabin. "'Tis a
cheerin' sight to see ye, Joe Smith!" she said. And she looked him in
the eye and smiled.

"The same to you, Mary Burke!" he answered.

She was game, he saw; she was going to be a "good sport." But he noticed
that she was paler than when he had seen her last. Could it be that
these gorgeous Irish complexions ever faded? He thought that she was
thinner too; the old blue calico seemed less tight upon her.

Hal plunged into his theme. "Mary, I had a vision of you to-day!"

"Of me, lad? What's that?"

He laughed. "I saw you with a glory in your face, and your hair shining
like a crown of gold. You were mounted on a snow-white horse, and wore a
robe of white, soft and lustrous--like Joan of Arc, or a leader in a
suffrage parade. You were riding at the head of a host--I've still got
the music in my ears, Mary!"

"Go on with ye, lad--what's all this about?"

"Come in and I'll tell you," he said.

So they went into the bare kitchen, and sat in bare wooden chairs--Mary
folding her hands in her lap like a child who has been promised a
fairy-story. "Now hurry," said she. "I want to know about this new dress
ye're givin' me. Are ye tired of me old calico?"

He joined in her smile. "This is a dress you will weave for yourself,
Mary, out of the finest threads of your own nature--out of courage and
devotion and self-sacrifice."

"Sure, 'tis the poetry-book again! But what is it ye're really meanin'?"

He looked about him. "Is anybody here?"

"Nobody."

But instinctively he lowered his voice as he told his story. There was
an organiser of the "big union" in the camp, and he was going to rouse
the slaves to protest.

The laughter went out of Mary's face. "Oh! It's that!" she said, in a
flat tone. The vision of the snow-white horse and the soft and lustrous
robe was gone. "Ye can never do anything of that sort here!"

"Why not?"

"'Tis the men in this place. Don't ye remember what I told ye at Mr.
Rafferty's? They're cowards!"

"Ah, Mary, it's easy to say that. But it's not so pleasant being turned
out of your home--"

"Do ye have to tell me that?" she cried, with sudden passion. "Haven't I
seen that?"

"Yes, Mary; but I want to _do_ something--"

"Yes, and haven't I wanted to do something? Sure, I've wanted to bite
off the noses of the bosses!"

"Well," he laughed, "we'll make that a part of our programme." But Mary
was not to be lured into cheerfulness; her mood was so full of pain and
bewilderment that he had an impulse to reach out and take her hand
again. But he checked that; he had come to divert her energies into a
safe channel!

"We must waken these men to resistance, Mary!"

"Ye can't do it, Joe--not the English-speakin' men. The Greeks and the
Bulgars, maybe--they're fightin' at home, and they might fight here. But
the Irish never--never! Them that had any backbone went out long ago.
Them that stayed has been made into boot-licks. I know them, every man
of them. They grumble, and curse the boss, but then they think of the
blacklist, and they go back and cringe at his feet."

"What such men want--"

"'Tis booze they want, and carousin' with the rotten women in the
coal-towns, and sittin' up all night winnin' each other's money with a
greasy pack of cards! They take their pleasure where they find it, and
'tis nothin' better they want."

"Then, Mary, if that's so, don't you see it's all the more reason for
trying to teach them? If not for their own sakes, for the sake of their
children! The children, mustn't grow up like that! They are learning
English, at least--"

Mary gave a scornful laugh. "Have ye been up to that school?"

He answered no; and she told him there were a hundred and twenty
children packed in one room, three in a seat, and solid all round the
wall. She went on, with swift anger--the school was supposed to be paid
for out of taxes, but as nobody owned any property but the company, it
was all in the company's hands. The school-board consisted of Mr.
Cartwright, the mine-superintendent, and Jake Predovich, a clerk in the
store, and the preacher, the Reverend Spraggs. Old Spraggs would bump
his nose on the floor if the "super" told him to.

"Now, now!" said Hal, laughing. "You're down on him because his
grandfather was an Orangeman!"



SECTION 3.

Mary Burke had been suckled upon despair, and the poison of it was deep
in her blood. Hal began to realise that it would be as hard to give her
a hope as to rouse the workers whom she despised. She was brave enough,
no doubt, but how could he persuade her to be brave for men who had no
courage for themselves?

"Mary," he said, "in your heart you don't really hate these people. You
know how they suffer, you pity them for it. You give their children your
last cent when they need it--"

"Ah, lad!" she cried, and he saw tears suddenly spring into her eyes.
"'Tis because I love them so that I hate them! Sometimes 'tis the bosses
I would murder, sometimes 'tis the men. What is it ye're wantin' me to
do?"

And then, even before he could answer, she began to run over the list of
her acquaintances in the camp. Yes, there was one man Hal ought to talk
to; he would be too old to join them, but his advice would be
invaluable, and they could be sure he would never betray them. That was
old John Edstrom, a Swede from Minnesota, who had worked in this
district from the time the mines had first started up. He had been
active in the great strike eight years ago, and had been black-listed,
his four sons with him. The sons were scattered now to the four parts of
the world, but the father had stayed nearby, working as a ranch-hand and
railroad labourer, until a couple of years ago, during a rush season, he
had got a chance to come back into the mines.

He was old, old, declared Mary--must be sixty. And when Hal remarked
that that did not sound so frightfully aged, she answered that one
seldom heard of a man being able to work in a coal-mine at that age; in
fact, there were not many who managed to live to that age. Edstrom's
wife was dying now, and he was having a hard time.

"'Twould not be fair to let such an old gentleman lose his job," said
Mary. "But at least he could give ye good advice."

So that evening the two of them went to call on John Edstrom, in a tiny
unpainted cabin in "shanty-town," with a bare earth floor, and a half
partition of rough boards to hide his dying wife from his callers. The
woman's trouble was cancer, and this made calling a trying matter, for
there was a fearful odour in the place. For some time it was impossible
for Hal to force himself to think about anything else; but finally he
overcame this weakness, telling himself that this was a war, and that a
man must be ready for the hospital as well as for the parade-ground.

He looked about, and saw that the cracks of Edstrom's cabin were stopped
with rags, and the broken windowpanes mended with brown paper. The old
man had evidently made an effort to keep the place neat, and Hal noticed
a row of books on a shelf. Because it was cold in these mountain regions
at night, even in September, the old man had a fire in the little
cast-iron stove, and sat huddled by it. There were only a few hairs left
on his head, and his scrubby beard was as white as anything could be in
a coal-camp. The first impression of his face was of its pallor, and
then of the benevolence in the faded dark eyes; also his voice was
gentle, like a caress. He rose to greet his visitors, and put out to Hal
a trembling hand, which resembled the paw of some animal, horny and
misshapen. He made a move to draw up a bench, and apologised for his
unskillful house-keeping. It occurred to Hal that a man might be able to
work in a coal-mine at sixty, and not be able to work in it at
sixty-one.

Hal had requested Mary to say nothing about his purpose, until after he
had a chance to judge for himself. So now the girl inquired about Mrs.
Edstrom. There was no news, the man answered; she was lying in a stupor,
as usual. Dr. Barrett had come again, but all he could do was to give
her morphine. No one could do any more, the doctor declared.

"Sure, he'd not know it if they could!" sniffed Mary.

"He's not such a bad one, when he's sober," said Edstrom, patiently.

"And how often is that?" sniffed Mary again. She added, by way of
explanation to Hal, "He's a cousin of the super."

Things were better here than in some places, said Edstrom. At Harvey's
Run, where he had worked, a man had got his eye hurt, and had lost it
through the doctor's instrument slipping; broken arms and legs had been
set wrong, and either the men had to go through life as cripples, or go
elsewhere and have the bones re-broken and reset, It was like everything
else--the doctor was a part of the company machine, and if you had too
much to say about him, it was down the canyon with you. You not only had
a dollar a month taken out of your pay, but if you were injured, and he
came to attend you, he would charge whatever extra he pleased.

"And you have to pay?" asked Hal.

"They take it off your account," said the old man.

"Sometimes they take it when he's done nothin' at all," added Mary.
"They charged Mrs. Zamboni twenty-five dollars for her last baby--and
Dr. Barrett never set foot across her door till three hours after the
baby was in my arms!"



SECTION 4.

The talk went on. Wishing to draw the old man out, Hal spoke of various
troubles of the miners, and at last he suggested that the remedy might
be found in a union. Edstrom's dark eyes studied him, and then turned to
Mary. "Joe's all right," said the girl, quickly. "You can trust him."

Edstrom made no direct answer to this, but remarked that he had once
been in a strike. He was a marked man, now, and could only stay in the
camp so long as he attended strictly to his own affairs. The part he had
played in the big strike had never been forgotten; the bosses had let
him work again, partly because they had needed him at a rush time, and
partly because the pit-boss happened to be a personal friend.

"Tell him about the big strike," said Mary. "He's new in this district."

The old man had apparently accepted Mary's word for Hal's good faith,
for he began to narrate those terrible events which were a whispered
tradition of the camps. There had been a mighty effort of ten thousand
slaves for freedom; and it had been crushed with utter ruthlessness.
Ever since these mines had been started, the operators had controlled
the local powers of government, and now, in the emergency, they had
brought in the state militia as well, and used it frankly to drive the
strikers back to work. They had seized the leaders and active men, and
thrown them into jail without trial or charges; when the jails would
hold no more, they kept some two hundred in an open stockade, called a
"bull-pen," and finally they loaded them into freight-cars, took them at
night out of the state, and dumped them off in the midst of the desert
without food or water.

John Edstrom had been one of these men. He told how one of his sons had
been beaten and severely injured in jail, and how another had been kept
for weeks in a damp cellar, so that he had come out crippled with
rheumatism for life. The officers of the state militia had done these
things; and when some of the local authorities were moved to protest,
the militia had arrested them--even the judges of the civil courts had
been forbidden to sit, under threat of imprisonment. "To hell with the
constitution!" had been the word of the general in command; his
subordinate had made famous the saying, "No habeas corpus; we'll give
them post-mortems!"

Tom Olson had impressed Hal with his self-control, but this old man made
an even deeper impression upon him. As he listened, he became humble,
touched with awe. Incredible as it might seem, when John Edstrom talked
about his cruel experiences, it was without bitterness in his voice, and
apparently without any in his heart. Here, in the midst of want and
desolation, with his family broken and scattered, and the wolf of
starvation at his door, he could look back upon the past without hatred
of those who had ruined him. Nor was this because he was old and feeble,
and had lost the spirit of revolt; it was because he had studied
economics, and convinced himself that it was an evil system which
blinded men's eyes and poisoned their souls. A better day was coming, he
said, when this evil system would be changed, and it would be possible
for men to be merciful to one another.

At this point in the conversation, Mary Burke gave voice once more to
her corroding despair. How could things ever be changed? The bosses were
mean-hearted, and the men were cowards and traitors. That left nobody
but God to do the changing--and God had left things as they were for
such a long time!

Hal was interested to hear how Edstrom dealt with this attitude. "Mary,"
he said, "did you ever read about ants in Africa?"

"No," said she.

"They travel in long columns, millions and millions of them. And when
they come to a ditch, the front ones fall in, and more and more of them
on top, till they fill up the ditch, and the rest cross over. We are
ants, Mary."

"No matter how many go in," cried the girl, "none will ever get across.
There's no bottom to the ditch!"

He answered: "That's more than any ant can know. Mary. All they know is
to go in. They cling to each other's bodies, even in death; they make a
bridge, and the rest go over."

"I'll step one side!" she declared, fiercely. "I'll not throw meself
away."

"You may step one side," answered the other--"but you'll step back into
line again. I know you better than you know yourself, Mary."

There was silence in the little cabin. The winds of an early fall
shrilled outside, and life suddenly seemed to Hal a stern and merciless
thing. He had thought in his youthful fervour it would be thrilling to
be a revolutionist; but to be an ant, one of millions and millions, to
perish in a bottomless ditch--that was something a man could hardly
bring himself to face! He looked at the bowed figure of this white
haired toiler, vague in the feeble lamplight, and found himself thinking
of Rembrandt's painting, the Visit of Emmaus: the ill-lighted room in
the dirty tavern, and the two ragged men, struck dumb by the glow of
light about the forehead of their table-companion. It was not fantastic
to imagine a glow of light about the forehead of this soft-voiced old
man!

"I never had any hope it would come in my time," the old man was saying
gently. "I did use to hope my boys might see it--but now I'm not sure
even of that. But in all my life I never doubted that some day the
working-people will cross over to the promised land. They'll no longer
be slaves, and what they make won't be wasted by idlers. And take it
from one who knows, Mary--for a workingman or woman not to have that
faith, is to have lost the reason for living."

Hal decided that it would be safe to trust this man, and told him of his
check-weighman plan. "We only want your advice," he explained,
remembering Mary's warning. "Your sick wife--"

But the old man answered, sadly, "She's almost gone, and I'll soon be
following. What little strength I have left might as well be used for
the cause."



SECTION 5.

This business of conspiracy was grimly real to men whose living came out
of coal; but Hal, even at the most serious moments, continued to find in
it the thrill of romance. He had read stories of revolutionists, and of
the police who hunted them. That such excitements were to be had in
Russia, he knew; but if any one had told him they could be had in his
own free America, within a few hours' journey of his home city and his
college-town, he could not have credited the statement.

The evening after his visit to Edstrom, Hal was stopped on the street by
his boss. Encountering him suddenly, Hal started, like a pick-pocket who
runs into a policeman.

"Hello, kid," said the pit-boss.

"Hello, Mr. Stone," was the reply.

"I want to talk to you," said the boss.

"All right, sir." And then, under his breath, "He's got me!"

"Come up to my house," said Stone; and Hal followed, feeling as if
hand-cuffs were already on his wrists.

"Say," said the man, as they walked, "I thought you were going to tell
me if you'd heard any talk."

"I haven't heard any, sir."

"Well," continued Stone, "you want to get busy; there's sure to be
kickers in every coal-camp." And deep within, Hal drew a sigh of relief.
It was a false alarm!

They came to the boss's house, and he took a chair on the piazza and
motioned Hal to take another. They sat in semi-darkness, and Stone
dropped his voice as he began. "What I want to talk to you about now is
something else--this election."

"Election, sir?"

"Didn't you know there was one? The Congressman in this district died,
and there's a special election three weeks from next Tuesday."

"I see, sir." And Hal chuckled inwardly. He would get the information
which Tom Olson had recommended to him!

"You ain't heard any talk about it?" inquired the pit-boss.

"Nothing at all, sir. I never pay much attention to politics--it ain't
in my line."

"Well, that's the way I like to hear a miner talk!" said the pit-boss,
with heartiness. "If they all had sense enough to leave politics to the
politicians, they'd be a sight better off. What they need is to tend to
their own jobs."

"Yes, sir," agreed Hal, meekly--"like I had to tend to them mules, if I
didn't want to get the colic."

The boss smiled appreciatively. "You've got more sense than most of 'em.
If you'll stand by me, there'll be a chance for you to move up in the
world."

"Thank you, Mr. Stone," said Hal. "Give me a chance."

"Well now, here's this election. Every year they send us a bunch of
campaign money to handle. A bit of it might come your way."

"I could use it, I reckon," said Hal, brightening visibly. "What is it
you want?"

There was a pause, while Stone puffed on his pipe. He went on, in a
business-like manner. "What I want is somebody to feel things out a bit,
and let me know the situation. I thought it better not to use the men
that generally work for me, but somebody that wouldn't be suspected.
Down in Sheridan and Pedro they say the Democrats are making a big stir,
and the company's worried. I suppose you know the 'G. F. C.' is
Republican."

"I've heard so."

"You might think a congressman don't have much to do with us, way off in
Washington; but it has a bad effect to have him campaigning, telling the
men the company's abusing them. So I'd like you just to kind o'
circulate a bit, and start the men on politics, and see if any of them
have been listening to this MacDougall talk. (MacDougall's this here
Democrat, you know.) And I want to find out whether they've been sending
in literature to this camp, or have any agents here. You see, they claim
the right to come in and make speeches, and all that sort of thing.
North Valley's an incorporated town, so they've got the law on their
side, in a way, and if we shut 'em out, they make a howl in the papers,
and it looks bad. So we have to get ahead of them in quiet ways.
Fortunately there ain't any hall in the camp for them to meet in, and
we've made a local ordinance against meetings on the street. If they try
to bring in circulars, something has to happen to them before they get
distributed. See?"

"I see," said Hal; he thought of Tom Olson's propaganda literature!

"We'll pass the word out,--it's the Republican the company wants
elected; and you be on the lookout and see how they take it in the
camp."

"That sounds easy enough," said Hal. "But tell me, Mr. Stone, why do you
bother? Do so many of these wops have votes?"

"It ain't the wops so much. We get them naturalised on purpose--they
vote our way for a glass of beer. But the English-speaking men, or the
foreigners that's been here too long, and got too big for their
breeches--they're the ones we got to watch. If they get to talking
politics, they don't stop there; the first thing you know, they're
listening to union agitators, and wanting to run the camp."

"Oh yes, I see!" said Hal, and wondered if his voice sounded right.

But the pit-boss was concerned with his own troubles. "As I told Si
Adams the other day, what I'm looking for is fellows that talk some new
lingo--one that nobody will ever understand! But I suppose that would be
too easy. There's no way to keep them from learning some English!"

Hal decided to make use of this opportunity to perfect his education.
"Surely, Mr. Stone," he remarked, "you don't have to count any votes if
you don't want to!"

"Well, I'll tell you," replied Stone; "it's a question of the easiest
way to manage things. When I was superintendent over to Happy Gulch, we
didn't waste no time on politics. The company was Democratic at that
time, and when election night come, we wrote down four hundred votes for
the Democratic candidates. But the first thing we knew, a bunch of
fellers was taken into town and got to swear they'd voted the Republican
ticket in our camp. The Republican papers were full of it, and some fool
judge ordered a recount, and we had to get busy over night and mark up a
new lot of ballots. It gave us a lot of bother!"

The pit-boss laughed, and Hal joined him discreetly.

"So you see, you have to learn to manage. If there's votes for the wrong
candidate in your camp, the fact gets out, and if the returns is too
one-sided, there's a lot of grumbling. There's plenty of bosses that
don't care, but I learned my lesson that time, and I got my own
method--that is not to let any opposition start. See?"

"Yes, I see."

"Maybe a mine-boss has got no right to meddle in politics--but there's
one thing he's got the say about, and that is who works in his mine.
It's the easiest thing to weed out--weed out--" Hal never forgot the
motion of beefy hands with which Alec Stone illustrated these words. As
he went on, the tones of his voice did not seem so good-natured as
usual. "The fellows that don't want to vote my way can go somewhere else
to do their voting. That's all I got to say on politics!"

There was a brief pause, while Stone puffed on his pipe. Then it may
have occurred to him that it was not necessary to go into so much detail
in breaking in a political recruit. When he resumed, it was in a
good-natured tone of dismissal. "That's what you do, kid. To-morrow you
get a sprained wrist, so you can't work for a few days, and that'll give
you a chance to bum round and hear what the men are saying. Meantime,
I'll see you get your wages."

"That sounds all right," said Hal; but showing only a small part of his
satisfaction!

The pit-boss rose from his chair and knocked the ashes from his pipe.
"Mind you--I want the goods. I've got other fellows working, and I'm
comparing 'em. For all you know, I may have somebody watching you."

"Yes," said Hal, and grinned cheerfully. "I'll not fail to bear that in
mind."



SECTION 6.

The first thing Hal did was to seek out Tom Olson and narrate this
experience. The two of them had a merry time over it. "I'm the favourite
of a boss now!" laughed Hal.

But the organiser became suddenly serious. "Be careful what you do for
that fellow."

"Why?"

"He might use it on you later on. One of the things they try to do if
you make any trouble for them, is to prove that you took money from
them, or tried to."

"But he won't have any proofs."

"That's my point--don't give him any. If Stone says you've been playing
the political game for him, then some fellow might remember that you did
ask him about politics. So don't have any marked money on you."

Hal laughed. "Money doesn't stay on me very long these days. But what
shall I say if he asks me for a report?"

"You'd better put your job right through, Joe--so that he won't have
time to ask for any report."

"All right," was the reply. "But just the same, I'm going to get all the
fun there is, being the favourite of a boss!"

And so, early the next morning when Hal went to his work he proceeded to
"sprain his wrist." He walked about in pain, to the great concern of Old
Mike; and when finally he decided that he would have to lay off, Mike
followed him half way to the shaft, giving him advice about hot and cold
cloths. Leaving the old Slovak to struggle along as best he could alone,
Hal went out to bask in the wonderful sunshine of the upper world, and
the still more wonderful sunshine of a boss's favour.

First he went to his room at Reminitsky's, and tied a strip of old shirt
about his wrist, and a clean handkerchief on top of that; by this symbol
he was entitled to the freedom of the camp and the sympathy of all men,
and so he sallied forth.

Strolling towards the tipple of Number One, he encountered a wiry,
quick-moving little man, with restless black eyes and a lean,
intelligent face. He wore a pair of common miner's "jumpers," but even
so, he was not to be taken for a workingman. Everything about him spoke
of authority.

"Morning, Mr. Cartwright," said Hal.

"Good morning," replied the superintendent; then, with a glance at Hal's
bandage, "You hurt?"

"Yes, sir. Just a bit of sprain, but I thought I'd better lay off."

"Been to the doctor?"

"No, sir. I don't think it's that bad."

"You'd better go. You never know how bad a sprain is."

"Right, sir," said Hal. Then, as the superintendent was passing, "Do you
think, Mr. Cartwright, that MacDougall stands any chance of being
elected?"

"I don't know," replied the other, surprised. "I hope not. You aren't
going to vote for him, are you?"

"Oh, no. I'm a Republican--born that way. But I wondered if you'd heard
any MacDougall talk."

"Well, I'm hardly the one that would hear it. You take an interest in
politics?"

"Yes, sir--in a way. In fact, that's how I came to get this wrist."

"How's that? In a fight?"

"No, sir; but you see, Mr. Stone wanted me to feel out sentiment in the
camp, and he told me I'd better sprain my wrist and lay off."

The "super," after staring at Hal, could not keep from laughing. Then he
looked about him. "You want to be careful, talking about such things."

"I thought I could surely trust the superintendent," said Hal, drily.

The other measured him with his keen eyes; and Hal, who was getting the
spirit of political democracy, took the liberty of returning the gaze.
"You're a wide-awake young fellow," said Cartwright, at last. "Learn the
ropes here, and make yourself useful, and I'll see you're not passed
over."

"All right, sir--thank you."

"Maybe you'll be made an election-clerk this time. That's worth three
dollars a day, you know."

"Very good, sir." And Hal put on his smile again. "They tell me you're
the mayor of North Valley."

"I am."

"And the justice of the peace is a clerk in your store. Well, Mr.
Cartwright, if you need a president of the board of health or a dog
catcher, I'm your man--as soon, that is, as my wrist gets well."

And so Hal went on his way. Such "joshing" on the part of a "buddy" was
of course absurdly presumptuous; the superintendent stood looking after
him with a puzzled frown upon his face.



SECTION 7.

Hal did not look back, but turned into the company-store. "North Valley
Trading Company" read the sign over the door; within was a Serbian woman
pointing out what she wanted to buy, and two little Lithuanian girls
watching the weighing of a pound of sugar. Hal strolled up to the person
who was doing the weighing, a middle-aged man with a yellow moustache
stained with tobacco-juice. "Morning, Judge."

"Huh!" was the reply from Silas Adams, justice of the peace in the town
of North Valley.

"Judge," said Hal, "what do you think about the election?"

"I don't think about it," said the other. "Busy weighin' sugar."

"Anybody round here going to vote for MacDougall?"

"They better not tell me if they are!"

"What?" smiled Hal. "In this free American republic?"

"In this part of the free American republic a man is free to dig coal,
but not to vote for a skunk like MacDougall." Then, having tied up the
sugar, the "J. P." whittled off a fresh chew from his plug, and turned
to Hal. "What'll you have?"

Hal purchased half a pound of dried peaches, so that he might have an
excuse to loiter, and be able to keep time with the jaws of the Judge.
While the order was being filled, he seated himself upon the counter.
"You know," said he, "I used to work in a grocery."

"That so? Where at?"

"Peterson & Co., in American City." Hal had told this so often that he
had begun to believe it.

"Pay pretty good up there?"

"Yes, pretty fair." Then, realising that he had no idea what would
constitute good pay in a grocery, Hal added, quickly, "Got a bad wrist
here!"

"That so?" said the other.

He did not show much sociability; but Hal persisted, refusing to believe
that any one in a country store would miss an opening to discuss
politics, even with a miner's helper. "Tell me," said he, "just what is
the matter with MacDougall?"

"The matter with him," said the Judge, "is that the company's against
him." He looked hard at the young miner. "You meddlin' in politics?" he
growled. But the young miner's gay brown eyes showed only appreciation
of the earlier response; so the "J. P." was tempted into specifying the
would-be congressman's vices. Thus conversation started; and pretty soon
the others in the store joined in--"Bob" Johnson, bookkeeper and
post-master, and "Jake" Predovich, the Galician Jew who was a member of
the local school-board, and knew the words for staple groceries in
fifteen languages.

Hal listened to an exposition of the crimes of the political opposition
in Pedro County. Their candidate, MacDougall, had come to the state as a
"tin-horn gambler," yet now he was going around making speeches in
churches, and talking about the moral sentiment of the community. "And
him with a district chairman keeping three families in Pedro!" declared
Si Adams.

"Well," ventured Hal, "if what I hear is true, the Republican chairman
isn't a plaster saint. They say he was drunk at the convention--"

"Maybe so," said the "J. P." "But we ain't playin' for the prohibition
vote; and we ain't playin' for the labour vote--tryin' to stir up the
riff-raff in these coal-camps, promisin' 'em high wages an' short hours.
Don't he know he can't get it for 'em? But he figgers he'll go off to
Washington and leave us here to deal with the mess he's stirred up!"

"Don't you fret," put in Bob Johnson--"he ain't goin' to no Washin'ton."

The other two agreed, and Hal ventured again, "He says you stuff the
ballot-boxes."

"What do you suppose his crowd is doin' in the cities? We got to meet
'em some way, ain't we?"

"Oh, I see," said Hal, naГЇvely. "You stuff them worse!"

"Sometimes we stuff the boxes, and sometimes we stuff the voters." There
was an appreciative titter from the others, and the "J. P." was moved to
reminiscence. "Two years ago I was election clerk, over to Sheridan, and
we found we'd let 'em get ahead of us--they had carried the whole state.
'By God,' said Alf. Raymond, 'we'll show 'em a trick from the
coal-counties! And there won't be no recount business either!' So we
held back our returns till the rest had come in, and when we seen how
many votes we needed, we wrote 'em down. And that settled it."

"That seems a simple method," remarked Hal. "They'll have to get up
early to beat Alf."

"You bet you!" said Si, with the complacency of one of the gang. "They
call this county the 'Empire of Raymond.'"

"It must be a cinch," said Hal--"being the sheriff, and having the
naming of so many deputies as they need in these coal-camps!"

"Yes," agreed the other. "And there's his wholesale liquor business,
too. If you want a license in Pedro county, you not only vote for Alf,
but you pay your bills on time!"

"Must be a fortune in that!" remarked Hal; and the Judge, the
Post-master and the School-commissioner appeared like children listening
to a story of a feast. "You bet you!"

"I suppose it takes money to run politics in this county," Hal added.

"Well, Alf don't put none of it up, you can bet! That's the company's
job."

This from the Judge; and the School-commissioner added, "De coin in dese
camps is beer."

"Oh, I see!" laughed Hal. "The companies buy Alf's beer, and use it to
get him votes!"

"Sure thing!" said the Post-master.

At this moment he happened to reach into his pocket for a cigar, and Hal
observed a silver shield on the breast of his waistcoat. "That a
deputy's badge?" he inquired, and then turned to examine the
School-commissioner's costume. "Where's yours?"

"I git mine ven election comes," said Jake, with a grin.

"And yours, Judge?"

"I'm a justice of the peace, young feller," said Silas, with dignity.

Leaning round, and observing a bulge on the right hip of the
School-commissioner, Hal put out his hand towards it. Instinctively the
other moved his hand to the spot.

Hal turned to the Post-master. "Yours?" he asked.

"Mine's under the counter," grinned Bob.

"And yours, Judge?"

"Mine's in the desk," said the Judge.

Hal drew a breath. "Gee!" said he. "It's like a steel trap!" He managed
to keep the laugh on his face, but within he was conscious of other
feelings than those of amusement. He was losing that "first fine
careless rapture" with which he had set out to run with the hare and the
hounds in North Valley!