Keating made a face of disgust. "Well, he was my chaperon. Imagine
trying to get the miners to talk to you with that sneak at your heels! I
said to the superintendent, 'I don't need anybody to escort me around
your place.' And he looked at me with a nasty little smile. 'We wouldn't
want anything to happen to you while you're in this camp, Mr. Keating.'
'You don't consider it necessary to protect the lives of the other
reporters,' I said. 'No,' said he; 'but the _Gazette_ has made a great
many enemies, you know.' 'Drop your fooling, Mr. Cartwright,' I said.
'You propose to have me shadowed while I'm working on this assignment?'
'You can put it that way,' he answered, 'if you think it'll please the
readers of the _Gazette_.'"

"Too bad we didn't meet!" said Hal. "Or if you'd run into any of our
check-weighman crowd!"

"Oh! You know about that check-weighman business!" exclaimed the
reporter. "I got a hint of it--that's how I happened to be down here
to-day. I heard there was a man named Edstrom, who'd been shut out for
making trouble; and I thought if I could find him, I might get a lead."

Hal and MacKellar looked at the old Swede, and the three of them began
to laugh. "Here's your man!" said MacKellar.

"And here's your check-weighman!" added Edstrom, pointing to Hal.

Instantly the reporter was on his job again; he began to fire another
series of questions. He would use that check-weighman story as a
"follow-up" for the next day, to keep the subject of North Valley alive.
The story had a direct bearing on the disaster, because it showed what
the North Valley bosses were doing when they should have been looking
after the safety of their mine. "I'll write it out this afternoon and
send it by mail," said Keating; he added, with a smile, "That's one
advantage of handling news the other papers won't touch--you don't have
to worry about losing your 'scoops'!"



SECTION 2.

Keating went to the telephone again, to worry "long distance"; then,
grumbling about his last edition, he came back to ask more questions
about Hal's experiences. Before long he drew out the story of the young
man's first effort in the publicity game; at which he sank back in his
chair, and laughed until he shook, as the nursery-rhyme describes it,
"like a bowlful of jelly."

"Graham!" he exclaimed. "Fancy, MacKellar, he took that story to
Graham!"

The Scotchman seemed to find it equally funny; together they explained
that Graham was the political reporter of the _Eagle_, the paper in
Pedro which was owned by the Sheriff-emperor. One might call him Alf
Raymond's journalistic jackal; there was no job too dirty for him.

"But," cried Hal, "he told me he was correspondent for the Western press
association!"

"He's that, too," replied Billy.

"But does the press association employ spies for the 'G. F. C.'?"

The reporter answered, drily, "When you understand the news game better,
you'll realise that the one thing the press association cares about in a
correspondent is that he should have respect for property. If respect
for property is the back-bone of his being, he can learn what news is,
and the right way to handle it."

Keating turned to the Scotchman. "Do you happen to have a typewriter in
the house, Mr. MacKellar?"

"An old one," said the other--"lame, like myself."

"I'll make out with it. I'd ask this young man over to my hotel, but I
think he'd better keep off the streets as much as possible."

"You're right. If you take my advice, you'll take the typewriter
upstairs, where there's no chance of a shot through the window."

"Great heavens!" exclaimed Hal. "Is this America, or mediaeval Italy?"

"It's the Empire of Raymond," replied MacKellar. "They shot my friend
Tom Burton dead while he stood on the steps of his home. He was opposing
the machine, and had evidence about ballot-frauds he was going to put
before the Grand Jury."

While Keating continued to fret with "long distance," the old Scotchman
went on trying to impress upon Hal the danger of his position. Quite
recently an organiser of the miners' union had been beaten up in broad
day-light and left insensible on the sidewalk; MacKellar had watched the
trial and acquittal of the two thugs who had committed this crime--the
foreman of the jury being a saloon-keeper one of Raymond's heelers, and
the other jurymen being Mexicans, unable to comprehend a word of the
court proceedings.

"Exactly such a jury as Jeff Cotton promised me!" remarked Hal, with a
feeble attempt at a smile.

"Yes," answered the other; "and don't make any mistake about it, if they
want to put you away, they can do it. They run the whole machine here. I
know how it is, for I had a political job myself, until they found they
couldn't use me."

The old Scotchman went on to explain that he had been elected justice of
peace, and had tried to break up the business of policemen taking money
from the women of the town; he had been forced to resign, and his
enemies had made his life a torment. Recently he had been candidate for
district judge on the Progressive ticket, and told of his efforts to
carry on a campaign in the coal-camps--how his circulars had been
confiscated, his posters torn down, his supporters "kangarooed." It was
exactly as Alec Stone, the pit-boss, had explained to Hal. In some of
the camps the meeting-halls belonged to the company; in others they
belonged to saloon-keepers whose credit depended upon Alf Raymond. In
the few places where there were halls that could be hired, the machine
had gone to the extreme of sending in rival entertainments, furnishing
free music and free beer in order to keep the crowds away from
MacKellar.

All this time Billy Keating had been chafing and scolding at "long
distance." Now at last he managed to get his call, and silence fell in
the room. "Hello, Pringle, that you? This is Keating. Got a big story on
the North Valley disaster. Last edition put to bed yet? Put Jim on the
wire. Hello, Jim! Got your book?" And then Billy, evidently talking to a
stenographer, began to tell the story he had got from Hal. Now and then
he would stop to repeat or spell a word; once or twice Hal corrected him
on details. So, in about a quarter of an hour, they put the job through;
and Keating turned to Hal.

"There you are, son," said he. "Your story'll be on the street in
Western City in a little over an hour; it'll be down here as soon
thereafter as they can get telephone connections. And take my advice, if
you want to keep a whole skin, you'll be out of Pedro when that
happens!"



SECTION 3.

When Hal spoke, he did not answer Billy Keating's last remark. He had
been listening to a retelling of the North Valley disaster over the
telephone; so he was not thinking about his skin, but about a hundred
and seven men and boys buried inside a mine.

"Mr. Keating," said he, "are you sure the _Gazette_ will print that
story?"

"Good Lord!" exclaimed the other. "What am I here for?"

"Well, I've been disappointed once, you know."

"Yes, but you got into the wrong camp. We're a poor man's paper, and
this is what we live on."

"There's no chance of its being 'toned down'?"

"Not the slightest, I assure you."

"There's no chance of Peter Harrigan's suppressing it?"

"Peter Harrigan made his attempts on the _Gazette_ long ago, my boy."

"Well," said Hal, "and now tell me this--will it do the work?"

"In what way?"

"I mean--in making them open the mine."

Keating considered for a moment. "I'm afraid it won't do much."

Hal looked at him blankly. He had taken it for granted the publication
of the facts would force the company to move. But Keating explained that
the _Gazette_ read mainly by working-people, and so had comparatively
little influence. "We're an afternoon paper," he said; "and when people
have been reading lies all morning, it's not easy to make them believe
the truth in the afternoon."

"But won't the story go to other papers--over the country, I mean?"

"Yes, we have a press service; but the papers are all like the
_Gazette_--poor man's papers. If there's something very raw, and we keep
pounding away for a long time, we can make an impression; at least we
limit the amount of news the Western press association can suppress. But
when it comes to a small matter like sealing up workingmen in a mine,
all we can do is to worry the 'G. F. C.' a little."

So Hal was just where he had begun! "I must find some other plan," he
exclaimed.

"I don't see what you can do," replied the other.

There was a pause, while the young miner pondered. "I had thought of
going up to Western City and appealing to the editors," he said, a
little uncertainly.

"Well, I can tell you about that--you might as well save your car-fare.
They wouldn't touch your story."

"And if I appealed to the Governor?"

"In the first place, he probably wouldn't see you. And if he did, he
wouldn't do anything. He's not really the Governor, you know; he's a
puppet put up there to fool you. He only moves when Harrigan pulls a
string."

"Of course I knew he was Old Peter's man," said Hal. "But then"--and he
concluded, somewhat lamely, "What _can_ I do?"

A smile of pity came upon the reporter's face. "I can see this is the
first time you've been up against 'big business.'" And then he added,
"You're young! When you've had more experience, you'll leave these
problems to older heads!" But Hal failed to get the reporter's sarcasm.
He had heard these exact words in such deadly seriousness from his
brother! Besides, he had just come from scenes of horror.

"But don't you see, Mr. Keating?" he exclaimed. "It's impossible for me
to sit still while those men die?"

"I don't know about your sitting still," said the other. "All I know is
that all your moving about isn't going to do them any good."

Hal turned to Edstrom and MacKellar. "Gentlemen," he said, "listen to me
for a minute." And there was a note of pleading in his voice--as if he
thought they were deliberately refusing to help him! "We've got to do
something about this. We've _got_ to do something! I'm new at the game,
as Mr. Keating says; but you aren't. Put your minds on it, gentlemen,
and help me work out a plan!"

There was a long silence. "God knows," said Edstrom, at last. "I'd
suggest something if I could."

"And I, too," said MacKellar. "You're up against a stone-wall, my boy.
The government here is simply a department of the 'G. F. C.' The
officials are crooks--company servants, all of them."

"Just a moment now," said Hal. "Let's consider. Suppose we had a real
government--what steps would we take? We'd carry such a case to the
District Attorney, wouldn't we?"

"Yes, no doubt of it," said MacKellar.

"You mentioned him before," said Hal. "He threatened to prosecute some
mine-superintendents for ballot-frauds, you said."

"That was while he was running for election," said MacKellar.

"Oh! I remember what Jeff Cotton said--that he was friendly to the
miners in his speeches, and to the companies in his acts."

"That's the man," said the other, drily.

"Well," argued Hal, "oughtn't I go to him, to give him a chance, at
least? You can't tell, he might have a heart inside him."

"It isn't a heart he needs," replied MacKellar; "it's a back-bone."

"But surely I ought to put it up to him! If he won't do anything, at
least I'll put him on record, and it'll make another story for you,
won't it, Mr. Keating?"

"Yes, that's true," admitted the reporter. "What would you ask him to
do?"

"Why, to lay the matter before the Grand Jury; to bring indictments
against the North Valley bosses."

"But that would take a long time; it wouldn't save the men in the mine."

"What might save them would be the threat of it." MacKellar put in. "I
don't think any threat of Dick Barker's would count for that much. The
bosses know they could stop him."

"Well, isn't there somebody else? Shouldn't I try the courts?"

"What courts?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"Well," said the Scotchman, "to begin at the bottom, there's a justice
of the peace."

"Who's he?"

"Jim Anderson, a horse-doctor. He's like any other J.P. you ever
knew--he lives on petty graft."

"Is there a higher court?"

"Yes, the district court; Judge Denton. He's the law-partner of
Vagleman, counsel for the 'G. F. C.' How far would you expect to get
with him?"

"I suppose I'm clutching at straws," said Hal. "But they say that's what
a drowning man does. Anyway, I'm going to see these people, and maybe
out of the lot of them I can find one who'll act. It can't do any harm!"

The three men thought of some harm it might do; they tried to make Hal
consider the danger of being slugged Or shot. "They'll do it!" exclaimed
MacKellar. "And no trouble for them--they'll prove you were stabbed by a
drunken Dago, quarrelling over some woman."

But Hal had got his head set; he believed he could put this job through
before his enemies had time to lay any plans. Nor would he let any of
his friends accompany him; he had something more important for both
Edstrom and Keating to do--and as for MacKellar, he could not get about
rapidly enough. Hal bade Edstrom go to the post-office and get the
registered letter, and proceed at once to change the bills. It was his
plan to make out affidavits, and if the officials here would not act, to
take the affidavits to the Governor. And for this he would need money.
Meantime, he said, let Billy Keating write out the check-weighman story,
and in a couple of hours meet him at the American Hotel, to get copies
of the affidavits for the _Gazette_.

Hal was still wearing the miner's clothes he had worn on the night of
his arrest in Edstrom's cabin. But he declined MacKellar's offer to lend
him a business-suit; the old Scotchman's clothes would not fit him, he
knew, and it would be better to make his appeal as a real miner than as
a misfit gentleman.

These matters being settled, Hal went out upon the street, where Pete
Hanun, the breaker of teeth, fell in behind him. The young miner at once
broke into a run, and the other followed suit, and so the two of them
sped down the street, to the wonder of people on the way. As Hal had had
practice as a sprinter, no doubt Pete was glad that the District
Attorney's office was not far away!



SECTION 4.

Mr. Richard Parker was busy, said the clerk in toe outer office; for
which Hal was not sorry, as it gave him a chance to get his breath.
Seeing a young man flushed and panting, the clerk stared with curiosity;
but Hal offered no explanation, and the breaker of teeth waited on the
street outside.

Mr. Parker received his caller in a couple of minutes. He was a well-fed
gentleman with generous neck and chin, freshly shaved and rubbed with
talcum powder. His clothing was handsome, his linen immaculate; one got
the impression of a person who "did himself well." There were papers on
his desk, and he looked preoccupied.

"Well?" said he, with a swift glance at the young miner.

"I understand that I am speaking to the District Attorney of Pedro
County?"

"That's right."

"Mr. Parker, have you given any attention to the circumstances of the
North Valley disaster?"

"No," said Mr. Parker. "Why?"

"I have just come from North Valley, and I can give you information
which may be of interest to you. There are a hundred and seven people
entombed in the mine, and the company officials have sealed it, and are
sacrificing those lives."

The other put down the correspondence, and made an examination of his
caller from under his heavy eyelids. "How do you know this?"

"I left there only a few hours ago. The facts are known to all the
workers in the camp."

"You are speaking from what you heard?"

"I am speaking from what I know at first hand. I saw the disaster, I saw
the pit-mouth boarded over and covered with canvas. I know a man who was
driven out of camp this morning for complaining about the delay in
starting the fan. It has been over three days since the explosion, and
still nothing has been done."

Mr. Parker proceeded to fire a series of questions, in the sharp,
suspicious manner customary to prosecuting officials. But Hal did not
mind that; it was the man's business to make sure.

Presently he demanded to know how he could get corroboration of Hal's
statements.

"You'll have to go up there," was the reply.

"You say the facts are known to the men. Give me the names of some of
them."

"I have no authority to give their names, Mr. Parker."

"What authority do you need? They will tell me, won't they?"

"They may, and they may not. One man has already lost his job; not every
man cares to lose his job."

"You expect me to go up there on your bare say-so?"

"I offer you more than my say-so. I offer an affidavit."

"But what do I know about you?"

"You know that I worked in North Valley--or you can verify the fact by
using the telephone. My name is Joe Smith, and I was a miner's helper in
Number Two."

But that was not sufficient, said Mr. Parker; his time was valuable, and
before he took a trip to North Valley he must have the names of
witnesses who would corroborate these statements.

"I offer you an affidavit!" exclaimed Hal. "I say that I have knowledge
that a crime is being committed--that a hundred and seven human lives
are being sacrificed. You don't consider that a sufficient reason for
even making inquiry?"

The District Attorney answered again that he desired to do his duty, he
desired to protect the workers in their rights; but he could not afford
to go off on a "wild goose chase," he must have the names of witnesses.
And Hal found himself wondering. Was the man merely taking the first
pretext for doing nothing? Or could it be that an official of the state
would go as far as to help the company by listing the names of
"trouble-makers"?

In spite of his distrust, Hal was resolved to give the man every chance
he could. He went over the whole story of the disaster. He took Mr.
Parker up to the camp, showed him the agonised women and terrified
children crowding about the pit-mouth, driven back with clubs and
revolvers. He named family after family, widows and mothers and orphans.
He told of the miners clamouring for a chance to risk their lives to
save their fellows. He let his own feelings sweep him along; he pleaded
with fervour for his suffering friends.

"Young man," said the other, breaking in upon his eloquence, "how long
have you been working in North Valley?"

"About ten weeks."

"How long have you been working in coal-mines?"

"That was my first experience."

"And you think that in ten weeks you have learned enough to entitle you
to bring a charge of 'murder' against men who have spent their lives in
learning the business of mining?"

"As I have told you," exclaimed Hal, "it's not merely my opinion; it's
the opinion of the oldest and most experienced of the miners. I tell you
no effort whatever is being made to save those men! The bosses care
nothing about their men! One of them, Alec Stone, was heard by a crowd
of people to say, 'Damn the men! Save the mules!'"

"Everybody up there is excited," declared the other. "Nobody can think
straight at present--you can't think straight yourself. If the mine's on
fire, and if the fire is spreading to such an extent that it can't be
put out--"

"But, Mr. Parker, how can you say that it's spreading to such an
extent?"

"Well, how can you say that it isn't?"

There was a pause. "I understand there's a deputy mine-inspector up
there," said the District Attorney, suddenly. "What's his name?"

"Carmichael," said Hal.

"Well, and what does _he_ say about it?"

"It was for appealing to him that the miner, Huszar, was turned out of
camp."

"Well," said Mr. Parker--and there came a note into his voice by which
Hal knew that he had found the excuse he sought--"Well, it's
Carmichael's business, and I have no right to butt in on it. If he comes
to me and asks for indictments, I'll act--but not otherwise. That's all
I have to say about it."

And Hal rose. "Very well, Mr. Parker," said he. "I have put the facts
before you. I was told you wouldn't do anything, but I wanted to give
you a chance. Now I'm going to ask the Governor for your removal!" And
with these words the young miner strode out of the office.



SECTION 5.

Hal went down the street to the American Hotel, where there was a public
stenographer. When this young woman discovered the nature of the
material he proposed to dictate, her fingers trembled visibly; but she
did not refuse the task, and Hal proceeded to set forth the
circumstances of the sealing of the pit-mouth of Number One Mine at
North Valley, and to pray for warrants for the arrest of Enos Cartwright
and Alec Stone. Then he gave an account of how he had been selected as
check-weighman and been refused access to the scales; and with all the
legal phraseology he could rake up, he prayed for the arrest of Enos
Cartwright and James Peters, superintendent and tipple-boss at North
Valley, for these offences. In another affidavit he narrated how Jeff
Cotton, camp-marshal, had seized him at night, mistreated him, and shut
him in prison for thirty-six hours without warrant or charge; also how
Cotton, Pete Hanun, and two other parties by name unknown, had illegally
driven him from the town of North Valley, threatening him with violence;
for which he prayed the arrest of Jeff Cotton, Pete Hanun, and the two
parties unknown.

Before this task was finished, Billy Keating came in, bringing the
twenty-five dollars which Edstrom had got from the post-office. They
found a notary public, before whom Hal made oath to each document; and
when these had been duly inscribed and stamped with the seal of the
state, he gave carbon copies to Keating, who hurried off to catch a
mail-train which was just due. Billy would not trust such things to the
local post-office; for Pedro was the hell of a town, he declared. As
they went out on the street again they noticed that their body-guard had
been increased by another husky-looking personage, who made no attempt
to conceal what he was doing.

Hal went around the corner to an office bearing the legend, "J.W.
Anderson, Justice of the Peace."

Jim Anderson, the horse-doctor, sat at his desk within. He had evidently
chewed tobacco before he assumed the ermine, and his reddish-coloured
moustache still showed the stains. Hal observed such details, trying to
weigh his chances of success. He presented the affidavit describing his
treatment in North Valley, and sat waiting while His Honour read it
through with painful slowness.

"Well," said the man, at last, "what do you want?"

"I want a warrant for Jeff Cotton's arrest."

The other studied him for a minute. "No, young fellow," said he. "You
can't get no such warrant here."

"Why not?"

"Because Cotton's a deputy-sheriff; he had a right to arrest you."

"To arrest me without a warrant?"

"How do you know he didn't have a warrant?"

"He admitted to me that he didn't."

"Well, whether he had a warrant or not, it was his business to keep
order in the camp."

"You mean he can do anything he pleases in the camp?"

"What I mean is, it ain't my business to interfere. Why didn't you see
Si Adams, up to the camp?"

"They didn't give me any chance to see him."

"Well," replied the other, "there's nothing I can do for you. You can
see that for yourself. What kind of discipline could they keep in them
camps if any fellow that had a kick could come down here and have the
marshal arrested?"

"Then a camp-marshal can act without regard to the law?"

"I didn't say that."

"Suppose he had committed murder--would you give a warrant for that?"

"Yes, of course, if it was murder."

"And if you knew that he was in the act of committing murder in a
coal-camp--would you try to stop him?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then here's another affidavit," said Hal; and he produced the one about
the sealing of the mine. There was silence while Justice Anderson read
it through.

But again he shook his head. "No, you can't get no such warrants here."

"Why not?"

"Because it ain't my business to run a coal-mine. I don't understand it,
and I'd make a fool of myself if I tried to tell them people how to run
their business."

Hal argued with him. Could company officials in charge of a coal-mine
commit any sort of outrage upon their employГ©s, and call it running
their business? Their control of the mine in such an emergency as this
meant the power of life and death over a hundred and seven men and boys;
could it be that the law had nothing to say in such a situation? But Mr.
Anderson only shook his head; it was not his business to interfere. Hal
might go up to the court-house and see Judge Denton about it. So Hal
gathered up his affidavits and went out to the street again--where there
were now three husky-looking personages waiting to escort him.



SECTION 6.

The district court was in session and Hal sat for a while in the
court-room, watching Judge Denton. Here was another prosperous and
well-fed appearing gentleman, with a rubicund visage shining over the
top of his black silk robe. The young miner found himself regarding both
the robe and the visage with suspicion. Could it be that Hal was
becoming cynical, and losing his faith in his fellow man? What he
thought of, in connection with the Judge's appearance, was that there
was a living to be made sitting on the bench, while one's partner
appeared before the bench as coal-company counsel!

In an interval of the proceedings, Hal spoke to the clerk, and was told
that he might see the judge at four-thirty; but a few minutes later Pete
Hanun came in and whispered to this clerk. The clerk looked at Hal, then
he went up and whispered to the Judge. At four-thirty, when the court
was declared adjourned, the Judge rose and disappeared into his private
office; and when Hal applied to the clerk, the latter brought out the
message that Judge Denton was too busy to see him.

But Hal was not to be disposed of in that easy fashion. There was a side
door to the court-room, with a corridor beyond it, and while he stood
arguing with the clerk he saw the rubicund visage of the Judge flit
past.

He darted in pursuit. He did not shout or make a disturbance; but when
he was close behind his victim, he said, quietly, "Judge Denton, I
appeal to you for justice!"

The Judge turned and looked at him, his countenance showing annoyance.
"What do you want?"

It was a ticklish moment, for Pete Hanun was at Hal's heels, and it
would have needed no more than a nod from the Judge to cause him to
collar Hal. But the Judge, taken by surprise, permitted himself to
parley with the young miner; and the detective hesitated, and finally
fell back a step or two.

Hal repeated his appeal. "Your Honour, there are a hundred and seven men
and boys now dying up at the North Valley mine. They are being murdered,
and I am trying to save their lives!"

"Young man," said the Judge, "I have an urgent engagement down the
street."

"Very well," replied Hal, "I will walk with you and tell you as you go."
Nor did he give "His Honour" a chance to say whether this arrangement
was pleasing to him; he set out by his side, with Pete Hanun and the
other two men some ten yards in the rear.

Hal told the story as he had told it to Mr. Richard Parker; and he
received the same response. Such matters were not easy to decide about;
they were hardly a Judge's business. There was a state official on the
ground, and it was for him to decide if there was violation of law.

Hal repeated his statement that a man who made a complaint to this
official had been thrown out of camp. "And I was thrown out also, your
Honour."

"What for?"

"Nobody told me what for."

"Tut, tut, young man! They don't throw men out without telling them the
reason!"

"But they _do_, your Honour! Shortly before that they locked me up in
jail, and held me for thirty-six hours without the slightest show of
authority."

"You must have been doing something!"

"What I had done was to be chosen by a committee of miners to act as
their check-weighman."

"Their check-weighman?"

"Yes, your Honour. I am informed there's a law providing that when the
men demand a check-weighman, and offer to pay for him, the company must
permit him to inspect the weights. Is that correct?"

"It is, I believe."

"And there's a penalty for refusing?"

"The law always carries a penalty, young man."

"They tell me that law has been on the statute-books for fifteen or
sixteen years, and that the penalty is from twenty-five to five hundred
dollars fine. It's a case about which there can be no dispute, your
Honour--the miners notified the superintendent that they desired my
services, and when I presented myself at the tipple, I was refused
access to the scales; then I was seized and shut up in jail, and finally
turned out of the camp. I have made affidavit to these facts, and I
think I have the right to ask for warrants for the guilty men."

"Can you produce witnesses to your statements?"

"I can, your Honour. One of the committee of miners, John Edstrom, is
now in Pedro, having been kept out of his home, which he had rented and
paid for. The other, Mike Sikoria, was also thrown out of camp. There
are many others at North Valley who know all about it."

There was a pause. Judge Denton for the first time took a good look at
the young miner at his side; and then he drew his brows together in
solemn thought, and his voice became deep and impressive. "I shall take
this matter under advisement. What is your name, and where do you live?"

"Joe Smith, your Honour. I'm staying at Edward MacKellar's, but I don't
know how long I'll be able to stay there. There are company thugs
watching the place all the time."

"That's wild talk!" said the Judge, impatiently.

"As it happens," said Hal, "we are being followed by three of them at
this moment--one of them the same Pete Hanun who helped to drive me out
of North Valley. If you will turn your head you will see them behind
us."

But the portly Judge did not turn his head.

"I have been informed," Hal continued, "that I am taking my life in my
hands by my present course of action. I believe I'm entitled to ask for
protection."

"What do you want me to do?"

"To begin with, I'd like you to cause the arrest of the men who are
shadowing me."

"It's not my business to cause such arrests. You should apply to a
policeman."

"I don't see any policeman. Will you tell me where to find one?"

His Honour was growing weary of such persistence. "Young man, what's the
matter with you is that you've been reading dime novels, and they've got
on your nerves!"

"But the men are right behind me, your Honour! Look at them!"

"I've told you it's not my business, young man!"

"But, your Honour, before I can find a policeman I may be dead!"

The other appeared to be untroubled by this possibility.

"And, your Honour, while you are taking these matters under advisement,
the men in the mine will be dead!"

Again there was no reply.

"I have some affidavits here," said Hal. "Do you wish them?"

"You can give them to me if you want to," said the other.

"You don't ask me for them?"

"I haven't yet."

"Then just one more question--if you will pardon me, your Honour. Can
you tell me where I can find an honest lawyer in this town--a man who
might be willing to take a case against the interests of the General
Fuel Company?"

There was a silence--a long, long silence. Judge Denton, of the firm of
Denton and Vagleman, stared straight in front of him as he walked.
Whatever complicated processes might have been going on inside his mind,
his judicial features did not reveal them. "No, young man," he said at
last, "it's not my business to give you information about lawyers." And
with that the judge turned on his heel and went into the Elks' Club.



SECTION 7.

Hal stood and watched the portly figure until it disappeared; then he
turned back and passed the three detectives, who stopped. He stared at
them, but made no sign, nor did they. Some twenty feet behind him, they
fell in and followed as before.

Judge Denton had suggested consulting a policeman; and suddenly Hal
noticed that he was passing the City Hall, and it occurred to him that
this matter of his being shadowed might properly be brought to the
attention of the mayor of Pedro. He wondered what the chief magistrate
of such a "hell of a town" might be like; after due inquiry, he found
himself in the office of Mr. Ezra Perkins, a mild-mannered little
gentleman who had been in the undertaking-business, before he became a
figure-head for the so-called "Democratic" machine.

He sat pulling nervously at a neatly trimmed brown beard, trying to
wriggle out of the dilemma into which Hal put him. Yes, it might
possibly be that a young miner was being followed on the streets of the
town; but whether or not this was against the law depended on the
circumstances. If he had made a disturbance in North Valley, and there
was reason to believe that he might be intending trouble, doubtless the
company was keeping track of him. But Pedro was a law-abiding place, and
he would be protected in his rights so long as he behaved himself.

Hal replied by citing what MacKellar had told him about men being
slugged on the streets in broad day-light. To this Mr. Perkins answered
that there was uncertainty about the circumstances of these cases;
anyhow, they had happened before he became mayor. His was a reform
administration, and he had given strict orders to the Chief of Police
that there were to be no more incidents of the sort.

"Will you go with me to the Chief of Police and give him orders now?"
demanded Hal.

"I do not consider it necessary," said Mr. Perkins.

He was about to go home, it seemed. He was a pitiful little rodent, and
it was a shame to torment him; but Hal stuck to him for ten or twenty
minutes longer, arguing and insisting--until finally the little rodent
bolted for the door, and made his escape in an automobile. "You can go
to the Chief of Police yourself," were his last words, as he started the
machine; and Hal decided to follow the suggestion. He had no hope left,
but he was possessed by a kind of dogged rage. He _would_ not let go!

Upon inquiry of a passer-by, he learned that police headquarters was in
this same building, the entrance being just round the corner. He went
in, and found a man in uniform writing at a desk, who stated that the
Chief had "stepped down the street." Hal sat down to wait, by a window
through which he could look out upon the three gunmen loitering across
the way.

The man at the desk wrote on, but now and then he eyed the young miner
with that hostility which American policemen cultivate toward the lower
classes. To Hal this was a new phenomenon, and he found himself suddenly
wishing that he had put on MacKellar's clothes. Perhaps a policeman
would not have noticed the misfit!

The Chief came in. His blue uniform concealed a burly figure, and his
moustache revealed the fact that his errand down the street had had to
do with beer. "Well, young fellow?" said he, fixing his gaze upon Hal.

Hal explained his errand.

"What do you want me to do?" asked the Chief, in a decidedly hostile
voice.

"I want you to make those men stop following me."

"How can I make them stop?"

"You can lock them up, if necessary. I can point them out to you, if
you'll step to the window."

But the other made no move. "I reckon if they're follerin' you, they've
got some reason for it. Have you been makin' trouble in the camps?" He
asked this question with sudden force, as if it had occurred to him that
it might be his duty to lock up Hal.

"No," said Hal, speaking as bravely as he could--"no indeed, I haven't
been making trouble. I've only been demanding my rights."

"How do I know what you been doin'?"

The young miner was willing to explain, but the other cut him short.
"You behave yourself while you're in this town, young feller, d'you see?
If you do, nobody'll bother you."

"But," said Hal, "they've already threatened to bother me."

"What did they say?"

"They said something might happen to me on a dark night."

"Well, so it might--you might fall down and hit your nose."

The Chief was pleased with this wit, but only for a moment. "Understand,
young feller, we'll give you your rights in this town, but we got no
love for agitators, and we don't pretend to have. See?"

"You call a man an agitator when he demands his legal rights?"

"I ain't got time to argue with you, young feller. It's no easy matter
keepin' order in coal-camps, and I ain't going to meddle in the
business. I reckon the company detectives has got as good a right in
this town as you."

There was a pause. Hal saw that there was nothing to be gained by
further discussion with the Chief. It was his first glimpse of the
American policeman as he appears to the labouring man in revolt, and he
found it an illuminating experience. There was dynamite in his heart as
he turned and went out to the street; nor was the amount of the
explosive diminished by the mocking grins which he noted upon the faces
of Pete Hanun and the other two husky-looking personages.



SECTION 8.

Hal judged that he had now exhausted his legal resources in Pedro; the
Chief of Police had not suggested any one else he might call upon, so
there seemed nothing he could do but go back to MacKellar's and await
the hour of the night train to Western City. He started to give his
guardians another run, by way of working off at least a part of his own
temper; but he found that they had anticipated this difficulty. An
automobile came up and the three of them stepped in. Not to be outdone,
Hal engaged a hack, and so the expedition returned in pomp to
MacKellar's.

Hal found the old cripple in a state of perturbation. All that afternoon
his telephone had been ringing; one person after another had warned
him--some pleading with him, some abusing him. It was evident that among
them were people who had a hold on the old man; but he was undaunted,
and would not hear of Hal's going to stay at the hotel until train-time.

Then Keating returned, with an exciting tale to tell. Schulman, general
manager of the "G. F. C.," had been sending out messengers to hunt for
him, and finally had got him in his office, arguing and pleading,
cajoling and denouncing him by turns. He had got Cartwright on the
telephone, and the North Valley superintendent had laboured to convince
Keating that he had done the company a wrong. Cartwright had told a
story about Hal's efforts to hold up the company for money.
"Incidentally," said Keating, "he added the charge that you had seduced
a girl in his camp."

Hal stared at his friend. "Seduced a girl!" he exclaimed.

"That's what he said; a red-headed Irish girl."

"Well, damn his soul!"

There followed a silence, broken by a laugh from Billy. "Don't glare at
me like that. _I_ didn't say it!"

But Hal continued to glare, nevertheless. "The dirty little skunk!"

"Take it easy, sonny," said the fat man, soothingly. "It's quite the
usual thing, to drag in a woman. It's so easy--for of course there
always _is_ a woman. There's one in this case, I suppose?"

"There's a perfectly decent girl."

"But you've been friendly with her? You've been walking around where
people can see you?"

"Yes."

"So you see, they've got you. There's nothing you can do about a thing
of that sort."

"You wait and see!" Hal burst out.

The other gazed curiously at the angry young miner. "What'll you do?
Beat him up some night?"

But the young miner did not answer. "You say he described the girl?"

"He was kind enough to say she was a red-headed beauty, and with no one
to protect her but a drunken father. I could understand that must have
made it pretty hard for her, in one of these coal-camps." There was a
pause. "But see here," said the reporter, "you'll only do the girl harm
by making a row. Nobody believes that women in coal-camps have any
virtue. God knows, I don't see how they do have, considering the sort of
men who run the camps, and the power they have."

"Mr. Keating," said Hal, "did _you_ believe what Cartwright told you?"

Keating had started to light a cigar. He stopped in the middle, and his
eyes met Hal's. "My dear boy," said he, "I didn't consider it my
business to have an opinion."

"But what did you say to Cartwright?"

"Ah! That's another matter. I said that I'd been a newspaper man for a
good many years, and I knew his game."

"Thank you for that," said Hal. "You may be interested to know there
isn't any truth in the story."

"Glad to hear it," said the other. "I believe you."

"Also you may be interested to know that I shan't drop the matter until
I've made Cartwright take it back."

"Well, you're an enterprising cuss!" laughed the reporter. "Haven't you
got enough on your hands, with all the men you're going to get out of
the mine?"



SECTION 9.

Billy Keating went out again, saying that he knew a man who might be
willing to talk to him on the quiet, and give him some idea what was
going to happen to Hal. Meantime Hal and Edstrom sat down to dinner with
MacKellar. The family were afraid to use the dining-room of their home,
but spread a little table in the upstairs hall. The distress of mind of
MacKellar's wife and daughter was apparent, and this brought home to Hal
the terror of life in this coal-country. Here were American women, in an
American home, a home with evidences of refinement and culture; yet they
felt and acted as if they were Russian conspirators, in terror of
Siberia and the knout!

The reporter was gone a couple of hours; when he came back, he brought
news. "You can prepare for trouble, young fellow."

"Why so?"

"Jeff Cotton's in town."

"How do you know?"

"I saw him in an automobile. If he left North Valley at this time, it
was for something serious, you may be sure."

"What does he mean to do?"

"There's no telling. He may have you slugged; he may have you run out of
town and dumped out in the desert; he may just have you arrested."

Hal considered for a moment. "For slander?"

"Or for vagrancy; or on suspicion of having robbed a bank in Texas, or
murdered your great-grandmother in Tasmania. The point is, he'll keep
you locked up till this trouble has blown over."

"Well," said Hal, "I don't want to be locked up. I want to go up to
Western City. I'm waiting for the train."

"You may have to wait till morning," replied Keating. "There's been
trouble on the railroad--a freight-car broke down and ripped up the
track; it'll be some time before it's clear."

They discussed this new problem back and forth. MacKellar wanted to get
in half a dozen friends and keep guard over Hal during the night; and
Hal had about agreed to this idea, when the discussion was given a new
turn by a chance remark of Keating's. "Somebody else is tied up by the
railroad accident. The Coal King's son!"

"The Coal King's son?" echoed Hal.

"Young Percy Harrigan. He's got a private car here--or rather a whole
train. Think of it--dining-car, drawing-room car, two whole cars with
sleeping apartments! Wouldn't you like to be a son of the Coal King?"

"Has he come on account of the mine-disaster?"

"Mine-disaster?" echoed Keating. "I doubt if he's heard of it. They've
been on a trip to the Grand Canyon, I was told; there's a baggage-car
with four automobiles."

"Is Old Peter with them?"

"No, he's in New York. Percy's the host. He's got one of his automobiles
out, and was up in town--two other fellows and some girls."

"Who's in his party?"

"I couldn't find out. You can see, it might be a story for the
_Gazette_--the Coal King's son, coming by chance at the moment when a
hundred and seven of his serfs are perishing in the mine! If I could
only have got him to say a word about the disaster! If I could even have
got him to say he didn't know about it!"

"Did you try?"

"What am I a reporter for?"

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened; except that he froze me stiff."

"Where was this?"

"On the street. They stopped at a drug-store, and I stepped up. 'Is this
Mr. Percy Harrigan?' He was looking into the store, over my head. 'I'm a
reporter,' I said, 'and I'd like to ask you about the accident up at
North Valley.' 'Excuse me,' he said, in a tone--gee, it makes your blood
cold to think of it! 'Just a word,' I pleaded. 'I don't give
interviews,' he answered; and that was all--he continued looking over my
head, and everybody else staring in front of them. They had turned to
ice at my first word. If ever I felt like a frozen worm!"

There was a pause.

"Ain't it wonderful," reflected Billy, "how quick you can build up an
aristocracy! When you looked at that car, the crowd in it and the airs
they wore, you'd think they'd been running the world since the time of
William the Conqueror. And Old Peter came into this country with a
pedlar's pack on his shoulders!"

"We're hustlers here," put in MacKellar.

"We'll hustle all the way to hell in a generation more," said the
reporter. Then, after a minute, "Say, but there's one girl in that bunch
that was the real thing! She sure did get me! You know all those fluffy
things they do themselves up in--soft and fuzzy, makes you think of
spring-time orchards. This one was exactly the colour of
apple-blossoms."

"You're susceptible to the charms of the ladies?" inquired Hal, mildly.

"I am," said the other. "I know it's all fake, but just the same, it
makes my little heart go pit-a-pat. I always want to think they're as
lovely as they look."

Hal's smile became reminiscent, and he quoted:

  "Oh Liza-Ann, come out with me,
    The moon is a-shinin' in the monkey-puzzle tree!"

Then he stopped, with a laugh. "Don't wear your heart on your sleeve,
Mr. Keating. She wouldn't be above taking a peck at it as she passed."

"At me? A worm of a newspaper reporter?"

"At you, a man!" laughed Hal. "I wouldn't want to accuse the lady of
posing; but a lady has her role in life, and has to keep her hand in."

There was a pause. The reporter was looking at the young miner with
sudden curiosity. "See here," he remarked, "I've been wondering about
you. How do you come to know so much about the psychology of the leisure
class?"

"I used to have money once," said Hal. "My family's gone down as quickly
as the Harrigans have come up."



SECTION 10.

Hal went on to question Keating about the apple-blossom girl. "Maybe I
could guess who she is. What colour was her hair?"

"The colour of molasses taffy when you've pulled it," said Billy; "but
all fluffy and wonderful, with star-dust in it. Her eyes were brown, and
her cheeks pink and cream."

"She had two rows of pearly white teeth, that flashed at you when she
smiled?"

"She didn't smile, unfortunately."

"Then her brown eyes gazed at you, wide open, full of wonder?"

"Yes, they did--only it was into the drug-store window."

"Did she wear a white hat of soft straw, with a green and white flower
garden on it, and an olive green veil, and maybe cream white ribbons?"

"By George, I believe you've seen her!" exclaimed the reporter.

"Maybe," said Hal. "Or maybe I'm describing the girl on the cover of one
of the current magazines!" He smiled; but then, seeing the other's
curiosity, "Seriously, I think I do know your young lady. If you
announce that Miss Jessie Arthur is a member of the Harrigan party, you
won't be taking a long chance."

"I can't afford to take any chance at all," said the reporter. "You mean
Robert Arthur's daughter?"

"Heiress-apparent of the banking business of Arthur and Sons," said Hal.
"It happens I know her by sight."

"How's that?"

"I worked in a grocery-store where she used to come."

"Whereabouts?"

"Peterson and Company, in Western City."

"Oho! And you used to sell her candy."

"Stuffed dates."

"And your little heart used to go pit-a-pat, so that you could hardly
count the change?"

"Gave her too much, several times!"

"And you wondered if she was as good as she was beautiful! One day you
were thrilled with hope, the next you were cynical and bitter--till at
last you gave up in despair, and ran away to work in a coal-mine!"

They laughed, and MacKellar and Edstrom joined in. But suddenly Keating
became serious again. "I ought to be away on that story!" he exclaimed.
"I've got to get something out of that crowd about the disaster. Think
what copy it would make!"

"But how can you do it?"

"I don't know; I only know I ought to be trying. I'll hang round the
train, and maybe I can get one of the porters to talk."

"Interview with the Coal King's porter!" chuckled Hal. "How it feels to
make up a multi-millionaire's bed!"

"How it feels to sell stuffed dates to a banker's daughter!" countered
the other.

But suddenly it was Hal's turn to become serious. "Listen, Mr. Keating,"
said he, "why not let _me_ interview young Harrigan?"

"_You?_"

"Yes! I'm the proper person--one of his miners! I help to make his money
for him, don't I? I'm the one to tell him about North Valley."

Hal saw the reporter staring at him in sudden excitement; he continued:
"I've been to the District Attorney, the Justice of the Peace, the
District Judge, the Mayor and the Chief of Police. Now, why shouldn't I
go to the Owner?"

"By thunder!" cried Billy. "I believe you'd have the nerve!"

"I believe I would," replied Hal, quietly.

The other scrambled out of his chair, wild with delight. "I dare you!"
he exclaimed.

"I'm ready," said Hal.

"You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it."

"In that costume?"

"Certainly. I'm one of his miners."

"But it won't go," cried the reporter. "You'll stand no chance to get
near him unless you're well dressed."

"Are you sure of that? What I've got on might be the garb of a
railroad-hand. Suppose there was something out of order in one of the
cars--the plumbing, for example?"

"But you couldn't fool the conductor or the porter."

"I might be able to. Let's try it."

There was a pause, while Keating thought. "The truth is," he said, "it
doesn't matter whether you succeed or not--it's a story if you even make
the attempt. The Coal King's son appealed to by one of his serfs! The
hard heart of Plutocracy rejects the cry of Labour!"

"Yes," said Hal, "but I really mean to get to him. Do you suppose he's
got back to the train yet?"