"They were starting to it when I left."

"And where _is_ the train?"

"Two or three hundred yards east of the station, I was told."

MacKellar and Edstrom had been listening enthralled to this exciting
conversation. "That ought to be just back of my house," said the former.

"It's a short train--four parlour-cars and a baggage-car," added
Keating. "It ought to be easy to recognise."

The old Scotchman put in an objection. "The difficulty may be to get out
of this house. I don't believe they mean to let you get away to-night."

"By Jove, that's so!" exclaimed Keating. "We're talking too much--let's
get busy. Are they watching the back door, do you suppose?"

"They've been watching it all day," said MacKellar.

"Listen," broke in Hal--"I've an idea. They haven't tried to interfere
with your going out, have they, Mr. Keating?"

"No, not yet."

"Nor with you, Mr. MacKellar?"

"No, not yet," said the Scotchman.

"Well," Hal suggested, "suppose you lend me your crutches?"

Whereat Keating gave an exclamation of delight. "The very thing!"

"I'll take your over-coat and hat," Hal added. "I've watched you get
about, and I think I can give an imitation. As for Mr. Keating, he's not
easy to mistake."

"Billy, the fat boy!" laughed the other. "Come, let's get on the job!"

"I'll go out by the front door at the same time," put in Edstrom, his
old voice trembling with excitement. "Maybe that'll help to throw them
off the track."



SECTION 11.

They had been sitting upstairs in MacKellar's room. Now they rose, and
were starting for the stairs, when suddenly there came a ring at the
front door bell. They stopped and stared at one another. "There they
are!" whispered Keating.

And MacKellar sat down suddenly, and held out his crutches to Hal. "The
hat and coat are in the front hall," he exclaimed. "Make a try for it!"
His words were full of vigour, but like Edstrom, his voice was
trembling. He was no longer young, and could not take adventure gaily.

Hal and Keating ran downstairs, followed by Edstrom. Hal put on the coat
and hat, and they went to the back door, while at the same time Edstrom
answered the bell in front.

The back door opened into a yard, and this gave, through a side gate,
into an alley. Hal's heart was pounding furiously as he began to hobble
along with the crutches. He had to go at MacKellar's slow pace--while
Keating, at his side, started talking. He informed "Mr. MacKellar," in a
casual voice, that the _Gazette_ was a newspaper which believed in the
people's cause, and was pledged to publish the people's side of all
public questions. Discoursing thus, they went out of the gate and into
the alley.

A man emerged from the shadows and walked by them. He passed within
three feet of Hal, and peered at him, narrowly. Fortunately there was no
moon; Hal could not see the man's face, and hoped the man could not see
his.

Meantime Keating was proceeding with his discourse. "You understand, Mr.
MacKellar," he was saying, "sometimes it's difficult to find out the
truth in a situation like this. When the interests are filling their
newspapers with falsehoods and exaggerations, it's a temptation for us
to publish falsehoods and exaggerations on the other side. But we find
in the long run that it pays best to publish the truth, Mr.
MacKellar--we can stand by it, and there's no come-back."

Hal, it must be admitted, was not paying much attention to this edifying
sermon. He was looking ahead, to where the alley debouched onto the
street. It was the street behind MacKellar's house, and only a block
from the railroad-track.

He dared not look behind, but he was straining his ears. Suddenly he
heard a shout, in John Edstrom's voice. "Run! Run!"

In a flash, Hal dropped the two crutches, and started down the alley,
Keating at his heels. They heard cries behind them, and a voice,
sounding quite near, commanded, "Halt!" They had reached the end of the
alley, and were in the act of swerving, when a shot rang out and there
was a crash of glass in a house beyond them on the far side of the
street.

Farther on was a vacant lot with a path running across it. Following
this, they dodged behind some shanties, and came to another street--and
so to the railroad tracks. There was a long line of freight-cars before
them, and they ran between two of these, and climbing over the
couplings, saw a great engine standing, its headlight gleaming full in
their eyes. They sprang in front of it, and alongside the train, passing
a tender, then a baggage-car, then a parlour-car.

"Here we are!" exclaimed Keating, who was puffing like a bellows.

Hal saw that there were only three more cars to the train; also, he saw
a man in a blue uniform standing at the steps. He dashed towards him.
"Your car's on fire!" he cried.

"What?" exclaimed the man. "Where?"

"Here!" cried Hal; and in a flash he had sprung past the other, up the
steps and into the car.

There was a long, narrow corridor, to be recognised as the kitchen
portion of a dining-car; at the other end of this corridor was a
swinging door, and to this Hal leaped. He heard the conductor shouting
to him to stop, but he paid no heed. He slipped off his over-coat and
hat; and then, pushing open the door, he entered a brightly lighted
apartment--and the presence of the Coal King's son.



SECTION 12.

White linen and cut glass of the dining-saloon shone brilliantly under
electric lights, softened to the eye by pink shades. Seated at the
tables were half a dozen young men and as many young ladies, all in
evening costume; also two or three older ladies. They had begun the
first course of their meal, and were laughing and chatting, when
suddenly came this unexpected visitor, clad in coal-stained miner's
jumpers. He was not disturbing in the manner of his entry; but
immediately behind him came a fat man, perspiring, wild of aspect, and
wheezing like an old fashioned steam-engine; behind him came the
conductor of the train, in a no less evident state of agitation. So, of
course, conversation ceased. The young ladies turned in their chairs,
while several of the young men sprang to their feet.

There followed a silence: until finally one of the young men took a step
forward. "What's this?" he demanded, as one who had a right to demand.

Hal advanced towards the speaker, a slender youth, correct in
appearance, but not distinguished looking. "Hello, Percy!" said Hal.

A look of amazement came upon the other's face. He stared, but seemed
unable to believe what he saw. And then suddenly came a cry from one of
the young ladies; the one having hair the colour of molasses taffy when
you've pulled it--but all fluffy and wonderful, with stardust in it. Her
cheeks were pink and cream, and her brown eyes gazed, wide open, full of
wonder. She wore a dinner gown of soft olive green, with a cream white
scarf of some filmy material thrown about her bare shoulders.

She had started to her feet. "It's Hal!" she cried.

"Hal Warner!" echoed young Harrigan. "Why, what in the world--?"

He was interrupted by a clamour outside. "Wait a moment," said Hal,
quietly. "I think some one else is coming in."

The door was pushed violently open. It was pushed so violently that
Billy Keating and the conductor were thrust to one side; and Jeff Cotton
appeared in the entrance.

The camp-marshal was breathless, his face full of the passion of the
hunt. In his right hand he carried a revolver. He glared about him, and
saw the two men he was chasing; also he saw the Coal King's son, and the
rest of the astonished company. He stood, stricken dumb.

The door was pushed again, forcing him aside, and two more men crowded
in, both of them carrying revolvers in their hands. The foremost was
Pete Hanun, and he also stood staring. The "breaker of teeth" had two
teeth of his own missing, and when his prize-fighter's jaw dropped down,
the deficiency became conspicuous. It was probably his first entrance
into society, and he was like an overgrown boy caught in the jam-closet.

Percy Harrigan's manner became distinctly imperious. "What does this
mean?" he demanded.

It was Hal who answered. "I am seeking a criminal, Percy."

"What?" There were little cries of alarm from the women.

"Yes, a criminal; the man who sealed up the mine."

"Sealed up the mine?" echoed the other. "What do you mean?"

"Let me explain. First, I will introduce my friends. Harrigan, this is
my friend Keating."

Billy suddenly realised that he had a hat on his head. He jerked it off;
but for the rest, his social instincts failed him. He could only stare.
He had not yet got all his breath.

"Billy's a reporter," said Hal. "But you needn't worry--he's a
gentleman, and won't betray a confidence. You understand, Billy."

"Y--yes," said Billy, faintly.

"And this," said Hal, "is Jeff Cotton, camp-marshal at North Valley. I
suppose you know, Percy, that the North Valley mines belong to the 'G.
F. C.' Cotton, this is Mr. Harrigan."

Then Cotton remembered his hat; also his revolver, which he tried to get
out of sight behind his back.

"And this," continued Hal, "is Mr. Pete Hanun, by profession a breaker
of teeth. This other gentleman, whose name I don't know, is presumably
an assistant-breaker." So Hal went on, observing the forms of social
intercourse, his purpose being to give his mind a chance to work. So
much depended upon the tactics he chose in this emergency! Should he
take Percy to one side and tell him the story quietly, leaving it to his
sense of justice and humanity? No, that was not the way one dealt with
the Harrigans! They had bullied their way to the front; if anything were
done with them, it would be by force! If anything were done with Percy,
it would be by laying hold of him before these guests, exposing the
situation, and using their feelings to coerce him!

The Coal King's son was asking questions again. What was all this about?
So Hal began to describe the condition of the men inside the mine. "They
have no food or water, except what they had in their dinner-pails; and
it's been three days and a half since the explosion! They are breathing
bad air; their heads are aching, the veins swelling in their foreheads;
their tongues are cracking, they are lying on the ground, gasping. But
they are waiting--kept alive by the faith they have in their friends on
the surface, who will try to get to them. They dare not take down the
barriers, because the gases would kill them at once. But they know the
rescuers will come, so they listen for the sounds of axes and picks.
That is the situation."

Hal stopped and waited for some sign of concern from young Harrigan. But
no such sign was given. Hal went on:

"Think of it, Percy! There is one old man in that mine, an Irishman who
has a wife and eight children waiting to learn about his fate. I know
one woman who has a husband and three sons in the mine. For three days
and a half the women and children have been standing at the pit-mouth; I
have seen them sitting with their heads sunk upon their knees, or
shaking their fists, screaming curses at the criminal who is to blame."

There was a pause. "The criminal?" inquired young Harrigan. "I don't
understand!"

"You'll hardly be able to believe it; but nothing has been done to
rescue these men. The criminal has nailed a cover of boards over the
pit-mouth, and put tarpaulin over it--sealing up men and boys to die!"

There was a murmur of horror from the diners.

"I know, you can't conceive such a thing. The reason is, there's a fire
in the mine; if the fan is set to working, the coal will burn. But at
the same time, some of the passages could be got clear of smoke, and
some of the men could be rescued. So it's a question of property against
lives; and the criminal has decided for the property. He proposes to
wait a week, two weeks, until the fire has been smothered; _then_ of
course the men and boys will be dead."

There was a silence. It was broken by young Harrigan. "Who has done
this?"

"His name is Enos Cartwright."

"But who _is_ he?"

"Just now when I said that I was seeking the criminal, I misled you a
little, Percy. I did it because I wanted to collect my thoughts." Hal
paused: when he continued, his voice was sharper, his sentences falling
like blows. "The criminal I've been telling you about is the
superintendent of the mine--a man employed and put in authority by the
General Fuel Company. The one who is being chased is not the one who
sealed up the mine, but the one who proposed to have it opened. He is
being treated as a malefactor, because the laws of the state, as well as
the laws of humanity, have been suppressed by the General Fuel Company;
he was forced to seek refuge in your car, in order to save his life from
thugs and gunmen in the company's employ!"



SECTION 13.

Knowing these people well, Hal could measure the effect of the
thunderbolt he had hurled among them. They were people to whom good
taste was the first of all the virtues; he knew how he was offending
them. If he was to win them to the least extent, he must explain his
presence here--a trespasser upon the property of the Harrigans.

"Percy," he continued, "you remember how you used to jump on me last
year at college, because I listened to 'muck-rakers.' You saw fit to
take personal offence at it. You knew that their tales couldn't be true.
But I wanted to see for myself, so I went to work in a coal-mine. I saw
the explosion; I saw this man, Jeff Cotton, driving women and children
away from the pit-mouth with blows and curses. I set out to help the men
in the mine, and the marshal rushed me out of camp. He told me that if I
didn't go about my business, something would happen to me on a dark
night. And you see--this is a dark night!"

Hal waited, to give young Harrigan a chance to grasp this situation and
to take command. But apparently young Harrigan was not aware of the
presence of the camp-marshal and his revolver. Hal tried again:

"Evidently these men wouldn't have minded killing me; they fired at me
just now. The marshal still has the revolver and you can smell the
powder-smoke. So I took the liberty of entering your car, Percy. It was
to save my life, and you'll have to excuse me."

The Coal King's son had here a sudden opportunity to be magnanimous. He
made haste to avail himself of it. "Of course, Hal," he said. "It was
quite all right to come here. If our employГ©s were behaving in such
fashion, it was without authority, and they will surely pay for it." He
spoke with quiet certainty; it was the Harrigan manner, and before it
Jeff Cotton and the two mine-guards seemed to wither and shrink.

"Thank you, Percy," said Hal. "It's what I knew you'd say. I'm sorry to
have disturbed your dinner-party--"

"Not at all, Hal; it was nothing of a party."

"You see, Percy, it was not only to save myself, but the people in the
mine! They are dying, and every moment is precious. It will take a day
at least to get to them, so they'll be at their last gasp. Whatever's to
be done must be done at once."

Again Hal waited--until the pause became awkward. The diners had so far
been looking at him; but now they were looking at young Harrigan, and
young Harrigan felt the change.

"I don't know just what you expect of me, Hal. My father employs
competent men to manage his business, and I certainly don't feel that I
know enough to give them any suggestions." This again in the Harrigan
manner; but it weakened before Hal's firm gaze. "What can I do?"

"You can give the order to open the mine, to reverse the fan and start
it. That will draw out the smoke and gases, and the rescuers can go
down."

"But Hal, I assure you I have no authority to give such an order."

"You must _take_ the authority. Your father's in the East, the officers
of the company are in their beds at home; you are here!"

"But I don't understand such things, Hal! I don't know anything of the
situation--except what you tell me. And while I don't doubt your word,
any man may make a mistake in such a situation."

"Come and see for yourself, Percy! That's all I ask, and it's easy
enough. Here is your train, your engine with steam up; have us switched
onto the North Valley branch, and we can be at the mine in half an hour.
Then--let me take you to the men who know! Men who've been working all
their lives in mines, who've seen accidents like this many times, and
who will tell you the truth--that there's a chance of saving many lives,
and that the chance is being thrown away to save some thousands of
dollars' worth of coal and timbers and track."

"But even if that's true, Hal, I have no _power_!"

"If you come there, you can cut the red-tape in one minute. What those
bosses are doing is a thing that can only be done in darkness!"

Under the pressure of Hal's vehemence, the Harrigan manner was failing;
the Coal King's son was becoming a bewildered and quite ordinary youth.
But there was a power greater than Hal behind him. He shook his head.
"It's the old man's business, Hal. I've no right to butt in!"

The other, in his desperate need, turned to the rest of the party. His
gaze, moving from one face to another, rested upon the magazine-cover
countenance, with the brown eyes wide open, full of wonder.

"Jessie! What do you think about it?"

The girl started, and distress leaped into her face. "How do you mean,
Hal?"

"Tell him he ought to save those lives!"

The moments seemed ages as Hal waited. It was a test, he realised. The
brown eyes dropped. "I don't understand such things, Hal!"

"But, Jessie, I am explaining them! Here are men and boys being
suffocated to death, in order to save a little money. Isn't that plain?"

"But how can I _know_, Hal?"

"I'm giving you my word, Jessie. Surely I wouldn't appeal to you unless
I knew."

Still she hesitated. And there came a swift note of feeling into his
voice: "Jessie, dear!"

As if under a spell, the girl's eyes were raised to his; he saw a
scarlet flame of embarrassment spreading over her throat and cheeks.
"Jessie, I know--it seems an intolerable thing to ask! You've never been
rude to a friend. But I remember once you forgot your good manners, when
you saw a rough fellow on the street beating an old drudge-horse. Don't
you remember how you rushed at him--like a wild thing! And now--think of
it, dear, here are old drudge-creatures being tortured to death; but not
horses--working-men!"

Still the girl gazed at him. He could read grief, dismay in her eyes; he
saw tears steal from them, and stream down her cheeks. "Oh, I don't
know, I don't _know!_" she cried; and hid her face in her hands, and
began to sob aloud.



SECTION 14.

There was a painful pause. Hal's gaze travelled on, and came to a
grey-haired lady in a black dinner-gown, with a rope of pearls about her
neck. "Mrs. Curtis! Surely _you_ will advise him!"

The grey-haired lady started--was there no limit to his impudence? She
had witnessed the torturing of Jessie. But Jessie was his fiancГ©e; he
had no such claim upon Mrs. Curtis. She answered, with iciness in her
tone: "I could not undertake to dictate to my host in such a matter."

"Mrs. Curtis! You have founded a charity for the helping of stray cats
and dogs!" These words rose to Hal's lips; but he did not say them. His
eyes moved on. Who else might help to bully a Harrigan?

Next to Mrs. Curtis sat Reggie Porter, with a rose in the button-hole of
his dinner-jacket. Hal knew the rГґle in which Reggie was there--a kind
of male chaperon, an assistant host, an admirer to the wealthy, a solace
to the bored. Poor Reggie lived other people's lives, his soul
perpetually a-quiver with other people's excitements, with gossip,
preparations for tea-parties, praise of tea-parties past. And always the
soul was pushing; calculating, measuring opportunities, making up in
tact and elegance for distressing lack of money. Hal got one swift
glimpse of the face; the sharp little black moustaches seemed standing
up with excitement, and in a flash of horrible intuition Hal read the
situation--Reggie was expecting to be questioned, and had got ready an
answer that would increase his social capital in the Harrigan family
bank!

Across the aisle sat Genevieve Halsey: tall, erect, built on the scale
of a statue. You thought of the ox-eyed Juno, and imagined stately
emotions; but when you came to know Genevieve, you discovered that her
mind was slow, and entirely occupied with herself. Next to her was Bob
Creston, smooth-shaven, rosy-cheeked, exuding well-being--what is called
a "good fellow," with a wholesome ambition to win cups for his athletic
club, and to keep up the score of his rifle-team of the state militia.
Jolly Bob might have spoken, out of his good heart; but he was in love
with a cousin of Percy's, Betty Gunnison, who sat across the table from
him--and Hal saw her black eyes shining, her little fists clenched
tightly, her lips pressed white. Hal understood Betty--she was one of
the Harrigans, working at the Harrigan family task of making the
children of a pack-pedlar into leaders in the "younger set!"

Next sat "Vivie" Cass, whose talk was of horses and dogs and such
ungirlish matters; Hal had discussed social questions in her presence,
and heard her view expressed in one flashing sentence--"If a man eats
with his knife, I consider him my personal enemy!" Over her shoulder
peered the face of a man with pale eyes and yellow moustaches--Bert
Atkins, cynical and world-weary, whom the papers referred to as a
"club-man," and whom Hal's brother had called a "tame cat." There was
"Dicky" Everson, like Hal, a favourite of the ladies, but nothing more;
"Billy" Harris, son of another "coal man"; Daisy, his sister; and
Blanche Vagleman, whose father was Old Peter's head lawyer, whose
brother was the local counsel, and publisher of the Pedro _Star_.

So Hal's eyes moved from face to face, and his mind from personality to
personality. It was like the unrolling of a scroll; a panorama of a
world he had half forgotten. He had no time for reflection, but one
impression came to him, swift and overwhelming. Once he had lived in
this world and taken it as a matter of course. He had known these
people, gone about with them; they had seemed friendly, obliging, a good
sort of people on the whole. And now, what a change! They seemed no
longer friendly! Was the change in them? Or was it Hal who had become
cynical--so that he saw them in this terrifying new light, cold, and
unconcerned as the stars about men who were dying a few miles away!

Hal's eyes came back to the Coal King's son, and he discovered that
Percy was white with anger. "I assure you, Hal, there's no use going on
with this. I have no intention of letting myself be bulldozed."

Percy's gaze shifted with sudden purpose to the camp-marshal. "Cotton,
what do you say about this? Is Mr. Warner correct in his idea of the
situation?"

"You know what such a man would say, Percy!" broke in Hal.

"I don't," was the reply. "I wish to know. What is it, Cotton?"

"He's mistaken, Mr. Harrigan." The marshal's voice was sharp and
defiant.

"In what way?"

"The company's doing everything to get the mine open, and has been from
the beginning."

"Oh!" And there was triumph in Percy's voice. "What is the cause of the
delay?"

"The fan was broken, and we had to send for a new one. It's a job to set
it up--such things can't be done in an hour."

Percy turned to Hal. "You see! There are two opinions, at least!"

"Of course!" cried Betty Gunnison, her black eyes snapping at Hal. She
would have said more, but Hal interrupted, stepping closer to his host.
"Percy," he said, in a low voice, "come back here, please. I have a word
to say to you alone."

There was just a hint of menace in Hal's voice; his gaze went to the far
end of the car, a space occupied only by two negro waiters. These
retired in haste as the young men moved towards them; and so, having the
Coal King's son to himself, Hal went in to finish this fight.



SECTION 15.

Percy Harrigan was known to Hal, as a college-boy is known to his
class-mates. He was not brutal, like his grim old father; he was merely
self-indulgent, as one who had always had everything; he was weak, as
one who had never had to take a bold resolve. He had been brought up by
the women of the family, to be a part of what they called "society"; in
which process he had been given high notions of his own importance. The
life of the Harrigans was dominated by one painful memory--that of a
pedlar's pack; and Hal knew that Percy's most urgent purpose was to be
regarded as a real and true and freehanded aristocrat. It was this
knowledge Hal was using in his attack.

He began with apologies, attempting to soothe the other's anger. He had
not meant to make a scene like this; it was the gunmen who had forced
it, putting his life in danger. It was the very devil, being chased
about at night and shot at! He had lost his nerve, really; he had forgot
what little manners he had been able to keep as a miner's buddy. He had
made a spectacle of himself; good Lord yes, he realised how he must
seem!

--And Hal looked at his dirty miner's jumpers, and then at Percy. He
could see that Percy was in hearty agreement thus far--he had indeed
made a spectacle of himself, and of Percy too! Hal was sorry about this
latter, but here they were, in a pickle, and it was certainly too late
now. This story was out--there could be no suppressing it! Hal might sit
down on his reporter-friend, Percy might sit down on the waiters and the
conductor and the camp-marshal and the gunmen--but he could not possibly
sit down on all his friends! They would talk about nothing else for
weeks! The story would be all over Western City in a day--this amazing,
melodramatic, ten-twenty-thirty story of a miner's buddy in the private
car of the Coal King's son!

"And you must see, Percy," Hal went on, "it's the sort of thing that
sticks to a man. It's the thing by which everybody will form their idea
of you as long as you live!"

"I'll take my chances with my friends' criticism," said the other, with
some attempt at the Harrigan manner.

"You can make it whichever kind of story you choose," continued Hal,
implacably. "The world will say, He decided for the dollars; or it will
say, He decided for the lives. Surely, Percy, your family doesn't need
those particular dollars so badly! Why, you've spent more on this one
train-trip!"

And Hal waited, to give his victim time to calculate.

The result of the thinking was a question worthy of Old Peter. "What are
_you_ getting out of this?"

"Percy," said Hal, "you must _know_ I'm getting nothing! If you can't
understand it otherwise, say to yourself that you are dealing with a man
who's irresponsible. I've seen so many terrible things--I've been chased
around so much by camp-marshals--why, Percy, that man Cotton has six
notches on his gun! I'm simply crazy!" And into the brown eyes of this
miner's buddy came a look wild enough to convince a stronger man than
Percy Harrigan. "I've got just one idea left in the world, Percy--to
save those miners! You make a mistake unless you realise how desperate I
am. So far I've done this thing incog! I've been Joe Smith, a miner's
buddy. If I'd come out and told my real name--well, maybe I wouldn't
have made them open the mine, but at least I'd have made a lot of
trouble for the G. F. C.! But I didn't do it; I knew what a scandal it
would make, and there was something I owed my father. But if I see
there's no other way, if it's a question of letting those people perish,
I'll throw everything else to the winds. Tell your father that; tell him
I threatened to turn this man Keating loose and blow the thing wide
open--denounce the company, appeal to the Governor, raise a disturbance
and get arrested on the street, if necessary, in order to force the
facts before the public. You see, I've got the facts, Percy! I've been
there and seen with my own eyes. Can't you realise that?"

The other did not answer, but it was evident that he realised.

"On the other hand, see how you can fix it, if you choose. You were on a
pleasure trip when you heard of this disaster; you rushed up and took
command, you opened the mine, you saved the lives of your employГ©s. That
is the way the papers will handle it."

Hal, watching his victim intently, and groping for the path to his mind,
perceived that he had gone wrong. Crude as the Harrigans were, they had
learned that it is not aristocratic to be picturesque.

"All right then!" said Hal, quickly. "If you prefer, you needn't be
mentioned. The bosses up at the camp have the reporters under their
thumbs, they'll handle the story any way you want it. The one thing I
care about is that you run your car up and see the mine opened. Won't
you do it, Percy?"

Hal was gazing into the other's eyes, knowing that life and death for
the miners hung upon his nod. "Well? What is the answer?"

"Hal," exclaimed Percy, "my old man will give me hell!"

"All right; but on the other hand, _I'll_ give you hell; and which will
be worse?"

Again there was a silence. "Come along, Percy! For God's sake!" And
Hal's tone was desperate, alarming.

And suddenly the other gave way. "All right!"

Hal drew a breath. "But mind you!" he added. "You're not going up there
to let them fool you! They'll try to bluff you out--they may go as far
as to refuse to obey you. But you must stand by your guns--for, you see,
I'm going along, I'm going to see that mine open. I'll never quit till
the rescuers have gone down!"

"Will they go, Hal?"

"Will they go? Good God, man, they're clamouring for the chance to go!
They've almost been rioting for it. I'll go with them--and you, too,
Percy--the whole crowd of us idlers will go! When we come out, we'll
know something about the business of coal-mining!"

"All right, I'm with you," said the Coal King's son.



SECTION 16.

Hal never knew what Percy said to Cartwright that night; he only knew
that when they arrived at the mine the superintendent was summoned to a
consultation, and half an hour later Percy emerged smiling, with the
announcement that Hal Warner had been mistaken all along; the mine
authorities had been making all possible haste to get the fan ready,
with the intention of opening the mine at the earliest moment. The work
was now completed, and in an hour or two the fan was to be started, and
by morning there would be a chance of rescuers getting in. Percy said
this so innocently that for a moment Hal wondered if Percy himself might
not believe it. Hal's position as guest of course required that he
should graciously pretend to believe it, consenting to appear as a fool
before the rest of the company.

Percy invited Hal and Billy Keating to spend the night in the train; but
this Hal declined. He was too dirty, he said; besides, he wanted to be
up at daylight, to be one of the first to go down the shaft. Percy
answered that the superintendent had vetoed this proposition--he did not
want any one to go down but experienced men, who could take care of
themselves. When there were so many on hand ready and eager to go, there
was no need to imperil the lives of amateurs.

At the risk of seeming ungracious, Hal declared that he would "hang
around" and see them take the cover off the pit-mouth. There were
mourning parties in some of the cabins, where women were gathered
together who could not sleep, and it would be an act of charity to take
them the good news.

Hal and Keating set out; they went first to the Rafferties', and saw
Mrs. Rafferty spring up and stare at them, and then scream aloud to the
Holy Virgin, waking all the little Rafferties to frightened clamour.
When the woman had made sure that they really knew what they were
talking about, she rushed out to spread the news, and so pretty soon the
streets were alive with hurrying figures, and a crowd gathered once more
at the pit-mouth.

Hal and Keating went on to Jerry Minetti's. Out of a sense of loyalty to
Percy, Hal did no more than repeat Percy's own announcement, that it had
been Cartwright's intention all along to have the mine opened. It was
funny to see the effect of this statement--the face with which Jerry
looked at Hal! But they wasted no time in discussion; Jerry slipped into
his clothes and hurried with them to the pit-mouth.

Sure enough, a gang was already tearing off the boards and canvas. Never
since Hal had been in North Valley had he seen men working with such a
will! Soon the great fan began to stir, and then to roar, and then to
sing; and there was a crowd of a hundred people, roaring and singing
also.

It would be some hours before anything more could be done; and suddenly
Hal realised that he was exhausted. He and Billy Keating went back to
the Minetti cabin, and spreading themselves a blanket on the floor, lay
down with sighs of relief. As for Billy, he was soon snoring; but to Hal
there came sudden reaction from all the excitement, and sleep was far
from him.

An ocean of thoughts came flooding into his mind: the world outside,
_his_ world, which he had banished deliberately for several months, and
which he had so suddenly been compelled to remember! It had seemed so
simple, what he had set out to do that summer: to take another name, to
become a member of another class, to live its life and think its
thoughts, and then come back to his own world with a new and fascinating
adventure to tell about! The possibility that his own world, the world
of Hal Warner, might find him out as Joe Smith, the miner's buddy--that
was a possibility which had never come to his mind. He was like a
burglar, working away at a job in darkness, and suddenly finding the
room flooded with light.

He had gone into the adventure, prepared to find things that would shock
him; he had known that somehow, somewhere, he would have to fight the
"system." But he had never expected to find himself in the thick of the
class-war, leading a charge upon the trenches of his own associates. Nor
was this the end, he knew; this war would not be settled by the winning
of a trench! Lying here in the darkness and silence, Hal was realising
what he had got himself in for. To employ another simile, he was a man
who begins a flirtation on the street, and wakes up next morning to find
himself married.

It was not that he had regrets for the course he had taken with Percy.
No other course had been thinkable. But while Hal had known these North
Valley people for ten weeks, he had known the occupants of Percy's car
for as many years. So these latter personalities loomed large in his
consciousness, and here in the darkness their thoughts about him,
whether actively hostile or passively astonished, laid siege to the
defences of his mind.

Particularly he found himself wrestling with Jessie Arthur. Her face
rose up before him, appealing, yearning. She had one of those perfect
faces, which irresistibly compel the soul of a man. Her brown eyes, soft
and shining, full of tenderness; her lips, quick to tremble with
emotion; her skin like apple-blossoms, her hair with star-dust in it!
Hal was cynical enough about coal-operators and mine-guards, but it
never occurred to him that Jessie's soul might be anything but what
these bodily charms implied. He was in love with her; and he was too
young, too inexperienced in love to realise that underneath the
sweetness of girlhood, so genuine and so lovable, might lie deep,
unconscious cruelty, inherited and instinctive--the cruelty of caste,
the hardness of worldly prejudice. A man has to come to middle age, and
to suffer much, before he understands that the charms of women, those
rare and magical perfections of eyes and teeth and hair, that softness
of skin and delicacy of feature, have cost labour and care of many
generations, and imply inevitably that life has been feral, that customs
and conventions have been murderous and inhuman.

Jessie had failed Hal in his desperate emergency. But now he went over
the scene, and told himself that the test had been an unfair one. He had
known her since childhood, and loved her, and never before had he seen
an act or heard a word that was not gracious and kind. But--so he told
himself--she gave her sympathy to those she knew; and what chance had
she ever had to know working-people? He must give her the chance; he
must compel her, even against her will, to broaden her understanding of
life! The process might hurt her, it might mar the unlined softness of
her face, but nevertheless, it would be good for her--it would be a
"growing pain"!

So, lying there in the darkness and silence, Hal found himself absorbed
in long conversation with his sweetheart. He escorted her about the
camp, explaining things to her, introducing her to this one and that. He
took others of his private-car friends and introduced them to his North
Valley friends. There were individuals who had qualities in common, and
would surely hit it off! Bob Creston, for example, who was good at a
"song and dance"--he would surely be interested in "Blinky," the
vaudeville specialist of the camp! Mrs. Curtis, who liked cats, would
find a bond of sisterhood with old Mrs. Nagle, who lived next door to
the Minettis, and kept five! And even Vivie Cass, who hated men who ate
with their knives--she would be driven to murder by the table-manners of
Reminitsky's boarders, but she would take delight in "Dago Charlie," the
tobacco-chewing mule which had once been Hal's pet! Hal could hardly
wait for daylight to come, so that he might begin these efforts at
social amalgamation!



SECTION 17.

Towards dawn Hal fell asleep; he was awakened by Billy Keating, who sat
up yawning, at the same time grumbling and bewailing. Hal realised that
Billy also had discovered troubles during the night. Never in all his
career as a journalist had he had such a story; never had any man had
such a story--and it must be killed!

Cartwright had got the reporters together late the night before and told
them the news--that the company had at last succeeded in getting the
mine ready to be opened; also that young Mr. Harrigan was there in his
private train, prompted by his concern for the entombed miners. The
reporters would mention his coming, of course, but were requested not to
"play it up," nor to mention the names of Mr. Harrigan's guests.
Needless to say they were not told that the "buddy" who had been thrown
out of camp for insubordination had turned out to be the son of Edward
S. Warner, the "coal magnate."

A fine, cold rain was falling, and Hal borrowed an old coat of Jerry's
and slipped it on. Little Jerry clamoured to go with him, and after some
controversy Hal wrapped him in a shawl and slung him onto his shoulder.
It was barely daylight, but already the whole population of the village
was on hand at the pit-mouth. The helmet-men had gone down to make
tests, so the hour of final revelation was at hand. Women stood with wet
shawls about their hunched shoulders, their faces white and strained,
their suspense too great for any sort of utterance. A ghastly thought it
was, that while they were shuddering in the wet, their men below might
be expiring for lack of a few drops of water!

The helmet-men, coming up, reported that lights would burn at the bottom
of the shaft; so it was safe for men to go down without helmets, and the
volunteers of the first rescue party made ready. All night there had
been a clattering of hammers, where the carpenters were working on a new
cage. Now it was swung from the hoist, and the men took their places in
it. When at last the hoist began to move, and the group disappeared
below the surface of the ground, you could hear a sigh from a thousand
throats, like the moaning of wind in a pine-tree. They were leaving
women and children above, yet not one of these women would have asked
them to stay--such was the deep unconscious bond of solidarity which
made these toilers of twenty nations one!

It was a slow process, letting down the cage; on account of the danger
of gas, and the newness of the cage, it was necessary to proceed a few
feet at a time, waiting for a pull upon the signal-cord to tell that the
men were all right. After they had reached the bottom, there would be
more time, no one could say how long, before they came upon survivors
with signs of life in them. There were bodies near the foot of the
shaft, according to the reports of the helmet-men, but there was no use
delaying to bring these up, for they must have been dead for days. Hal
saw a crowd of women clamouring about the helmet-men, trying to find out
if these bodies had been recognised. Also he saw Jeff Cotton and Bud
Adams at their old duty of driving the women back.

The cage returned for a second load of men. There was less need of
caution now; the hoist worked quickly, and group after group of men with
silent, set faces, and pickaxes and crow-bars and shovels in their
hands, went down into the pit of terror. They would scatter through the
workings, testing everywhere ahead of them with safety-lamps, and
looking for barriers erected by the imprisoned men for defence against
the gases. As they hammered on these barriers, perhaps they would hear
the signals of living men on the other side; or they would break through
in silence, and find men too far gone to make a sound, yet possibly with
the spark of life still in them.

One by one, Hal's friends went down--"Big Jack" David, and Wresmak, the
Bohemian, Klowoski, the Pole, and finally Jerry Minetti. Little Jerry
waved his hand from his perch on Hal's shoulder; while Rosa, who had
come out and joined them, was clinging to Hal's arm, silent, as if her
soul were going down in the cage. There went blue-eyed Tim Rafferty to
look for his father, and black-eyed "Andy," the Greek boy, whose father
had perished in a similar disaster years ago; there went Rovetta, and
Carmino, the pit-boss, Jerry's cousin. One by one their names ran
through the crowd, as of heroes marching out to battle.



SECTION 18.

Looking about, Hal saw some of the guests of the Harrigan party. There
was Vivie Cass, standing under an umbrella with Bert Atkins; and there
was Bob Creston with Dicky Everson. These two had on mackintoshes and
water-proof hats, and were talking to Cartwright; tall, immaculate men,
who seemed like creatures of another world beside the stunted and
coal-smutted miners.

Seeing Hal, they moved over to him. "Where did you get the kid?"
inquired Bob, his rosy, smooth-shaven face breaking into a smile.

"I picked him up," said Hal, giving Little Jerry a toss and sliding him
off his shoulder.

"Hello, kid!" said Bob.

And the answer came promptly, "Hello, yourself!" Little Jerry knew how
to talk American; he was a match for any society man! "My father's went
down in that cage," said he, looking up at the tall stranger, his bright
black eyes sparkling.

"Is that so!" replied the other. "Why don't you go?"

"My father'll get 'em out. He ain't afraid o' nothin', my father!"

"What's your father's name?"

"Big Jerry."

"Oho! And what'll you be when you grow up?"

"I'm goin' to be a shot-firer."

"In this mine?"

"You bet not!"

"Why not?"

Little Jerry looked mysterious. "I ain't tellin' all I know," said he.

The two young fellows laughed. Here was education for them! "Maybe
you'll go back to the old country?" put in Dicky Everson.

"No, sir-ee!" said Little Jerry. "I'm American."

"Maybe you'll be president some day."

"That's what my father says," replied the little chap--"president of a
miners' union."

Again they laughed; but Rosa gave a nervous whisper and caught at the
child's sleeve. That was not the sort of thing to say to mysterious and
rich-looking strangers! "This is Little Jerry's mother, Mrs. Minetti,"
put in Hal, by way of reassuring her.

"Glad to meet you, Mrs. Minetti," said the two young men, taking off
their hats with elaborate bows; they stared, for Rosa was a pretty
object as she blushed and made her shy response. She was much
embarrassed, having never before in her life been bowed to by men like
these.

And here they were greeting Joe Smith as an old friend, and calling him
by a strange name! She turned her black Italian eyes upon Hal in
inquiry, and he felt a flush creeping over him. It was almost as
uncomfortable to be found out by North Valley as to be found out by
Western City!

The men talked about the rescue-work, and what Cartwright had been
telling of its progress. The fire was in one of the main passages, and
was burning out the timbering, spreading rapidly under the draft from
the reversed fan. There could be little hope of rescue in this part of
the mine, but the helmet-men would defy the heat and smoke in the burned
out passages. They knew how likely was the collapse of such portions of
the mine; but also they knew that men had been working here before the
explosion. "I must say they're a game lot!" remarked Dicky.

A group of women and children were gathered about to listen, their
shyness overcome by their torturing anxiety for news. They made one
think of women in war-time, listening to the roar of distant guns and
waiting for the bringing in of the wounded. Hal saw Bob and Dicky glance
now and then at the ring of faces about them; they were getting
something of this mood, and that was a part of what he had desired for
them.

"Are the others coming out?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Bob. "I suppose they're having breakfast. It's time
we went in."

"Won't you come with us?" added Dicky.

"No, thanks," replied Hal, "I've an engagement with the kid here." And
he gave Little Jerry's hand a squeeze. "But tell some of the other
fellows to come. They'll be interested in these things."

"All right," said the two, as they moved away.



SECTION 19.

After allowing a sufficient time for the party in the dining-car to
finish breakfast, Hal went down to the tracks, and induced the porter to
take in his name to Percy Harrigan. He was hoping to persuade Percy to
see the village under other than company chaperonage; he heard with
dismay the announcement that the party had arranged to depart in the
course of a couple of hours.

"But you haven't seen anything at all!" Hal protested.

"They won't let us into the mine," replied the other. "What else is
there we can do?"

"I wanted you to talk to the people and learn something about conditions
here. You ought not to lose this chance, Percy!"

"That's all right, Hal, but you might understand this isn't a convenient
time. I've got a lot of people with me, and I've no right to ask them to
wait."

"But can't they learn something also, Percy?"

"It's raining," was the reply; "and ladies would hardly care to stand
round in a crowd and see dead bodies brought out of a mine."

Hal got the rebuke. Yes, he had grown callous since coming to North
Valley; he had lost that delicacy of feeling, that intuitive
understanding of the sentiments of ladies, which he would surely have
exhibited a short time earlier in his life. He was excited about this
disaster; it was a personal thing to him, and he lost sight of the fact
that to the ladies of the Harrigan party it was, in its details, merely
sordid and repelling. If they went out in the mud and rain of a
mining-village and stood about staring, they would feel that they were
exhibiting, not human compassion, but idle curiosity. The sights they
would see would harrow them to no purpose; and incidentally they would
be exposing themselves to distressing publicity. As for offering
sympathy to widows and orphans--well, these were foreigners mostly, who
could not understand what was said to them, and who might be more
embarrassed than helped by the intrusion into their grief of persons
from an alien world.

The business of offering sympathy had been reduced to a system by the
civilisation which these ladies helped to maintain; and, as it happened,
there was one present who was familiar with this system. Mrs. Curtis had
already acted, so Percy informed Hal; she had passed about a
subscription-paper, and in a couple of minutes over a thousand dollars
had been pledged. This would be paid by check to the "Red Cross," whose
agents would understand how to distribute relief among such sufferers.
So the members of Percy's party felt that they had done the proper and
delicate thing, and might go their ways with a quiet conscience.

"The world can't stop moving just because there's been a mine-disaster,"
said the Coal King's son. "People have engagements they must keep."

And he went on to explain what these engagements were. He himself had to
go to a dinner that evening, and would barely be able to make it. Bert
Atkins was to play a challenge match at billiards, and Mrs. Curtis was
to attend a committee meeting of a woman's club. Also it was the last
Friday of the month; had Hal forgotten what that meant?

After a moment Hal remembered--the "Young People's Night" at the country
club! He had a sudden vision of the white colonial mansion on the
mountain-side, with its doors and windows thrown wide, and the strains
of an orchestra floating out. In the ball-room the young ladies of
Percy's party would appear--Jessie, his sweetheart, among them--gowned
in filmy chiffons and laces, floating in a mist of perfume and colour
and music. They would laugh and chatter, they would flirt and scheme
against one another for the sovereignty of the ball-room--while here in
North Valley the sobbing widows would be clutching their mangled dead in
their arms! How strange, how ghastly it seemed! How like the scenes one
read of on the eve of the French Revolution!



SECTION 20.

Percy wanted Hal to come away with the party. He suggested this
tactfully at first, and then, as Hal did not take the hint, he began to
press the matter, showing signs of irritation. The mine was open
now--what more did Hal want? When Hal suggested that Cartwright might
order it closed again, Percy revealed the fact that the matter was in
his father's hands. The superintendent had sent a long telegram the
night before, and an answer was due at any moment. Whatever the answer
ordered would have to be done.

There was a grim look upon Hal's face, but he forced himself to speak
politely. "If your father orders anything that interferes with the
rescuing of the men--don't you see, Percy, that I have to fight him?"