 Book three, sections one through three, of King Cole. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. King Cole by Upton Sinclair. Book three, The Henchmen of King Cole. Section one. It was Hau's intention to get to western city as quickly as possible, to call upon the newspaper editors. But first he must have money to travel. And the best way he could think of to get it was to find John Edstrom. He left the train, followed by Pete Hannon. After some inquiry he came upon the undertaker who had buried Edstrom's wife, and who told him where the old swede was staying, in the home of a laboring man nearby. Edstrom greeted him with eager questions. Who had been killed? What was the situation? Hau told in brief sentences what had happened. When he mentioned his need of money, Edstrom answered that he had a little and would lend it, but it was not enough for a ticket to western city. Hau asked about the twenty-five dollars which Mary Burke had sent by registered mail. The old man had heard nothing about it. He had not been to the post office. Let's go now, said Hau at once. But as they were starting downstairs a fresh difficulty occurred to him. Pete Hannon was on the street outside, and it was likely that he had heard about this money from Jeff Cotton. He might hold Edstrom up and take it away. Let me suggest something, put in the old man. Come and see my friend Ed McKellar. He may be able to give us some advice, even to think of some way to get the mine open. Edstrom explained that McKellar, an old Scotchman, had been a miner but was now crippled and held some petty office in Pedro. He was a persistent opponent of Alf Raymond's machine, and they had almost killed him on one occasion. His home was not far away, and it would take little time to consult him. All right, said Hau, and they set out at once. Pete Hannon followed them, not more than a dozen yards behind, but did not interfere, and they turned in at the gate of a little cottage. A woman opened the door for them and asked them into the dining room where McKellar was sitting. A gray-haired old man twisted up with rheumatism and obliged to go about on crutches. Hau told his story. As the Scotchman had been brought up in the mines, it was not necessary to go into details about the situation. When Hau told his idea of appealing to the newspapers, the other responded at once. You won't have to go to Western City. There's a man right here who'll do the business for you, Keating of the Gazette. The Western City Gazette? exclaimed Hau. He knew this paper, an evening journal selling for ascent and read by working men, persons of culture who referred to it disposed of it with the adjective yellow. I know, said McKellar, noting Hau's tone, but it's the only paper that will publish your story anyway. Where is this Keating? He's been up at the mine, it's too bad you didn't meet him. Can we get hold of him now? He might be in Pedro. Try the American Hotel. Hau went to the telephone, and in a minute was hearing for the first time the cheery voice of his friend and Lieutenant-to-be, Billy Keating. In a couple of minutes more, the owner of the voice was at McKellar's door, wiping the perspiration from his half-balled forehead. He was round-faced, like a full moon, and as jolly as fall staff. When you got to know him better, you discovered that he was loyal as a Newfoundland dog. For all his bulk, Keating was a newspaper man, every inch of him on the job. He started to question the young miner as soon as he was introduced, and it quickly became clear to Hau that here was the man he was looking for. Keating knew exactly what questions to ask, and had the whole story in a few minutes. By thunder, he cried, my last addition, and he pulled out his watch and sprang to the telephone. Long distance, he called, then, I want the city editor of the western city Gazette. An operator, please see if you can't rush it through. It's very urgent, and last time I had to wait nearly half an hour. He turned back to Hau and proceeded to ask more questions, at the same time pulling a bunch of copy paper from his pocket and making notes. He got all Hau's statements about the lack of sprinkling, the absence of escape ways, the delay in starting the fan, the concealing of the number of men in the mine. I knew things were crooked up there, he exclaimed, but I couldn't get a lead. They kept a man with me every minute of the time. You know a fellow named Predovitch? I do, said Hau. The company's store clerk, he once went through my pockets. Keating made a face of disgust. Well, he was my chaperone. 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 Hau, or if you'd run into any of our Czech Wayman crowd. Oh, you know about that Czech Wayman business, exclaimed the reporter. I got a hint of it, that's how I happen to be down here today. 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. Hau and McKellar looked at the old swede, and the three of them began to laugh. Here's your man, said McKellar. And here's your Czech Wayman, added Edstrom, pointing to Hau. Instantly the reporter was on his job again. He began to fire another series of questions. He would use that Czech Wayman 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 mind. 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. End of Section 1. Section 2. Keating went to the telephone again to worry long distance. Then grumbling about his last addition, he came back to ask more questions about Hau'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 bowl full of jelly. Graham, he exclaimed. Fancy McKellar, 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 Hau, 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 GFC? The reporter answered dryly. When you understand the news game better, you'll realize 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 backbone 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. McKellar? 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 shock through the window. Great Heavens, exclaimed Hau, is this America or medieval Italy? It's the Empire of Raymond, replied McKellar. They shocked 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 Hau the danger of his position. Quite recently, an organizer of the miners' union had been beaten up in broad daylight and left insensible on the sidewalk. McKellar 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 healers, and the other jury men being Mexicans, unable to comprehend a word of the court proceedings. "'Exactly such a jury as Jeff Cotton promised me,' remarked Hau, 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. Finally 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 Hau. 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 McKellar. 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 Hau. Now and then he would stop to repeat or spell a word, once or twice Hau corrected him on details. So in about a quarter of an hour they put the job through, and Keating turned to Hau. There you are, son, said he. Your story will be on the street in western city in a little over an hour. It will be down here as soon thereafter as they can get telephone connections. Take my advice, if you want to keep a whole skin you'll be out of Pedro when that happens. End of Section 2. Section 3. When Hau 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. After 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 suppressing it? Peter Harrigan made his attempts on the Gazette long ago, my boy. Well, said Hau, 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. Hau 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 was 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 working men in a mine, all we can do is to worry the GFC a little. So Hau was just where he had begun. I must find some other plan, he explained. 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 Hau, 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 Hau 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 you're moving about isn't going to do them any good. Hau turned to Edstrom and McKellar. 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 McKellar. You're up against a stone wall, my boy. The government here is simply a department of the GFC. The officials are crooks, company servants, all of them. Just a moment now, said Hau, 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 McKellar. You mentioned him before, said Hau. He threatened to prosecute some mind superintendents for ballot frauds, you said. That was while he was running for election, said McKellar. 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, dryly. Well, argued Hau, 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 McKellar. It's a backbone. 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, McKellar 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 is a justice of the peace. Who's he? Jim Anderson, a horse doctor. He's like any other JP 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 Vagelman, counsel for the GFC. 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 will act. You 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 McKellar, and no trouble for them. They'll prove you were stabbed by a drunken dago quarreling 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 McKellar 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 Czech Wayman 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 McKellar'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 Hannon, 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. CHAPTER IV Mr. Richard Parker was busy, said the clerk in the outer office, for which Hal was not sorry as it gave him a chance to get his breath. Being a young man flushed in 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 collar 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 collar 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 how 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 minor'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 troublemakers? 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 agonized 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 clamoring for a chance to risk their lives to save their fellows. He let his own feelings sweep him along. He pleaded with fervor 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, Alex 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, Housar, 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 miners strode out of the office. End of Section 4. 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 ceiling of the pit-mouth of Number 1 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 Czech Wayman 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 offenses. In another affidavit, he narrated how Jeff Cotton, Camp Marshall, had seized him at night, mistreated him, and shut him in prison for 36 hours without warrant or charge. Also, how Cotton, Pete Hannon, 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 Hannon, 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. They 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 bodyguard 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. J. W. Anderson, the horse doctor, sat at his desk within. He had evidently chewed tobacco before he assumed the ermine, and his reddish-colored 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 honor 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 Psy 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 of 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. Because 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 Howell, and he produced the one about the ceiling of the mine. There was silence while Justice Anderson read it through. 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. Howell argued with him. Could company officials in charge of a coal mine commit any sort of outrage upon their employees 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. Howell might go up to the courthouse and see Judge Denton about it. So Howell gathered up his affidavits and went out to the street again, where there were now three husky-looking personages waiting to escort him. End of section five. Section six. The district court was in session, and Howell sat for a while in the courtroom watching Judge Denton. Here was another prosperous and well-fed appearing gentleman, with a Rubicon 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 Howell 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, Howell spoke to the clerk and was told that he might see the judge at four-thirty. But a few minutes later, Pete Hannon came in and whispered to this clerk. The clerk looked at Howell, 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 Howell applied to the clerk, the latter brought out the message that Judge Denton was too busy to see him. But Howell was not to be disposed of in that easy fashion. There was a side door to the courtroom with a corridor beyond it, and while he stood arguing with the clerk, he saw the Rubicon 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 Hannon was at Howell's heels, and it would have needed no more than a nod from the judge to cause him to call her Howell. But the judge, taken by surprise, permitted himself to parley with the young minor, and the detective hesitated and finally fell back a step or two. Howell repeated his appeal, Your Honor, 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 Howell, I will walk with you and tell you as you go. Nor did he give his honor a chance to say whether this arrangement was pleasing to him. He set out by his side with Pete Hannon and the other two men some ten yards in the rear. Howell 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. Howell 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 Honor. 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 Honor. 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 minors to act as their Czech waymen. Their Czech waymen? Yes, Your Honor. I am informed there is a law providing that when the men demand a Czech wayman and offer to pay for him, the company must permit him to inspect the weights. Is that correct? It is, I believe. And there is 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 Honor. The minors 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 Honor. One of the committee of minors, John Edstrom, is now in Pedro having been kept out of his home which he had rented and paid for. The other, Mike Secoria, 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 minor 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 Honor. I'm staying at Edward McKellers, 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 Hannon 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 honor 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 Honor, look at them. I've told you it's not my business, young man. But, Your Honor, before I can find a policeman, I may be dead. The other appeared to be untroubled by this possibility. And, Your Honor, 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 Honor. 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 Wegelman, 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. End of Section 6. 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 figurehead 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 McKellar had told him about men being slugged on the streets in broad daylight. To this Mr. Perkins answered that there was uncertainty about the circumstances of these cases. Anyhow, they had happened before he became mayor. As 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 passerby, 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 riding 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 minor 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 McKellar's clothes. Perhaps a policeman would not have noticed the misfit. The chief came in. His blue uniform concealed a burly figure, and his mustache 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 following you they've got some reason for it. Have you been making 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've been doing? The young miner was willing to explain, but the other cut him short. You behave yourself while you're in this town, young feller. 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, keep an 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 laboring 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 Hannon and the other two husky-looking personages. End of section 7. Section 8. Hal judged that he had now exhausted his legal resources in Pedro. The chief of police had not suggested anyone else he might call upon, so there seemed nothing he could do but go back to McKellers 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 McKellers. 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. Shulman, general manager of the GFC, 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 labored 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. It was 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, sunny, said the fat man, soothingly. That'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 minor. What'll you do, beat him up some night? But the young minor 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? End of Section 8. 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 McKellar. 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 McKellar's wife and daughter was apparent, and this brought home to Hal the terror of life in this coal country. There 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 Naut. 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 is 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. McKellar 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 Cold King's son. The Cold 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 Cold 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 Cold 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 heirs 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 peddler's pack on his shoulders. We are hustlers here, put in McKellar. 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 springtime orchards. This one was exactly the color of apple blossoms. More susceptible to the charms of the ladies, inquired Howe 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. Howe's smile became reminiscent, and he quoted, Oh, Liza Ann, come out with me. The moon is a shining in the monkey-puzzle tree. When 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 Howe. 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 minor 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 Howe. My family's gone down as quickly as the hiragans have come up. CHAPTER X Howe went on to question Keating about the apple-blossom girl. Maybe I could guess who she is. What color was her hair? The color of molasses taffy when you've pulled it, said Billy, but all fluffy and wonderful with stardust 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 drugstore 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 Howe. Or maybe I'm describing the girl on the cover of one of the current magazines. I 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? Eris a parent of the banking business of Arthur and sons, said Howe. What 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. Oh-ho, and you used to sell her candy. Stuff 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 McKellar 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 Howe. How it feels to make up a multi-millionaire's bed. How it feels to sell stuff dates to a banker's daughter, countered the other. But suddenly it was Howe'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 minors. I help to make his money for him, don't I? I'm the one to tell him about North Valley. Howe 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 Howe quietly. The other scrambled out of his chair, wild with delight. I dare you, he exclaimed. I'm ready, said Howe. You mean it? Of course I mean it. In that costume? Certainly, I'm one of his minors. 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 cold king's son appealed to, by one of his serfs, the hard heart of plutocracy rejects the cry of labor. Yes, said Howe, but I really mean to get to him. Do you suppose he's got back to the train yet? 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. McKellar 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 parlor cars and a baggage car, added Keating. It ought to be easy to recognize. 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 tonight. 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 McKellar. Listen, broke in Howe, I have an idea. They haven't tried to interfere with your going out, have they, Mr. Keating? No, not yet. Or with you, Mr. McKellar? No, not yet, said the Scotchman. Well, Howe suggested, suppose you lend me your crutches. Whereat Keating gave an exclamation of delight. The very thing! I'll take your overcoat and hat, Howe 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. Really 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. End of Section 10. Section 11. They had been sitting upstairs in McKellar's room. Now they rose and were starting for the stairs, when suddenly there came a ring at the front doorbell. They stopped and stared at one another. There they are! whispered Keating. And McKellar sat down suddenly and held out his crutches to Howe. The hat and coater in the front hall, he exclaimed, make a try for it. His words were full of vigor, but like Edstrom his voice was trembling. He was no longer young, and could not take adventure gaily. Howe and Keating ran down stairs, followed by Edstrom. Howe 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. Howe's heart was pounding furiously as he began to hobble along with the crutches. He had to go at McKellar's slow pace, while Keating, at his side, started talking. He informed Mr. McKellar, 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 Howe and peered at him narrowly. Fortunately there was no moon. Howe 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. McKellar,' 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. McKellar. We can stand by it, and there's no comeback.' Howe, it must be admitted, was not paying much attention to this edifying sermon. He was looking ahead to where the alley debushed onto the street. It was the street behind McKellar'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 Howe 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 and 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 parlor car. "'Here we are!' exclaimed Keating, who was puffing like a bellows. Al 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 recognized 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 overcoat and hat, and then, pushing open the door, he entered a brightly lighted apartment, and the presence of the cold king's son. CHAPTER XII. 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 miners' 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 conversations 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 color 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 clamor outside. Wait a moment, said Hal quietly. I think someone 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-martial 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 Cold 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 Hannan, 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 realized 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? 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 GFC. 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 Hannon, 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-pales, 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 gasses 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. How 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 malifactor 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. CHAPTER XIII. Knowing these people well, how 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 Harrogans. Percy, he continued, you remember how you used to jump on me last year at college because I listened to muckrakers? You saw fit to take personal offense 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. When you see, this is a dark night. Hal waited to give young Harrogan a chance to grasp this situation and to take command. But apparently young Harrogan 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 employees were behaving in such fashion it was without authority, and they will surely pay for it. We spoke with quiet certainty. It was the Harrogan manor, 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 Harrogan, and young Harrogan 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 Harrogan manor, 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 fathers 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 was steam-up. Have us switched on to 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 manor 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 have 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. Jesse, 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 moment seemed ages as Hal waited. It was a test, he realized. The brown eyes dropped. I don't understand such things, Hal. But Jesse, I am explaining them. There 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, Jesse. Surely I wouldn't appeal to you unless I knew. Still she hesitated. And there came a swift note of feeling into his voice. Jesse, 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. Jesse, 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. End of Section XIII. Section XIV. There was a painful pause. Hal's gaze traveled on, and came to a gray-haired lady in a black dinner-gown, with a rope of pearls about her neck. Mrs. Curtis, surely you will advise him? The gray-haired lady started. Was there no limit to his impudence? She had witnessed the torturing of Jesse. But Jesse was his fiancée. 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 buttonhole of his dinner-jacket. Hal knew the role in which Reggie was there, a kind of male chaperone, an assistant host, an admirer to the wealthy, a solace to the board. Poor Reggie lived other people's lives. His soul perpetually aquiver with other people's excitements, with gossip, preparations for tea-parties, praise of tea-parties passed. And always the soul was pushing, calculating, measuring opportunities, making up intact 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 aisles sat Genevieve Halsey, tall, erect, built on the scale of a statue. You thought of the Oxide 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-peddler into leaders in the younger set. Next sat Vivie Kass, whose talk was of horses and dogs and such un-girlish 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, Burt 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 Dickie Everson, like Hal, a favorite of the ladies, but nothing more. Betty Harris, son of another coal-man, Daisy, his sister, and Blanche Vagelman, 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 cold 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-martial. 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, broken 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 cold king's son to himself, Hal went in to finish this fight. CHAPTER XIV. Percy Harrigan was known to Hal, as a college boy is known to his classmates. 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 peddler's pack. And Hal knew that Percy's most urgent purpose was to be regarded as a real and true and free-handed 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 gunman 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 realized 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-martial 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 Cold 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 friend's 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 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 realize how desperate I am. So far I've done this thing in cog. 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 GFC. 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 realize that? The other did not answer, but it was evident that he realized. 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 employees. That is the way the papers will handle it. Howe, watching his victim intently, and groping for the path to his mind, perceived that he had gone wrong. Crude, as the Harrogans were, they had learned that it is not aristocratic to be picturesque. All right, then, said Howe 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? Howe was gazing into the other's eyes, knowing that life and death for the miners hung upon his nod. Well, what is the answer? Howe, 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 Howe's tone was desperate, alarming. And suddenly the other gave way. All right. Howe 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, Howe? Will they go? Good God, man, they're clamoring 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. End of Section 15. Section 16. Howe 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 Howe 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 Howe wondered if Percy himself might not believe it. Howe'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 Howe and Billy Keating to spend the night in the train. But this Howe 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 anyone 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, Howe declared that he would hang around and see them take the cover off the pit-mouth. There were morning 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. Howe and Keating set out. They went first to the Rafferty's and saw Mrs. Rafferty spring up and stare at them, and then scream aloud to the Holy Virgin, waking all the little Rafferty's to frightened clamor. 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. Howe and Keating went on to Jerry Manetti's. Out of a sense of loyalty to Percy, Howe 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 Howe, but they wasted no time in discussion. Jerry slipped into his clothes and hurried with them to the pit-mouth. After enough a gang was already tearing off the boards and canvas. Never since Howe 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 Howe realized that he was exhausted. He and Billy Keating went back to the Manetti cabin, and spreading themselves a blanket on the floor lay down with sighs of relief. As for Billy he was soon snoring, but to Howe 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 Howe 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, Howe was realizing 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 Howe 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 defenses of his mind. Particularly, he found himself wrestling with Jesse Arthur. Her face rose up before him, appealing, yearning. She had one of those perfect faces which irresistibly compelled 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 stardust in it. Howe was cynical enough about co-operators and mind-guards, but it never occurred to him that Jesse'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 realize 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 labor and care of many generations, and imply inevitably that life has been feral, that customs and conventions have been murderous and inhuman. Jesse had failed Howe 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 and 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, Howe 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. Nagel, who lived next door to the Minettis and kept five. And even Vivi Cass, who hated men who ate with their knives. She would be driven to murder by the table manners of Ramanitsky's borders, but she would take delight in Dago Charlie, the tobacco-chewing mule which had once been Howe's pet. Howe could hardly wait for daylight to come, so that he might begin these efforts at social amalgamation. End of Section 16.