King Coal

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A couple of hours afterwards, Hal's jailer came up, this time without
any bread and water. He opened the door and commanded the prisoner to
"come along." Hal went downstairs, and entered Jeff Cotton's office.

The camp-marshal sat at his desk with a cigar between his teeth. He was
writing, and he went on writing until the jailer had gone out and closed
the door. Then he turned his revolving chair and crossed his legs,
leaning back and looking at the young miner in his dirty blue overalls,
his hair tousled and his face pale from his period of confinement. The
camp-marshal's aristocratic face wore a smile. "Well, young fellow,"
said he, "you've been having a lot of fun in this camp."

"Pretty fair, thank you," answered Hal.

"Beat us out all along the line, hey?" Then, after a pause, "Now, tell
me, what do you think you're going to get out of it?"

"That's what Alec Stone asked me," replied Hal. "I don't think it would
do much good to explain. I doubt if you believe in altruism any more
than Stone does."

The camp-marshal took his cigar from his mouth, and flicked off the
ashes. His face became serious, and there was a silence, while he
studied Hal. "You a union organiser?" he asked, at last.

"No," said Hal.

"You're an educated man; you're no labourer, that I know. Who's paying
you?"

"There you are! You don't believe in altruism."

The other blew a ring of smoke across the room. "Just want to put the
company in the hole, hey? Some kind of agitator?"

"I am a miner who wants to be a check-weighman."

"Socialist?"

"That depends upon developments here."

"Well," said the marshal, "you're an intelligent chap, that I can see.
So I'll lay my hand on the table and you can study it. You're not going
to serve as check-weighman in North Valley, nor any other place that the
'G. F. C.' has anything to do with. Nor are you going to have the
satisfaction of putting the company in a hole. We're not even going to
beat you up and make a martyr of you. I was tempted to do that the other
night, but I changed my mind."

"You might change the bruises on my arm," suggested Hal, in a pleasant
voice.

"We're going to offer you the choice of two things," continued the
marshal, without heeding this mild sarcasm. "Either you will sign a
paper admitting that you took the twenty-five dollars from Alec Stone,
in which case we will fire you and call it square; or else we will prove
that you took it, in which case we will send you to the pen for five or
ten years. Do you get that?"

Now when Hal had applied for the job of check-weighman, he had been
expecting to be thrown out of the camp, and had intended to go, counting
his education complete. But here, as he sat and gazed into the marshal's
menacing eyes, he decided suddenly that he did not want to leave North
Valley. He wanted to stay and take the measure of this gigantic
"burglar," the General Fuel Company.

"That's a serious threat, Mr. Cotton," he remarked. "Do you often do
things like that?"

"We do them when we have to," was the reply.

"Well, it's a novel proposition. Tell me more about it. What will the
charge be?"

"I'm not sure about that--we'll put it up to our lawyers. Maybe they'll
call it conspiracy, maybe blackmail. They'll make it whatever carries a
long enough sentence."

"And before I enter my plea, would you mind letting me see the letter
I'm supposed to have written."

"Oh, you've heard about the letter, have you?" said the camp-marshal,
lifting his eyebrows in mild surprise. He took from his desk a sheet of
paper and handed it to Hal, who read:

"Dere mister Stone, You don't need worry about the check-wayman. Pay me
twenty five dollars, and I will fix it right. Yours try, Joe Smith."

Having taken in the words of the letter, Hal examined the paper, and
perceived that his enemies had taken the trouble, not merely to forge a
letter in his name, but to have it photographed, to have a cut made of
the photograph, and to have it printed. Beyond doubt they had
distributed it broadcast in the camp. And all this in a few hours! It
was as Olson had said--a regular system to keep the men bedevilled.

SECTION 19.

Hal took a minute or so to ponder the situation. "Mr. Cotton," he said,
at last. "I know how to spell better than that. Also my handwriting is a
bit more fluent."

There was a trace of a smile about the marshal's cruel lips. "I know,"
he replied. "I've not failed to compare them."

"You have a good secret-service department!" said Hal.

"Before you get through, young fellow, you'll discover that our legal
department is equally efficient."

"Well," said Hal, "they'll need to be; for I don't see how you can get
round the fact that I'm a check-weighman, chosen according to the law,
and with a group of the men behind me."

"If that's what you're counting on," retorted Cotton, "you may as well
forget it. You've got no group any more."

"Oh! You've got rid of them?"

"We've got rid of the ring-leaders."

"Of whom?"

"That old billy-goat, Sikoria, for one."

"You've shipped him?"

"We have."

"I saw the beginning of that. Where have you sent him?"

"That," smiled the marshal, "is a job for _your_ secret-service
department!"

"And who else?"

"John Edstrom has gone down to bury his wife. It's not the first time
that dough-faced old preacher has made trouble for us, but it'll be the
last. You'll find him in Pedro--probably in the poor-house."

"No," responded Hal, quickly--and there came just a touch of elation in
his voice--"he won't have to go to the poor-house at once. You see, I've
just sent twenty-five dollars to him."

The camp-marshal frowned. "Really!" Then, after a pause, "You _did_ have
that money on you! I thought that lousy Greek had got away with it!"

"No. Your knave was honest. But so was I. I knew Edstrom had been
getting short weight for years, so he was the one person with any right
to the money."

This story was untrue, of course; the money was still buried in
Edstrom's cabin. But Hal meant for the old miner to have it in the end,
and meantime he wanted to throw Cotton off the track.

"A clever trick, young man!" said the marshal. "But you'll repent it
before you're through. It only makes me more determined to put you where
you can't do us any harm."

"You mean in the pen? You understand, of course, it will mean a jury
trial. You can get a jury to do what you want?"

"They tell me you've been taking an interest in politics in Pedro
County. Haven't you looked into our jury-system?"

"No, I haven't got that far."

The marshal began blowing rings of smoke again.

"Well, there are some three hundred men on our jury-list, and we know
them all. You'll find yourself facing a box with Jake Predovich as
foreman, three company-clerks, two of Alf Raymond's saloon-keepers, a
ranchman with a mortgage held by the company-bank, and five Mexicans who
have no idea what it's all about, but would stick a knife into your back
for a drink of whiskey. The District Attorney is a politician who
favours the miners in his speeches, and favours us in his acts; while
Judge Denton, of the district court, is the law partner of Vagleman, our
chief-counsel. Do you get all that?"

"Yes," said Hal. "I've heard of the 'Empire of Raymond'; I'm interested
to see the machinery. You're quite open about it!"

"Well," replied the marshal, "I want you to know what you're up against.
We didn't start this fight, and we're perfectly willing to end it
without trouble. All we ask is that you make amends for the mischief
you've done us."

"By 'making amends,' you mean I'm to disgrace myself--to tell the men
I'm a traitor?"

"Precisely," said the marshal.

"I think I'll have a seat while I consider the matter," said Hal; and he
took a chair, and stretched out his legs, and made himself elaborately
comfortable. "That bench upstairs is frightfully hard," said he, and
smiled mockingly upon the camp-marshal.

SECTION 20.

When this conversation was continued, it was upon a new and unexpected
line. "Cotton," remarked the prisoner, "I perceive that you are a man of
education. It occurs to me that once upon a time you must have been what
the world calls a gentleman."

The blood started into the camp-marshal's face. "You go to hell!" said
he.

"I did not intend to ask questions," continued Hal. "I can well
understand that you mightn't care to answer them. My point is that,
being an ex-gentleman, you may appreciate certain aspects of this case
which would be beyond the understanding of a nigger-driver like Stone,
or an efficiency expert like Cartwright. One gentleman can recognise
another, even in a miner's costume. Isn't that so?"

Hal paused for an answer, and the marshal gave him a wary look. "I
suppose so," he said.

"Well, to begin with, one gentleman does not smoke without inviting
another to join him."

The man gave another look. Hal thought he was going to consign him to
hades once more; but instead he took a cigar from his vest-pocket and
held it out.

"No, thank you," said Hal, quietly. "I do not smoke. But I like to be
invited."

There was a pause, while the two men measured each other.

"Now, Cotton," began the prisoner, "you pictured the scene at my trial.
Let me carry on the story for you. You have your case all framed up,
your hand-picked jury in the box, and your hand-picked judge on the
bench, your hand-picked prosecuting-attorney putting through the job;
you are ready to send your victim to prison, for an example to the rest
of your employes. But suppose that, at the climax of the proceedings,
you should make the discovery that your victim is a person who cannot be
sent to prison?"

"Cannot be sent to prison?" repeated the other. His tone was thoughtful.
"You'll have to explain."

"Surely not to a man of your intelligence! Don't you know, Cotton, there
are people who cannot be sent to prison?"

The camp-marshal smoked his cigar for a bit. "There are some in this
county," said he. "But I thought I knew them all."

"Well," said Hal, "has it never occurred to you that there might be some
in this _state_?"

There followed a long silence. The two men were gazing into each other's
eyes; and the more they gazed, the more plainly Hal read uncertainty in
the face of the marshal.

"Think how embarrassing it would be!" he continued. "You have your drama
all staged--as you did the night before last--only on a larger stage,
before a more important audience; and at the _denouement_ you find that,
instead of vindicating yourself before the workers in North Valley, you
have convicted yourself before the public of the state. You have shown
the whole community that you are law-breakers; worse than that--you have
shown that you are jack-asses!"

This time the camp-marshal gazed so long that his cigar went out. And
meantime Hal was lounging in his chair, smiling at him strangely. It was
as if a transformation was taking place before the marshal's eyes; the
miner's "jumpers" fell away from Hal's figure, and there was a suit of
evening-clothes in their place!

"Who the devil are you?" cried the man.

"Well now!" laughed Hal. "You boast of the efficiency of your secret
service department! Put them at work upon this problem. A young man, age
twenty-one, height five feet ten inches, weight one hundred and
fifty-two pounds, eyes brown, hair chestnut and rather wavy, manner
genial, a favourite with the ladies--at least that's what the society
notes say--missing since early in June, supposed to be hunting
mountain-goats in Mexico. As you know, Cotton, there's only one city in
the state that has any 'society,' and in that city there are only
twenty-five or thirty families that count. For a secret service
department like that of the 'G. F. C.', that is really too easy."

Again there was a silence, until Hal broke it. "Your distress is a
tribute to your insight. The company is lucky in the fact that one of
its camp-marshals happens to be an ex-gentleman."

Again the other flushed. "Well, by God!" he said, half to himself; and
then, making a last effort to hold his bluff--"You're kidding me!"

"'Kidding,' as you call it, is one of the favourite occupations of
society, Cotton. A good part of our intercourse consists of it--at least
among the younger set."

Suddenly the marshal rose. "Say," he demanded, "would you mind going
back upstairs for a few minutes?"

Hal could not restrain his laughter at this. "I should mind it very
much," he said. "I have been on a bread and water diet for thirty-six
hours, and I should like very much to get out and have a breath of fresh
air."

"But," said the other, lamely, "I've got to send you up there."

"That's another matter," replied Hal. "If you send me, I'll go, but it's
your look-out. You've kept me here without legal authority, with no
charge against me, and without giving me an opportunity to see counsel.
Unless I'm very much mistaken, you are liable criminally for that, and
the company is liable civilly. That is your own affair, of course. I
only want to make clear my position--when you ask me would I _mind_
stepping upstairs, I, answer that I would mind very much indeed."

The camp-marshal stood for a bit, chewing nervously on his extinct
cigar. Then he went to the door. "Hey, Gus!" he called. Hal's jailer
appeared, and Cotton whispered to him, and he went away again. "I'm
telling him to get you some food, and you can sit and eat it here. Will
that suit you better?"

"It depends," said Hal, making the most of the situation. "Are you
inviting me as your prisoner, or as your guest?"

"Oh, come off!" said the other.

"But I have to know my legal status. It will be of importance to my
lawyers."

"Be my guest," said the camp-marshal.

"But when a guest has eaten, he is free to go out, if he wishes to!"

"I will let you know about that before you get through."

"Well, be quick. I'm a rapid eater."

"You'll promise you won't go away before that?"

"If I do," was Hal's laughing reply, "it will be only to my place of
business. You can look for me at the tipple, Cotton!"

SECTION 21.

The marshal went out, and a few moments later the jailer came back, with
a meal which presented a surprising contrast to the ones he had
previously served. There was a tray containing cold ham, a couple of
soft boiled eggs, some potato salad, and a cup of coffee with rolls and
butter.

"Well, well!" said Hal, condescendingly. "That's even nicer than
beefsteak and mashed potatoes!" He sat and watched, not offering to
help, while the other made room for the tray on the table in front of
him. Then the man stalked out, and Hal began to eat.

Before he had finished, the camp-marshal returned. He seated himself in
his revolving chair, and appeared to be meditative. Between bites, Hal
would look up and smile at him.

"Cotton," said he, "you know there is no more certain test of breeding
than table-manners. You will observe that I have not tucked my napkin in
my neck, as Alec Stone would have done."

"I'm getting you," replied the marshal.

Hal set his knife and fork side by side on his plate. "Your man has
overlooked the finger-bowl," he remarked. "However, don't bother. You
might ring for him now, and let him take the tray."

The camp-marshal used his voice for a bell, and the jailer came.
"Unfortunately," said Hal, "when your people were searching me, night
before last, they dropped my purse, so I have no tip for the waiter."

The "waiter" glared at Hal as if he would like to bite him; but the
camp-marshal grinned. "Clear out, Gus, and shut the door," said he.

Then Hal stretched his legs and made himself comfortable again. "I must
say I like being your guest better than being your prisoner!"

There was a pause.

"I've been talking it over with Mr. Cartwright," began the marshal.
"I've got no way of telling how much of this is bluff that you've been
giving me, but it's evident enough that you're no miner. You may be some
newfangled kind of agitator, but I'm damned if I ever saw an agitator
that had tea-party manners. I suppose you've been brought up to money;
but if that's so, why you want to do this kind of thing is more than I
can imagine."

"Tell me, Cotton," said Hal, "did you never hear of _ennui_?"

"Yes," replied the other, "but aren't you rather young to be troubled
with that complaint?"

"Suppose I've seen others suffering from it, and wanted to try a
different way of living from theirs?"

"If you're what you say, you ought to be still in college."

"I go back for my senior year this fall."

"What college?"

"You doubt me still, I see!" said Hal, and smiled. Then, unexpectedly,
with a spirit which only moonlit campuses and privilege could beget, he
chanted:

"Old King Coal was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He made him a college, all full of knowledge--
Hurrah for you and me!"

"What college is that?" asked the marshal. And Hal sang again:

"Oh, Liza-Ann, come out with me,
The moon is a-shinin' in the monkey-puzzle tree!
Oh, Liza-Ann, I have began
To sing you the song of Harrigan!"

"Well, well!" commented the marshal, when the concert was over. "Are
there many more like you at Harrigan?"

"A little group--enough to leaven the lump."

"And this is your idea of a vacation?"

"No, it isn't a vacation; it's a summer-course in practical sociology."

"Oh, I see!" said the marshal; and he smiled in spite of himself.

"All last year we let the professors of political economy hand out their
theories to us. But somehow the theories didn't seem to correspond with
the facts. I said to myself, 'I've got to check them up.' You know the
phrases, perhaps--individualism, _laissez faire_, freedom of contract,
the right of every man to work for whom he pleases. And here you see how
the theories work out--a camp-marshal with a cruel smile on his face and
a gun on his hip, breaking the laws faster than a governor can sign
them."

The camp-marshal decided suddenly that he had had enough of this
"tea-party." He rose to his feet to cut matters short. "If you don't
mind, young man," said he, "we'll get down to business!"

SECTION 22.

He took a turn about the room, then he came and stopped in front of Hal.
He stood with his hands thrust into his pockets, with a certain jaunty
grace that was out of keeping with his occupation. He was a handsome
devil, Hal thought--in spite of his dangerous mouth, and the marks of
dissipation on him.

"Young man," he began, with another effort at geniality. "I don't know
who you are, but you're wide awake; you've got your nerve with you, and I
admire you. So I'm willing to call the thing off, and let you go back
and finish that course at college."

Hal had been studying the other's careful smile. "Cotton," he said, at
last, "let me get the proposition clear. I don't have to say I took that
money?"

"No, we'll let you off from that."

"And you won't send me to the pen?"

"No. I never meant to do that, of course. I was only trying to bluff
you. All I ask is that you clear out, and give our people a chance to
forget."

"But what's there in that for me, Cotton? If I had wanted to run away, I
could have done it any time during the last eight or ten weeks."

"Yes, of course, but now it's different. Now it's a matter of my
consideration."

"Cut out the consideration!" exclaimed Hal. "You want to get rid of me,
and you'd like to do it without trouble. But you can't--so forget it."

The other was staring, puzzled. "You mean you expect to stay here?"

"I mean just that."

"Young man, I've had enough of this! I've got no more time to play. I
don't care who you are, I don't care about your threats. I'm the marshal
of this camp, and I have the job of keeping order in it. I say you're
going to get out!"

"But, Cotton," said Hal, "this is an incorporated town! I have a right
to walk on the streets--exactly as much right as you."

"I'm not going to waste time arguing. I'm going to put you into an
automobile and take you down to Pedro!"

"And suppose I go to the District Attorney and demand that he prosecute
you?"

"He'll laugh at you."

"And suppose I go to the Governor of the state?"

"He'll laugh still louder."

"All right, Cotton; maybe you know what you're doing; but I wonder--I
wonder just how sure you feel. Has it never occurred to you that your
superiors might not care to have you take these high-handed steps?"

"My superiors? Who do you mean?"

"There's one man in the state you must respect--even though you despise
the District Attorney and the Governor. That is Peter Harrigan."

"Peter Harrigan?" echoed the other; and then he burst into a laugh.
"Well, you _are_ a merry lad!"

Hal continued to study him, unmoved. "I wonder if you're sure! He'll
stand for everything you've done."

"He will!" said the other.

"For the way you treat the workers? He knows you are giving short
weights."

"Oh hell!" said the other. "Where do you suppose he got the money for
your college?"

There was a pause; at last the marshal asked, defiantly, "Have you got
what you want?"

"Yes," replied Hal. "Of course, I thought it all along, but it's hard to
convince other people. Old Peter's not like most of these Western
wolves, you know; he's a pious high-church man."

The marshal smiled grimly. "So long as there are sheep," said he,
there'll be wolves in sheep's clothing."

"I see," said Hal. "And you leave them to feed on the lambs!"

"If any lamb is silly enough to be fooled by that old worn-out skin,"
remarked the marshal, "it deserves to be eaten."

Hal was studying the cynical face in front of him. "Cotton," he said,
"the shepherds are asleep; but the watch-dogs are barking. Haven't you
heard them?"

"I hadn't noticed."

"They are barking, barking! They are going to wake the shepherds! They
are going to save the sheep!"

"Religion don't interest me," said the other, looking bored; "your kind
any more than Old Peter's."

And suddenly Hal rose to his feet. "Cotton," said he, "my place is with
the flock! I'm going back to my job at the tipple!" And he started
towards the door.

SECTION 23.

Jeff Cotton sprang forward. "Stop!" he cried.

But Hal did not stop.

"See here, young man!" cried the marshal. "Don't carry this joke too
far!" And he sprang to the door, just ahead of his prisoner. His hand
moved toward his hip.

"Draw your gun, Cotton," said Hal; and, as the marshal obeyed, "Now I
will stop. If I obey you in future, it will be at the point of your
revolver."

The marshal's mouth was dangerous-looking. "You may find that in this
country there's not so much between the drawing of a gun and the firing
of it!"

"I've explained my attitude," replied Hal. "What are your orders?"

"Come back and sit in this chair."

So Hal sat, and the marshal went to his desk, and took up the telephone.
"Number seven," he said, and waited a moment. "That you, Tom? Bring the
car right away."

He hung up the receiver, and there followed a silence; finally Hal
inquired, "I'm going to Pedro?"

There was no reply.

"I see I've got on your nerves," said Hal. "But I don't suppose it's
occurred to you that you deprived me of my money last night. Also, I've
an account with the company, some money coming to me for my work? What
about that?"

The marshal took up the receiver and gave another number. "Hello,
Simpson. This is Cotton. Will you figure out the time of Joe Smith,
buddy in Number Two, and send over the cash. Get his account at the
store; and be quick, we're waiting for it. He's going out in a hurry."
Again he hung up the receiver.

"Tell me," said Hal, "did you take that trouble for Mike Sikoria?"

There was silence.

"Let me suggest that when you get my time, you give me part of it in
scrip. I want it for a souvenir."

Still there was silence.

"You know," persisted the prisoner, tormentingly, "there's a law against
paying wages in scrip."

The marshal was goaded to speech. "We don't pay in scrip."

"But you do, man! You know you do!"

"We give it when they ask their money ahead."

"The law requires you to pay them twice a month, and you don't do it.
You pay them once a month, and meantime, if they need money, you give
them this imitation money!"

"Well, if it satisfies them, where's your kick?"

"If it doesn't satisfy them, you put them on the train and ship them
out?"

The marshal sat in silence, tapping impatiently with his fingers on the
desk.

"Cotton," Hal began, again, "I'm out for education, and there's
something I'd like you to explain to me--a problem in human psychology.
When a man puts through a deal like this, what does he tell himself
about it?"

"Young man," said the marshal, "if you'll pardon me, you are getting to
be a bore."

"Oh, but we've got an automobile ride before us! Surely we can't sit in
silence all the way!" After a moment he added, in a coaxing tone, "I
really want to learn, you know. You might be able to win me over."

"No!" said Cotton, promptly. "I'll not go in for anything like that!"

"But why not?"

"Because, I'm no match for you in long-windedness. I've heard you
agitators before, you're all alike: you think the world is run by
talk--but it isn't."

Hal had come to realise that he was not getting anywhere in his duel
with the camp-marshal. He had made every effort to get somewhere; he had
argued, threatened, bluffed, he had even sung songs for the marshal! But
the marshal was going to ship him out, that was all there was to it.

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