King Coal

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Newspapers had come in, with accounts of the disaster, and Hal and his
friends read these. It was evident that the company had been at pains to
have the accounts written from its own point of view. There existed some
public sensitiveness on the subject of mine-disasters in this state. The
death-rate from accidents was seen to be mounting steadily; the reports
of the state mine inspector showed six per thousand in one year, eight
and a half in the next, and twenty-one and a half in the next. When
fifty or a hundred men were killed in a single accident, and when such
accidents kept happening, one on the heels of another, even the most
callous public could not help asking questions. So in this case the "G.
F. C." had been careful to minimise the loss of life, and to make
excuses. The accident had been owing to no fault of the company's; the
mine had been regularly sprinkled, both with water and adobe dust, and
so the cause of the explosion must have been the carelessness of the men
in handling powder.

In Jack David's cabin one night there arose a discussion as to the
number of men entombed in the mine. The company's estimate of the number
was forty, but Minetti and Olson and David agreed that this was absurd.
Any man who went about in the crowds could satisfy himself that there
were two or three times as many unaccounted for. And this falsification
was deliberate, for the company had a checking system, whereby it knew
the name of every man in the mine. But most of these names were
unpronounceable Slavish, and the owners of the names had no friends to
mention them--at least not in any language understood by American
newspaper editors.

It was all a part of the system, declared Jack David: its purpose and
effect being to enable the company to go on killing men without paying
for them, either in money or in prestige. It occurred to Hal that it
might be worth while to contradict these false statements--almost as
worth while as to save the men who were at this moment entombed. Any one
who came forward to make such a contradiction would of course be giving
himself up to the black-list; but then, Hal regarded himself as a man
already condemned to that penalty.

Tom Olson spoke up. "What would you do with your contradiction?"

"Give it to the papers," Hal answered.

"But what papers would print it?"

"There are two rival papers in Pedro, aren't there?"

"One owned by Alf Raymond, the sheriff-emperor, and the other by
Vagleman, counsel for the 'G. F. C.' Which one would you try?"

"Well then, the outside papers--those in Western City. There are
reporters here now, and some one of them would surely take it."

Olson answered, declaring that they would not get any but labour and
Socialist papers to print such news. But even that was well worth doing.
And Jack David, who was strong for unions and all their activities, put
in, "The thing to do is to take a regular census, so as to know exactly
how many are in the mine."

The suggestion struck fire, and they agreed to set to work that same
evening. It would be a relief to do something, to have something in
their minds but despair. They passed the word to Mary Burke, to Rovetta,
Klowoski, and others; and at eleven o'clock the next morning they met
again, and the lists were put together, and it was found that no less
than a hundred and seven men and boys were positively known to be inside
Number One.

SECTION 33.

As it happened, however, discussion of this list and the method of
giving it to the world was cut short by a more urgent matter. Jack David
came in with news of fresh trouble at the pit-mouth. The new fan was
being put in place; but they were slow about it, so slow that some
people had become convinced that they did not mean to start the fan at
all, but were keeping the mine sealed to prevent the fire from
spreading. A group of such malcontents had presumed to go to Mr.
Carmichael, the deputy state mine-inspector, to urge him to take some
action; and the leader of these protestants, Huszar, the Austrian, who
had been one of Hal's check-weighman group, had been taken into custody
and marched at double-quick to the gate of the stockade!

Jack David declared furthermore that he knew a carpenter who was working
in the fan-house, and who said that no haste whatever was being made.
All the men at the fan-house shared that opinion; the mine was sealed,
and would stay sealed until the company was sure the fire was out.

"But," argued Hal, "if they were to open it, the fire would spread; and
wouldn't that prevent rescue work?"

"Not at all," declared "Big Jack." He explained that by reversing the
fan they could draw the smoke up through the air-course, which would
clear the main passages for a time. "But, you see, some coal might catch
fire, and some timbers; there might be falls of rock so they couldn't
work some of the rooms again."

"How long will they keep the mine sealed?" cried Hal, in consternation.

"Nobody can say. In a big mine like that, a fire might smoulder for a
week."

"Everybody be dead!" cried Rosa Minetti, wringing her hands in a sudden
access of grief.

Hal turned to Olson. "Would they possibly do such a thing?"

"It's been done--more than once," was the organiser's reply.

"Did you never hear about Cherry, Illinois?" asked David. "They did it
there, and more than three hundred people lost their lives." He went on
to tell that dreadful story, known to every coal-miner. They had sealed
the mine, while women fainted and men tore their clothes in frenzy--some
going insane. They had kept it sealed for two weeks, and when they
opened it, there were twenty-one men still alive!

"They did the same thing in Diamondville, Wyoming," added Olson. "They
built up a barrier, and when they took it away they found a heap of dead
men, who had crawled to it and torn their fingers to the bone trying to
break through."

"My God!" cried Hal, springing to his feet. "And this man
Carmichael--would he stand for that?"

"He'd tell you they were doing their best," said "Big Jack." "And maybe
he thinks they are. But you'll see--something'll keep happening; they'll
drag on from day to day, and they'll not start the fan till they're
ready."

"Why, it's murder!" cried Hal.

"It's business," said Tom Olson, quietly.

Hal looked from one to another of the faces of these working people. Not
one but had friends in that trap; not one but might be in the same trap
to-morrow!

"You have to stand it!" he exclaimed, half to himself.

"Don't you see the guards at the pit-mouth?" answered David. "Don't you
see the guns sticking out of their pockets?"

"They bring in more guards this morning," put in Jerry Minetti. "Rosa,
she see them get off."

"They know what they doin'!" said Rosa. "They only fraid we find it out!
They told Mrs. Zamboni she keep away or they send her out of camp. And
old Mrs. Jonotch--her husband and three sons inside!"

"They're getting rougher and rougher," declared Mrs. David. "That big
fellow they call Pete, that came up from Pedro--the way he's handling
the women is a shame!"

"I know him," put in Olson; "Pete Hanun. They had him in Sheridan when
the union first opened headquarters. He smashed one of our organisers in
the mouth and broke four of his teeth. They say he has a jail-record."

All through the previous year at college Hal had listened to lectures
upon political economy, filled with the praises of a thing called
"Private Ownership." This Private Ownership developed initiative and
economy; it kept the wheels of industry a-roll, it kept fat the
pay-rolls of college faculties; it accorded itself with the sacred laws
of supply and demand, it was the basis of the progress and prosperity
wherewith America had been blessed. And here suddenly Hal found himself
face to face with the reality of it; he saw its wolfish eyes glaring
into his own, he felt its smoking hot breath in his face, he saw its
gleaming fangs and claw-like fingers, dripping with the blood of men and
women and children. Private Ownership of coal-mines! Private Ownership
of sealed-up entrances and non-existent escape-ways! Private Ownership
of fans which did not start, of sprinklers which did not sprinkle.
Private Ownership of clubs and revolvers, and of thugs and ex-convicts
to use them, driving away rescuers and shutting up agonised widows and
orphans in their homes! Oh, the serene and well-fed priests of Private
Ownership, chanting in academic halls the praises of the bloody Demon!

Suddenly Hal stopped still. Something had risen in him, the existence of
which he had never suspected. There was a new look upon his face, his
voice was deep as a strong man's when he spoke: "I am going to make them
open that mine!"

They looked at him. They were all of them close to the border of
hysteria, but they caught the strange note in his utterance. "I am going
to make them open that mine!"

"How?" asked Olson.

"The public doesn't know about this thing. If the story got out, there'd
be such a clamour, it couldn't go on!"

"But how will you get it out?"

"I'll give it to the newspapers! They can't suppress such a thing--I
don't care how prejudiced they are!"

"But do you think they'd believe what a miner's buddy tells them?" asked
Mrs. David.

"I'll find a way to make them believe me," said Hal. "I'm going to make
them open that mine!"

SECTION 34.

In the course of his wanderings about the camp, Hal had observed several
wide-awake looking young men with notebooks in their hands. He could see
that these young men were being made guests of the company, chatting
with the bosses upon friendly terms; nevertheless, he believed that
among them he might find one who had a conscience--or at any rate who
would yield to the temptation of a "scoop." So, leaving the gathering at
Mrs. David's, Hal went to the pit-mouth, watching out for one of these
reporters; when he found him, he followed him for a while, desiring to
get him where no company "spotter" might interfere. At the first chance,
he stepped up, and politely asked the reporter to come into a side
street, where they might converse undisturbed.

The reporter obeyed the request; and Hal, concealing the intensity of
his feelings, so as not to repel the other, let it be known that he had
worked in North Valley for some months, and could tell much about
conditions in the camp. There was the matter of adobe-dust, for example.
Explosions in dry mines could be prevented by spraying the walls with
this material. Did the reporter happen to know that the company's claim
to have used it was entirely false?

No, the reporter answered, he did not know this. He seemed interested,
and asked Hal's name and occupation. Hal told him "Joe Smith," a
"buddy," who had recently been chosen as check-weighman. The reporter, a
lean and keen-faced young man, asked many questions--intelligent
questions; incidentally he mentioned that he was the local correspondent
of the great press association whose stories of the disaster were sent
to every corner of the country. This seemed to Hal an extraordinary
piece of good fortune, and he proceeded to tell this Mr. Graham about
the census which some of the workers had taken; they were able to give
the names of a hundred and seven men and boys who were inside the mine.
The list was at Mr. Graham's disposal if he cared to see it. Mr. Graham
seemed more interested than ever, and made notes in his book.

Another thing, more important yet, Hal continued; the matter of the
delay in getting the fan started. It had been three days since the
explosion, but there had been no attempt at entering the mine. Had Mr.
Graham seen the disturbance at the pit-mouth that morning? Did he
realise that a man had been thrown out of camp merely because he had
appealed to the deputy state mine-inspector? Hal told what so many had
come to believe--that the company was saving property at the expense of
life. He went on to point out the human meaning of this--he told about
old Mrs. Rafferty, with her failing health and her eight children; about
Mrs. Zamboni, with eleven children; about Mrs. Jonotch, with a husband
and three sons in the mine. Led on by the reporter's interest, Hal began
to show some of his feeling. These were human beings, not animals; they
loved and suffered, even though they were poor and humble!

"Most certainly!" said Mr. Graham. "You're right, and you may rest
assured I'll look into this."

"There's one thing more," said Hal. "If my name is mentioned, I'll be
fired, you know."

"I won't mention it," said the other.

"Of course, if you can't publish the story without giving its source--"

"I'm the source," said the reporter, with a smile. "Your name would not
add anything."

He spoke with quiet assurance; he seemed to know so completely both the
situation and his own duty in regard to it, that Hal felt a thrill of
triumph. It was as if a strong wind had come blowing from the outside
world, dispelling the miasma which hung over this coal-camp. Yes, this
reporter _was_ the outside world! He was the power of public opinion,
making itself felt in this place of knavery and fear! He was the voice
of truth, the courage and rectitude of a great organisation of
publicity, independent of secret influences, lifted above corruption!

"I'm indebted to you," said Mr. Graham, at the end, and Hal's sense of
victory was complete. What an extraordinary chance--that he should have
run into the agent of the great press association! The story would go
out to the great world of industry, which depended upon coal as its
life-blood. The men in the factories, the wheels of which were turned by
coal--the travellers on trains which were moved by coal--they would hear
at last of the sufferings of those who toiled in the bowels of the earth
for them! Even the ladies, reclining upon the decks of palatial
steamships in gleaming tropic seas--so marvellous was the power of
modern news-spreading agencies, that these ladies too might hear the cry
for help of these toilers, and of their wives and little ones! And from
this great world would come an answer, a universal shout of horror, of
execration, that would force even old Peter Harrigan to give way! So Hal
mused--for he was young, and this was his first crusade.

He was so happy that he was able to think of himself again, and to
realise that he had not eaten that day. It was noon-time, and he went
into Reminitsky's, and was about half through with the first course of
Reminitsky's two-course banquet, when his cruel disillusioning fell upon
him!

He looked up and saw Jeff Cotton striding into the dining-room, making
straight for him. There was blood in the marshal's eye, and Hal saw it,
and rose, instinctively.

"Come!" said Cotton, and took him by the coat-sleeve and marched him
out, almost before the rest of the diners had time to catch their
breath.

Hal had no opportunity now to display his "tea-party manners" to the
camp-marshal. As they walked, Cotton expressed his opinion of him, that
he was a skunk, a puppy, a person of undesirable ancestry; and when Hal
endeavoured to ask a question--which he did quite genuinely, not
grasping at once the meaning of what was happening--the marshal bade him
"shut his face," and emphasised the command by a twist at his
coat-collar. At the same time two of the huskiest mine-guards, who had
been waiting at the dining-room door, took him, one by each arm, and
assisted his progress.

They went down the street and past Jeff Cotton's office, not stopping
this time. Their destination was the railroad-station, and when Hal got
there, he saw a train standing. The three men marched him to it, not
releasing him till they had jammed him down into a seat.

"Now, young fellow," said Cotton, "we'll see who's running this camp!"

By this time Hal had regained a part of his self-possession. "Do I need
a ticket?" he asked.

"I'll see to that," said the marshal.

"And do I get my things?"

"You save some questions for your college professors," snapped the
marshal.

So Hal waited; and a minute or two later a man arrived on the run with
his scanty belongings, rolled into a bundle and tied with a piece of
twine. Hal noted that this man was big and ugly, and was addressed by
the camp-marshal as "Pete."

The conductor shouted, "All aboard!" And at the same time Jeff Cotton
leaned over towards Hal and spoke in a menacing whisper: "Take this from
me, young fellow; don't stop in Pedro, move on in a hurry, or something
will happen to you on a dark night."

After which he strode down the aisle, and jumped off the moving train.
But Hal noticed that Pete Hanun, the breaker of teeth, stayed on the car
a few seats behind him.

BOOK THREE

THE HENCHMEN OF KING COAL

SECTION 1.

It was Hal'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 Hanun; 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 labouring-man nearby.

Edstrom greeted him with eager questions: Who had been killed? What was
the situation? Hal 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. Hal
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 Hal, at once; but as they were
starting downstairs, a fresh difficulty occurred to him. Pete Hanun 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 MacKellar. He may be able to give us some advice--even to think of
some way to get the mine open." Edstrom explained that MacKellar, 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 Hal, and they set out at once. Pete Hanun 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 MacKellar was
sitting--a grey-haired old man, twisted up with rheumatism and obliged
to go about on crutches.

Hal 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 Hal
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 Hal. He knew this paper; an
evening journal selling for a cent, and read by working-men. Persons of
culture who referred to it disposed of it with the adjective "yellow."

"I know," said MacKellar, noting Hal'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."

Hal 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
MacKellar's door, wiping the perspiration from his half-bald forehead.
He was round-faced, like a full moon, and as jolly as Falstaff; 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 Hal 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 edition!" 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_. And,
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 Hal, 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 Hal'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 Predovich?"

"I do," said Hal. "The company store-clerk; he once went through my
pockets."

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

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

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

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

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

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

SECTION 2.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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