King Coal

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"They can never stop us. They thought when they broke into my desk,
they'd get a list of our organisers. But you see, I carry the lists in
my head!"

"No small task, either," put in Moylan. "Would you like to know how many
organisers we have at work? Ninety-seven. And they haven't caught a
single one of them!"

Hal heard him, amazed. Here was a new aspect of the labour movement!
This quiet, resolute old "Dutchy," whom you might have taken for a
delicatessen-proprietor; this merry-eyed Irish boy, whom you would have
expected to be escorting a lady to a firemen's ball----they were
captains of an army of sappers who were undermining the towers of Peter
Harrigan's fortress of greed!

Hartman suggested that Jerry might take a chance at this sort of work.
He would surely be fired from North Valley, so he might as well send
word to his family to come to Pedro. In this way he might save himself
to work as an organiser; because it was the custom of these company
"spotters" to follow a man back to his camp and there identify him. If
Jerry took a train for Western City, they would be thrown off the track,
and he might get into some new camp and do organising among the
Italians. Jerry accepted this proposition with alacrity; it would put
off the evil day when Rosa and her little ones would be left to the
mercy of chance.

They were still talking when the telephone rang. It was Hartman's
secretary in Sheridan, reporting that he had just heard from the
kidnapped committee. The entire party, eight men and Mary Burke, had
been taken to Horton, a station not far up the line, and put on the
train with many dire threats. But they had left the train at the next
stop, and declared their intention of coming to Pedro. They were due at
the hotel very soon.

Hal desired to be present at this meeting, and went downstairs to tell
his brother. There was another dispute, of course. Edward reminded Hal
that the scenery of Pedro had a tendency to monotony; to which Hal could
only answer by offering to introduce his brother to his friends. They
were men who could teach Edward much, if he would consent to learn. He
might attend the session with the committee--eight men and a woman who
had ventured an act of heroism and been made the victims of a crime. Nor
were they bores, as Edward might be thinking! There was blue-eyed Tim
Rafferty, for example, a silent, smutty-faced gnome who had broken out
of his black cavern and spread unexpected golden wings of oratory; and
Mary Burke, of whom Edward might read in that afternoon's edition of the
Western City _Gazette_--a "Joan of Arc of the coal-camps," or something
equally picturesque. But Edward's mood was not to be enlivened. He had a
vision of his brother's appearance in the paper as the companion of this
Hibernian Joan!

Hal went off with Jerry Minetti to what his brother described as a
"hash-house," while Edward proceeded in solitary state to the
dining-room of the American Hotel. But he was not left in solitary
state; pretty soon a sharp-faced young man was ushered to a seat beside
him, and started up a conversation. He was a "drummer," he said; his
"line" was hardware, what was Edward's? Edward answered coldly that he
had no "line," but the young man was not rebuffed--apparently his "line"
had hardened his sensibilities. Perhaps Edward was interested in
coal-mines? Had he been visiting the camps? He questioned so
persistently, and came back so often to the subject, that at last it
dawned over Edward what this meant--he was receiving the attention of a
"spotter!" Strange to say, the circumstance caused Edward more
irritation against Peter Harrigan's regime than all his brother's
eloquence about oppression at North Valley.

SECTION 21.

Soon after dinner the kidnapped committee arrived, bedraggled in body
and weary in soul. They inquired for Johann Hartman, and were sent up to
the room, where there followed a painful scene. Eight men and a woman
who had ventured an act of heroism and been made the victims of a crime
could not easily be persuaded to see their efforts and sacrifices thrown
on the dump-heap, nor were they timid in expressing their opinions of
those who were betraying them.

"You been tryin' to get us out!" cried Tim Rafferty. "Ever since I can
remember you been at my old man to help you--an' here, when we do what
you ask, you throw us down!"

"We never asked you to go on strike," said Moylan.

"No, that's true. You only asked us to pay dues, so you fellows could
have fat salaries."

"Our salaries aren't very fat," replied the young leader, patiently.
"You'd find that out if you investigated."

"Well, whatever they are, they go on, while ours stop. We're on the
streets, we're done for. Look at us--and most of us has got families,
too! I got an old mother an' a lot of brothers and sisters, an' my old
man done up an' can't work. What do you think's to become of us?"

"We'll help you out a little, Rafferty--"

"To hell with you!" cried Tim. "I don't want your help! When I need
charity, I'll go to the county. They're another bunch of grafters, but
they don't pretend to be friends to the workin' man."

Here was the thing Tom Olson had told Hal at the outset--the workingmen
bedevilled, not knowing whom to trust, suspecting the very people who
most desired to help them. "Tim," he put in, "there's no use talking
like that. We have to learn patience--"

And the boy turned upon Hal. "What do you know about it? It's all a joke
to you. You can go off and forget it when you get ready. You've got
money, they tell me!"

Hal felt no resentment at this; it was what he heard from his own
conscience. "It isn't so easy for me as you think, Tim. There are other
ways of suffering besides not having money--"

"Much sufferin' you'll do--with your rich folks!" sneered Tim.

There was a murmur of protest from others of the committee.

"Good God, Rafferty!" broke in Moylan. "We can't help it, man--we're
just as helpless as you!"

"You say you're helpless--but you don't even try!"

"_Try?_ Do you want us to back a strike that we know hasn't a chance?
You might as well ask us to lie down and let a load of coal run over us.
We can't win, man! I tell you we can't _win_! We'd only be throwing away
our organisation!"

Moylan became suddenly impassioned. He had seen a dozen sporadic strikes
in this district, and many a dozen young strikers, homeless, desolate,
embittered, turning their disappointment on him. "We might support you
with our funds, you say--we might go on doing it, even while the company
ran the mine with scabs. But where would that land us, Rafferty? I seen
many a union on the rocks--and I ain't so old either! If we had a bank,
we'd support all the miners of the country, they'd never need to work
again till they got their rights. But this money we spend is the money
that other miners are earnin'--right now, down in the pits, Rafferty,
the same as you and your old man. They give us this money, and they say,
'Use it to build up the union. Use it to help the men that aren't
organised--take them in, so they won't beat down our wages and scab on
us. But don't waste it, for God's sake; we have to work hard to make it,
and if we don't see results, you'll get no more out of us.' Don't you
see how that is, man? And how it weighs on us, worse even then the fear
that maybe we'll lose our poor salaries--though you might refuse to
believe anything so good of us? You don't need to talk to me like I was
Peter Harrigan's son. I was a spragger when I was ten years old, and I
ain't been out of the pits so long that I've forgot the feeling. I
assure you, the thing that keeps me awake at night ain't the fear of not
gettin' a living, for I give myself a bit of education, working nights,
and I know I could always turn out and earn what I need; but it's
wondering whether I'm spending the miners' money the best way, whether
maybe I mightn't save them a little misery if I hadn't 'a' done this or
had 'a' done that. When I come down on that sleeper last night, here's
what I was thinking, Tim Rafferty--all the time I listened to the train
bumping--'Now I got to see some more of the suffering, I got to let some
good men turn against us, because they can't see why we should get
salaries while they get the sack. How am I going to show them that I'm
working for them--working as hard as I know how--and that I'm not to
blame for their trouble?'"

Here Wauchope broke in. "There's no use talking any more. I see we're up
against it. We'll not trouble you, Moylan."

"You trouble me," cried Moylan, "unless you stand by the movement!"

The other laughed bitterly. "You'll never know what I do. It's the road
for me--and you know it!"

"Well, wherever you go, it'll be the same; either you'll be fighting for
the union, or you'll be a weight that we have to carry."

The young leader turned from one to another of the committee, pleading
with them not to be embittered by this failure, but to turn it to their
profit, going on with the work of building up the solidarity of the
miners. Every man had to make his sacrifices, to pay his part of the
price. The thing of importance was that every man who was discharged
should be a spark of unionism, carrying the flame of revolt to a new
part of the country. Let each one do his part, and there would soon be
no place to which the masters could send for "scabs."

SECTION 22.

There was one member of this committee whom Hal watched with especial
anxiety----Mary Burke. She had not yet said a word; while the others
argued and protested, she sat with her lips set and her hands clenched.
Hal knew what rage this failure must bring to her. She had risen and
struggled and hoped, and the result was what she had always said it
would be--nothing! Now he saw her, with eyes large and dark with
fatigue, fixed on this fiery young labour-leader. He knew that a war
must be going on within her. Would she drop out entirely now? It was the
test of her character--as it was the test of the characters of all of
them.

"If only we're strong enough and brave enough," Jim Moylan was saying,
"we can use our defeats to educate our people and bring them together.
Right now, if we can make the men at North Valley see what we're doing,
they won't go back beaten, they won't be bitter against the union,
they'll only go back to wait. And ain't that a way to beat the
bosses--to hold our jobs, and keep the union alive, till we've got into
all the camps, and can strike and win?"

There was a pause; then Mary spoke. "How're you meanin' to tell the
men?" Her voice was without emotion, but nevertheless, Hal's heart
leaped. Whether Mary had any hope or not, she was going to stay in line
with the rest of the ants!

Johann Hartman explained his idea. He would have circulars printed in
several languages and distributed secretly in the camp, ordering the men
back to work. But Jerry met this suggestion with a prompt no. The people
would not believe the circulars, they would suspect the bosses of having
them printed. Hadn't the bosses done worse than that, "framing up" a
letter from Joe Smith to balk the check-weighman movement? The only
thing that would help would be for some of the committee to get into the
camp and see the men face to face.

"And it got to be quick!" Jerry insisted. "They get notice to work in
morning, and them that don't be fired. They be the best men, too--men we
want to save."

Other members of the committee spoke up, agreeing with this. Said
Rusick, the Slav, slow-witted and slow-spoken, "Them fellers get mighty
damn sore if they lose their job and don't got no strike." And Zammakis,
the Greek, quick and nervous, "We say strike; we got to say no strike."

What could they do? There was, in the first place, the difficulty of
getting away from the hotel, which was being watched by the "spotters."
Hartman suggested that if they went out all together and scattered, the
detectives could not follow all of them. Those who escaped might get
into North Valley by hiding in the "empties" which went up to the mine.

But Moylan pointed out that the company would be anticipating this; and
Rusick, who had once been a hobo, put in: "They sure search them cars.
They give us plenty hell, too, when they catch us."

Yes, it would be a dangerous mission. Mary spoke again. "Maybe a lady
could do it better."

"They'd beat a lady," said Minetti.

"I know, but maybe a lady might fool them. There's some widows that came
to Pedro for the funerals, and they're wearin' veils that hide their
faces. I might pretend to be one of them and get into the camp."

The men looked at one another. There was an idea! The scowl which had
stayed upon the face of Tim Rafferty ever since his quarrel with Moylan,
gave place suddenly to a broad grin.

"I seen Mrs. Zamboni on the street," said he. "She had on black veils
enough to hide the lot of us."

And here Hal spoke, for the first time since Tim Rafferty had silenced
him. "Does anybody know where to find Mrs. Zamboni?"

"She stay with my friend, Mrs. Swajka," said Rusick.

"Well," said Hal, "there's something you people don't know about this
situation. After they had fired you, I made another speech to the men,
and made them swear they'd stay on strike. So now I've got to go back
and eat my words. If we're relying on veils and things, a man can be
fixed up as well as a woman."

They were staring at him. "They'll beat you to death if they catch you!"
said Wauchope.

"No," said Hal, "I don't think so. Anyhow, it's up to me"--he glanced at
Tim Rafferty--"because I'm the only one who doesn't have to suffer for
the failure of our strike."

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry I said that!" cried Tim, impulsively.

"That's all right, old man," replied Hal. "What you said is true, and
I'd like to do something to ease my conscience." He rose to his feet,
laughing. "I'll make a peach of a widow!" he said. "I'm going up and
have a tea-party with my friend Jeff Cotton!"

SECTION 23.

Hal proposed going to find Mrs. Zamboni at the place where she was
staying; but Moylan interposed, objecting that the detectives would
surely follow him. Even though they should all go out of the hotel at
once, the one person the detective would surely stick to was the
arch-rebel and trouble-maker, Joe Smith. Finally they decided to bring
Mrs. Zamboni to the room. Let her come with Mrs. Swajka or some other
woman who spoke English, and go to the desk and ask for Mary Burke,
explaining that Mary had borrowed money from her, and that she had to
have it to pay the undertaker for the burial of her man. The hotel-clerk
might not know who Mary Burke was; but the watchful "spotters" would
gather about and listen, and if it was mentioned that Mary was from
North Valley, some one would connect her with the kidnapped committee.

This was made clear to Rusick, who hurried off, and in the course of
half an hour returned with the announcement that the women were on the
way. A few minutes later came a tap on the door, and there stood the
black-garbed old widow with her friend. She came in; and then came looks
of dismay and horrified exclamations. Rusick was requesting her to give
up her weeds to Joe Smith!

"She say she don't got nothing else," explained the Slav.

"Tell her I give her plenty money buy more," said Hal.

"Ai! Jesu!" cried Mrs. Zamboni, pouring out a sputtering torrent.

"She say she don't got nothing to put on. She say it ain't good to go no
clothes!"

"Hasn't she got on a petticoat?"

"She say petticoat got holes!"

There was a burst of laughter from the company, and the old woman turned
scarlet from her forehead to her ample throat. "Tell her she wrap up in
blankets," said Hal. "Mary Burke buy her new things."

It proved surprisingly difficult to separate Mrs. Zamboni from her
widow's weeds, which she had purchased with so great an expenditure of
time and tears. Never had a respectable lady who had borne sixteen
children received such a proposition; to sell the insignia of her
grief--and here in a hotel room, crowded with a dozen men! Nor was the
task made easier by the unseemly merriment of the men. "Ai! Jesu!" cried
Mrs. Zamboni again.

"Tell her it's very, very important," said Hal. "Tell her I must have
them." And then, seeing that Rusick was making poor headway, he joined
in, in the compromise-English one learns in the camps. "Got to have!
Sure thing! Got to hide! Quick! Get away from boss! See? Get killed if
no go!"

So at last the frightened old woman gave way. "She say all turn backs,"
said Rusick. And everybody turned, laughing in hilarious whispers,
while, with Mary Burke and Mrs. Swajka for a shield, Mrs. Zamboni got
out of her waist and skirt, putting a blanket round her red shoulders
for modesty's sake. When Hal put the garments on, there was a foot to
spare all round; but after they had stuffed two bed pillows down in the
front of him, and drawn them tight at the waist-line, the disguise was
judged more satisfactory. He put on the old lady's ample if ragged
shoes, and Mary Burke set the widow's bonnet on his head and adjusted
the many veils; after that Mrs. Zamboni's own brood of children would
not have suspected the disguise.

It was a merry party for a few minutes; worn and hopeless as Mary had
seemed, she was possessed now by the spirit of fun. But then quickly the
laughter died. The time for action had come. Mary Burke said that she
would stay with what was left of Mrs. Zamboni, to answer the door in
case any of the hotel people or the detectives should come. Hal asked
Jim Moylan to see Edward, and say that Hal was writing a manifesto to
the North Valley workers, and would not be ready to leave until the
midnight train.

These things agreed upon, Hal shook hands all round, and the eleven men
left the room at once, going down stairs and through the lobby,
scattering in every direction on the streets. Mrs. Swajka and the
pseudo-Mrs. Zamboni followed a minute later--and, as they anticipated,
found the lobby swept clear of detectives.

SECTION 24.

Bidding Mrs. Swajka farewell, Hal set out for the railroad station. But
before he had gone a block from the hotel, he ran into his brother,
coming straight towards him.

Edward's face wore a bored look; his very manner of carrying the
magazine under his arm said that he had selected it in a last hopeless
effort against the monotony of Pedro. Such a trick of fate, to take a
man of important affairs, and immure him at the mercy of a maniac in a
God-forsaken coal-town! What did people do in such a hole? Pay a nickel
to look at moving pictures of cow-boys and counterfeiters?

Edward's aspect was too much for Hal's sense of humour. Besides, he had
a good excuse; was it not proper to make a test of his disguise, before
facing the real danger in North Valley?

He placed himself in the path of his brother's progress, and in Mrs.
Zamboni's high, complaining tones, began, "Mister!"

Edward stared at the interrupting black figure. "Mister, you Joe Smith's
brother, hey?"

The question had to be repeated before Edward gave his grudging answer.
He was not proud of the relationship.

"Mister," continued the whining voice, "my old man got blow up in mine.
I get five pieces from my man what I got to bury yesterday in
grave-yard. I got to pay thirty dollar for bury them pieces and I don't
got no more money left. I don't got no money from them company fellers.
They come lawyer feller and he say maybe I get money for bury my man, if
I don't jay too much. But, Mister, I got eleven children I got to feed,
and I don't got no more man, and I don't find no new man for old woman
like me. When I go home I hear them children crying and I don't got no
food, and them company-stores don't give me no food. I think maybe you
Joe Smith's brother you good man, maybe you sorry for poor widow-woman,
you maybe give me some money, Mister, so I buy some food for them
children."

"All right," said Edward. He pulled out his wallet and extracted a bill,
which happened to be for ten dollars. His manner seemed to say, "For
heaven's sake, here!"

Mrs. Zamboni clutched the bill with greedy fingers, but was not
appeased. "You got plenty money, Mister! You rich man, hey! You maybe
give me all them moneys, so I got plenty feed them children? You don't
know them company-stores, Mister, them prices is way up high like
mountains; them children is hungry, they cry all day and night, and one
piece money don't last so long. You give me some more piece moneys,
Mister----hey?"

"I'll give you one more," said Edward. "I need some for myself." He
pulled off another bill.

"What you need so much, Mister? You don't got so many children, hey? And
you got plenty more money home, maybe!"

"That's all I can give you," said the man. He took a step to one side,
to get round the obstruction in his path.

But the obstruction took a step also--and with surprising agility.
"Mister, I thank you for them moneys. I tell them children I get moneys
from good man. I like you, Mister Smith, you give money for poor
widow-woman--you nice man."

And the dreadful creature actually stuck out one of her paws, as if
expecting to pat Edward on the cheek, or to chuck him under the chin. He
recoiled, as from a contagion; but she followed him, determined to do
something to him, he could not be sure what. He had heard that these
foreigners had strange customs!

"It's all right! It's nothing!" he insisted, and fell back--at the same
time glancing nervously about, to see if there were spectators of this
scene.

"Nice man, Mister! Nice man!" cried the old woman, with increasing
cordiality. "Maybe some day I find man like you, Mr. Edward Smith--so I
don't stay widow-woman no more. You think maybe you like to marry nice
Slavish woman, got plenty nice children?"

Edward, perceiving that the matter was getting desperate, sprang to one
side. It was a spring which should have carried him to safety; but to
his dismay the Slavish widow sprang also--her claws caught him under the
arm-pit, and fastening in his ribs, gave him a ferocious pinch. After
which the owner of the claws went down the street, not looking back, but
making strange gobbling noises, which might have been the weeping of a
bereaved widow in Slavish, or might have been almost anything else.

SECTION 25.

The train up to North Valley left very soon, and Hal figured that there
would be just time to accomplish his errand and catch the last train
back. He took his seat in the car without attracting attention, and sat
in his place until they were approaching their destination, the last
stop up the canyon. There were several of the miners' women in the car,
and Hal picked out one who belonged to Mrs. Zamboni's nationality, and
moved over beside her. She made place, with some remark; but Hal merely
sobbed softly, and the woman felt for his hand to comfort him. As his
hands were clasped together under the veils, she patted him reassuringly
on the knee.

At the boundary of the stockaded village the train stopped, and Bud
Adams came through the car, scrutinising every passenger. Seeing this,
Hal began to sob again, and murmured something indistinct to his
companion--which caused her to lean towards him, speaking volubly in her
native language. "Bud" passed by.

When Hal came to leave the train, he took his companion's arm; he sobbed
some more, and she talked some more, and so they went down the platform,
under the very eyes of Pete Hanun, the "breaker of teeth." Another woman
joined them, and they walked down the street, the women conversing in
Slavish, apparently without a suspicion of Hal.

He had worked out his plan of action. He would not try to talk with the
men secretly--it would take too long, and he might be betrayed before he
had talked with a sufficient number. One bold stroke was the thing. In
half an hour it would be supper-time, and the feeders would gather in
Reminitsky's dining-room. He would give his message there!

Hal's two companions were puzzled that he passed the Zamboni cabin,
where presumably the Zamboni brood were being cared for by neighbours.
But he let them make what they could of this, and went on to the Minetti
home. To the astonished Rosa he revealed himself, and gave her husband's
message--that she should take herself and the children down to Pedro,
and wait quietly until she heard from him. She hurried out and brought
in Jack David, to whom Hal explained matters. "Big Jack's" part in the
recent disturbance had apparently not been suspected; he and his wife,
with Rovetta, Wresmak, and Klowoski, would remain as a nucleus through
which the union could work upon the men.

The supper-hour was at hand, and the pseudo-Mrs. Zamboni emerged and
toddled down the street. As she passed into the dining-room of the
boarding-house, men looked at her, but no one spoke. It was the stage of
the meal where everybody was grabbing and devouring, in the effort to
get the best of his grabbing and devouring neighbours. The black-clad
figure went to the far end of the room; there was a vacant chair, and
the figure pulled it back from the table and climbed upon it. Then a
shout rang through the room: "Boys! Boys!"

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