King Coal

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Rosa and Jerry had insisted on coming, in spite of Hal's offer to spare
them. After them came the Bulgarian, Wresmak; then the Polacks, Klowoski
and Zamierowski. Hal found these difficult names to remember, but the
Polacks were not at all sensitive about this; they would grin
good-naturedly while he practised, nor would they mind if he gave it up
and called them Tony and Pete. They were humble men, accustomed all
their lives to being driven about. Hal looked from one to another of
their bowed forms and toil-worn faces, appearing more than ever sombre
and mournful in the dim light; he wondered if the cruel persecution
which had driven them to protest would suffice to hold them in line.

Once a newcomer, having misunderstood the orders, came to the front door
and knocked; and Hal noted that every one started, and some rose to
their feet in alarm. Again he recognised the atmosphere of novels of
Russian revolutionary life. He had to remind himself that these men and
women, gathered here like criminals, were merely planning to ask for a
right guaranteed them by the law!

The last to come was an Austrian miner named Huszar, with whom Olson had
got into touch. Then, it being time to begin, everybody looked uneasily
at everybody else. Few of them had conspired before, and they did not
know quite how to set about it. Olson, the one who would naturally have
been their leader, had deliberately stayed away. They must run this
check-weighman affair for themselves!

"Somebody talk," said Mrs. David at last; and then, as the silence
continued, she turned to Hal. "You're going to be the check-weighman.
You talk."

"I'm the youngest man here," said Hal, with a smile. "Some older fellow
talk."

But nobody else smiled. "Go on!" exclaimed old Mike; and so at last Hal
stood up. It was something he was to experience many times in the
future; because he was an American, and educated, he was forced into a
position of leadership.

"As I understand it, you people want a check-weighman. Now, they tell me
the pay for a check-weighman should be three dollars a day, but we've
got only seven miners among us, and that's not enough. I will offer to
take the job for twenty-five cents a day from each man, which will make
a dollar-seventy-five, less than what I'm getting now as a buddy. If we
get thirty men to come in, then I'll take ten cents a day from each, and
make the full three dollars. Does that seem fair?"

"Sure!" said Mike; and the others added their assent by word or nod.

"All right. Now, there's nobody that works in this mine but knows the
men don't get their weight. It would cost the company several hundred
dollars a day to give us our weight, and nobody should be so foolish as
to imagine they'll do it without a struggle. We've got to make up our
minds to stand together."

"Sure, stand together!" cried Mike.

"No get check-weighman!" exclaimed Jerry, pessimistically.

"Not unless we try, Jerry," said Hal.

And Mike thumped his knee. "Sure try! And get him too!"

"Right!" cried "Big Jack." But his little wife was not satisfied with
the response of the others. She gave Hal his first lesson in the
drilling of these polyglot masses.

"Talk to them. Make them understand you!" And she pointed them out one
by one with her finger: "You! You! Wresmak, here, and you, Klowoski, and
you, Zam--you other Polish fellow. Want check-weighman. Want to get all
weight. Get all our money. Understand?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Get committee, go see super! Want check-weighman. Understand? Got to
have check-weighman! No back down, no scare."

"No--no scare!" Klowoski, who understood some English, explained rapidly
to Zamierowski; and Zamierowski, whose head was still plastered where
Jeff Cotton's revolver had hit it, nodded eagerly in assent. In spite of
his bruises, he would stand by the others, and face the boss.

This suggested another question. "Who's going to do the talking to the
boss?"

"You do that," said Mrs. David, to Hal.

"But I'm the one that's to be paid. It's not for me to talk."

"No one else can do it right," declared the woman.

"Sure--got to be American feller!" said Mike.

But Hal insisted. If he did the talking, it would look as if the
check-weighman had been the source of the movement, and was engaged in
making a good paying job for himself.

There was discussion back and forth, until finally John Edstrom spoke
up. "Put me on the committee."

"You?" said Hal. "But you'll be thrown out! And what will your wife do?"

"I think my wife is going to die to-night," said Edstrom, simply.

He sat with his lips set tightly, looking straight before him. After a
pause he went on: "If it isn't to-night, it will be to-morrow, the
doctor says; and after that, nothing will matter. I shall have to go
down to Pedro to bury her, and if I have to stay, it will make little
difference to me, so I might as well do what I can for the rest of you.
I've been a miner all my life, and Mr. Cartwright knows it; that might
have some weight with him. Let Joe Smith and Sikoria and myself be the
ones to go and see him, and the rest of you wait, and don't give up your
jobs unless you have to."

SECTION 9.

Having settled the matter of the committee, Hal told the assembly how
Alec Stone had asked him to spy upon the men. He thought they should
know about it; the bosses might try to use it against him, as Olson had
warned. "They may tell you I'm a traitor," he said. "You must trust me."

"We trust you!" exclaimed Mike, with fervour; and the others nodded
their agreement.

"All right," Hal answered. "You can rest sure of this one thing--if I
get onto that tipple, you're going to get your weights!"

"Hear, hear!" cried "Big Jack," in English fashion. And a murmur ran
about the room. They did not dare make much noise, but they made clear
that that was what they wanted.

Hal sat down, and began to unroll the bandage from his wrist. "I guess
I'm through with this," he said, and explained how he had come to wear
it.

"What?" cried Old Mike. "You fool me like that?" And he caught the
wrist, and when he had made sure there was no sign of swelling upon it,
he shook it so that he almost sprained it really, laughing until the
tears ran down his cheeks. "You old son-of-a-gun!" he exclaimed.
Meantime Klowoski was telling the story to Zamierowski, and Jerry
Minetti was explaining it to Wresmak, in the sort of pidgin-English
which does duty in the camps. Hal had never seen such real laughter
since coming to North Valley.

But conspirators cannot lend themselves long to merriment. They came
back to business again. It was agreed that the hour for the committee's
visit to the superintendent should be quitting-time on the morrow. And
then John Edstrom spoke, suggesting that they should agree upon their
course of action in case they were offered violence.

"You think there's much chance of that?" said some one.

"Sure there be!" cried Mike Sikoria. "One time in Cedar Mountain we go
see boss, say air-course blocked. What you think he do them fellers? He
hit them one lick in nose, he kick them three times in behind, he run
them out!"

"Well," said Hal, "if there's going to be anything like that, we must be
ready."

"What you do?" demanded Jerry.

It was time for Hal's leadership. "If he hits me one lick in the nose,"
he declared, "I'll hit him one lick in the nose, that's all."

There was a bit of applause at this. That was the way to talk! Hal
tasted the joys of his leadership. But then his fine self-confidence met
with a sudden check--a "lick in the nose" of his pride, so to speak.
There came a woman's voice from the corner, low and grim: "Yes! And get
ye'self killed for all your trouble!"

He looked towards Mary Burke, and saw her vivid face, flushed and
frowning. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Would you have us turn and run
away?"

"I would that!" said she. "Rather than have ye killed, I would! What'll
ye do if he pulls his gun on ye?"

"Would he pull his gun on a committee?"

Old Mike broke in again. "One time in Barela--ain't I told you how I
lose my cars? I tell weigh-boss somebody steal my cars, and he pull gun
on me, and he say, 'Get the hell off that tipple, you old billy-goat, I
shoot you full of holes!'"

Among his class-mates at college, Hal had been wont to argue that the
proper way to handle a burglar was to call out to him, saying, "Go
ahead, old chap, and help yourself; there's nothing here I'm willing to
get shot for." What was the value of anything a burglar could steal, in
comparison with a man's own life? And surely, one would have thought,
this was a good time to apply the plausible theory. But for some reason
Hal failed even to remember it. He was going ahead, precisely as if a
ton of coal per day was the one thing of consequence in life!

"What shall we do?" he asked. "We don't want to back out."

But even while he asked the question, Hal was realising that Mary was
right. His was the attitude of the leisure-class person, used to having
his own way; but Mary, though she had a temper too, was pointing the
lesson of self-control. It was the second time to-night that she had
injured his pride. But now he forgave her in his admiration; he had
always known that Mary had a mind and could help him! His admiration was
increased by what John Edstrom was saying--they must do nothing that
would injure the cause of the "big union," and so they must resolve to
offer no physical resistance, no matter what might be done to them.

There was vehement argument on the other side. "We fight! We fight!"
declared Old Mike, and cried out suddenly, as if in anticipation of the
pain in his injured nose. "You say me stand that?"

"If you fight back," said Edstrom, "we'll all get the worst of it. The
company will say we started the trouble, and put us in the wrong. We've
got to make up our mind to rely on moral force."

So, after more discussion, it was agreed; every man would keep his
temper--that is, if he could! So they shook hands all round, pledging
themselves to stand firm. But, when the meeting was declared adjourned,
and they stole out one by one into the night, they were a very sober and
anxious lot of conspirators.

SECTION 10.

Hal slept but little that night. Amid the sounds of the snoring of eight
of Reminitsky's other boarders, he lay going over in his mind various
things which might happen on the morrow. Some of them were far from
pleasant things; he tried to picture himself with a broken nose, or with
tar and feathers on him. He recalled his theory as to the handling of
burglars. The "G. F. C." was a burglar of gigantic and terrible
proportions; surely this was a time to call out, "Help yourself!" But
instead of doing it, Hal thought about Edstrom's ants, and wondered at
the power which made them stay in line.

When morning came, he went up into the mountains, where a man may wander
and renew his moral force. When the sun had descended behind the
mountain-tops, he descended also, and met Edstrom and Sikoria in front
of the company office.

They nodded a greeting, and Edstrom told Hal that his wife had died
during the day. There being no undertaker in North Valley, he had
arranged for a woman friend to take the body down to Pedro, so that he
might be free for the interview with Cartwright. Hal put his hand on the
old man's shoulder, but attempted no word of condolence; he saw that
Edstrom had faced the trouble and was ready for duty.

"Come ahead," said the old man, and the three went into the office.
While a clerk took their message to the inner office, they stood for a
couple of minutes, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, and
turning their caps in their hands in the familiar manner of the lowly.

At last Mr. Cartwright appeared in the doorway, his small sparely-built
figure eloquent of sharp authority. "Well, what's this?" he inquired.

"If you please," said Edstrom, "we'd like to speak to you. We've
decided, sir, that we want to have a check-weighman."

"_What_?" The word came like the snap of a whip.

"We'd like to have a check-weighman, sir."

There was a moment's silence. "Come in here." They filed into the inner
office, and he shut the door.

"Now. What's this?"

Edstrom repeated his words again.

"What put that notion into your heads?"

"Nothing, sir; only we thought we'd be better satisfied."

"You think you're not getting your weight?"

"Well, sir, you see--some of the men--we think it would be better if we
had the check-weighman. We're willing to pay for him."

"Who's this check-weighman to be?"

"Joe Smith, here."

Hal braced himself to meet the other's stare. "Oh! So it's you!" Then,
after a moment, "So that's why you were feeling so gay!"

Hal was not feeling in the least gay at the moment; but he forebore to
say so. There was a silence.

"Now, why do you fellows want to throw away your money?" The
superintendent started to argue with them, showing the absurdity of the
notion that they could gain anything by such a course. The mine had been
running for years on its present system, and there had never been any
complaint. The idea that a company as big and as responsible as the "G.
F. C." would stoop to cheat its workers out of a few tons of coal! And
so on, for several minutes.

"Mr. Cartwright," said Edstrom, when the other had finished, "you know
I've worked all my life in mines, and most of it in this district. I am
telling you something I know when I say there is general dissatisfaction
throughout these camps because the men feel they are not getting their
weight. You say there has been no public complaint; you understand the
reason for this--"

"What is the reason?"

"Well," said Edstrom, gently, "maybe you don't know the reason--but
anyway we've decided that we want a check-weighman."

It was evident that the superintendent had been taken by surprise, and
was uncertain how to meet the issue. "You can imagine," he said, at
last, "the company doesn't relish hearing that its men believe it's
cheating them--"

"We don't say the company knows anything about it, Mr. Cartwright. It's
possible that some people may be taking advantage of us, without either
the company or yourself having anything to do with it. It's for your
protection as well as ours that a check-weighman is needed."

"Thank you," said the other, drily. His tone revealed that he was
holding himself in by an effort. "Very well," he added, at last. "That's
enough about the matter, if your minds are made up. I'll give you my
decision later."

This was a dismissal, and Mike Sikoria turned humbly, and started to the
door. But Edstrom was one of the ants that did not readily "step one
side"; and Mike took a glance at him, and then stepped back into line in
a hurry, as if hoping his delinquency had not been noted.

"If you please, Mr. Cartwright," said Edstrom, "we'd like your decision,
so as to have the check-weighman start in the morning."

"What? You're in such a hurry?"

"There's no reason for delay, sir. We've selected our man, and we're
ready to pay him."

"Who are the men who are ready to pay him? Just you two"

"I am not at liberty to name the other men, sir."

"Oh! So it's a secret movement!"

"In a way--yes, sir."

"Indeed!" said the superintendent, ominously. "And you don't care what
the company thinks about it!"

"It's not that, Mr. Cartwright, but we don't see anything for the
company to object to. It's a simple business arrangement--"

"Well, if it seems simple to you, it doesn't to me," snapped the other.
And then, getting himself in hand, "Understand me, the company would not
have the least objection to the men making sure of their weights, if
they really think it's necessary. The company has always been willing to
do the right thing. But it's not a matter that can be settled off hand.
I will let you know later."

Again they were dismissed, and again Old Mike turned, and Edstrom also.
But now another ant sprang into the ditch. "Just when will you be
prepared to let the check-weighman begin work, Mr. Cartwright?" asked
Hal.

The superintendent gave him a sharp look, and again it could be seen
that he made a strong effort to keep his temper. "I'm not prepared to
say," he replied. "I will let you know, as soon as convenient to me.
That's all now." And as he spoke he opened the door, putting something
into the action that was a command.

"Mr. Cartwright," said Hal, "there's no law against our having a
check-weighman, is there?"

The look which these words drew from the superintendent showed that he
knew full well what the law was. Hal accepted this look as an answer,
and continued, "I have been selected by a committee of the men to act as
their check-weighman, and this committee has duly notified the company.
That makes me a check-weighman, I believe, Mr. Cartwright, and so all I
have to do is to assume my duties." Without waiting for the
superintendent's answer, he walked to the door, followed by his somewhat
shocked companions.

SECTION 11.

At the meeting on the night before it had been agreed to spread the news
of the check-weighman movement, for the sake of its propaganda value. So
now when the three men came out from the office, there was a crowd
waiting to know what had happened; men clamoured questions, and each one
who got the story would be surrounded by others eager to hear. Hal made
his way to the boarding-house, and when he had finished his supper, he
set out from place to place in the camp, telling the men about the
check-weighman plan and explaining that it was a legal right they were
demanding. All this while Old Mike stayed on one side of him, and
Edstrom on the other; for Tom Olson had insisted strenuously that Hal
should not be left alone for a moment. Evidently the bosses had given
the same order; for when Hal came out from Reminitsky's, there was
"Jake" Predovich, the store-clerk, on the fringe of the crowd, and he
followed wherever Hal went, doubtless making note of every one he spoke
to.

They consulted as to where they were to spend the night. Old Mike was
nervous, taking the activities of the spy to mean that they were to be
thugged in the darkness. He told horrible stories of that sort of thing.
What could be an easier way for the company to settle the matter? They
would fix up some story; the world outside would believe they had been
killed in a drunken row, perhaps over some woman. This last suggestion
especially troubled Hal; he thought of the people at home. No, he must
not sleep in the village! And on the other hand he could not go down the
canyon, for if he once passed the gate, he might not be allowed to
repass it.

An idea occurred to him. Why not go _up_ the canyon? There was no
stockade at the upper end of the village--nothing but wilderness and
rocks, without even a road.

"But where we sleep?" demanded Old Mike, aghast.

"Outdoors," said Hal.

"_Pluha biedna_! And get the night air into my bones?"

"You think you keep the day air in your bones when you sleep inside?"
laughed Hal.

"Why don't I, when I shut them windows tight, and cover up my bones?"

"Well, risk the night air once," said Hal. "It's better than having
somebody let it into you with a knife."

"But that fellow Predovich--he follow us up canyon too!"

"Yes, but he's only one man, and we don't have to fear him. If he went
back for others, he'd never be able to find us in the darkness."

Edstrom, whose notions of anatomy were not so crude as Mike's, gave his
support to this suggestion; so they got their blankets and stumbled up
the canyon in the still, star-lit night. For a while they heard the spy
behind them, but finally his footsteps died away, and after they had
moved on for some distance, they believed they were safe till daylight.
Hal had slept out many a night as a hunter, but it was a new adventure
to sleep out as the game!

At dawn they rose, and shook the dew from their blankets, and wiped it
from their eyes. Hal was young, and saw the glory of the morning, while
poor Mike Sikoria groaned and grumbled over his stiff and aged joints.
He thought he had ruined himself forever, but he took courage at
Edstrom's mention of coffee, and they hurried down to breakfast at their
boarding-house.

Now came a critical time, when Hal had to be left by himself. Edstrom
was obliged to go down to see to his wife's funeral; and it was obvious
that if Mike Sikoria were to lay off work, he would be providing the
boss with an excuse for firing him. The law which provided for a
check-weighman had failed to provide for a check-weighman's body-guard!

Hal had announced his programme in that flash of defiance in
Cartwright's office. As soon as work started up, he went to the tipple.
"Mr. Peters," he said, to the tipple-boss, "I've come to act as
check-weighman."

The tipple-boss was a man with a big black moustache, which made him
look like the pictures of Nietzsche. He stared at Hal, frankly
dumbfounded. "What the devil?" said he.

"Some of the men have chosen me check-weighman," explained Hal, in a
business-like manner. "When their cars come up, I'll see to their
weights."

"You keep off this tipple, young fellow!" said Peters. His manner was
equally business-like.

So the would-be check-weighman came out and sat on the steps to wait.
The tipple was a fairly public place, and he judged he was as safe there
as anywhere. Some of the men grinned and winked at him as they went
about their work; several found a chance to whisper words of
encouragement. And all morning he sat, like a protestant at the
palace-gates of a mandarin in China, It was tedious work, but he
believed that he would be able to stand it longer than the company.

SECTION 12.

In the middle of the morning a man came up to him--"Bud" Adams, a
younger brother of the "J. P.," and Jeff Cotton's assistant. Bud was
stocky, red-faced, and reputed to be handy with his fists. So Hal rose
up warily when he saw him.

"Hey, you," said Bud. "There's a telegram at the office for you."

"For me?"

"Your name's Joe Smith, ain't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's what it says."

Hal considered for a moment. There was no one to be telegraphing Joe
Smith. It was only a ruse to get him away.

"What's in the telegram?" he asked.

"How do I know?" said Bud.

"Where is it from?"

"I dunno that."

"Well," said Hal, "you might bring it to me here."

The other's eyes flew open. This was not a revolt, it was a revolution!
"Who the hell's messenger boy do you think I am?" he demanded.

"Don't the company deliver telegrams?" countered Hal, politely. And Bud
stood struggling with his human impulses, while Hal watched him
cautiously. But apparently those who had sent the messenger had given
him precise instructions; for he controlled his wrath, and turned and
strode away.

Hal continued his vigil. He had his lunch with him; and was prepared to
eat alone--understanding the risk that a man would be running who showed
sympathy with him. He was surprised, therefore, when Johannson, the
giant Swede, came and sat down by his side. There also came a young
Mexican labourer, and a Greek miner. The revolution was spreading!

Hal felt sure the company would not let this go on. And sure enough,
towards the middle of the afternoon, the tipple-boss came out and
beckoned to him. "Come here, you!" And Hal went in.

The "weigh-room" was a fairly open place; but at one side was a door
into an office. "This way," said the man.

But Hal stopped where he was.

"This is where the check-weighman belongs, Mr. Peters."

"But I want to talk to you."

"I can hear you, sir." Hal was in sight of the men, and he knew that was
his only protection.

The tipple-boss went back into the office; and a minute later Hal saw
what had been intended. The door opened and Alec Stone came out.

He stood for a moment looking at his political henchman. Then he came
up. "Kid," he said, in a low voice, "you're overdoing this. I didn't
intend you to go so far."

"This is not what you intended, Mr. Stone," answered Hal.

The pit-boss came closer yet. "What you looking for, kid? What you
expect to get out of this?"

Hal's gaze was unwavering. "Experience," he replied.

"You're feeling smart, sonny. But you'd better stop and realise what
you're up against. You ain't going to get away with it, you know; get
that through your head--you ain't going to get away with it. You'd
better come in and have a talk with me."

There was a silence.

"Don't you know how it'll be, Smith? These little fires start up--but we
put 'em out. We know how to do it, we've got the machinery. It'll all be
forgotten in a week or two, and then where'll you be at? Can't you see?"

As Hal still made no reply, the other's voice dropped lower. "I
understand your position. Just give me a nod, and it'll be all right.
You tell the men that you've watched the weights, and that they're all
right. They'll be satisfied, and you and me can fix it up later."

"Mr. Stone," said Hal, with intense gravity, "am I correct in the
impression that you are offering me a bribe?"

In a flash, the man's self-control vanished. He thrust his huge fist
within an inch of Hal's nose, and uttered a foul oath. But Hal did not
remove his nose from the danger-zone, and over the fist a pair of angry
brown eyes gazed at the pit-boss. "Mr. Stone, you had better realise
this situation. I am in dead earnest about this matter, and I don't
think it will be safe for you to offer me violence."

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