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."
For a moment or two the man continued to glare at Hal; but it appeared that he, like Bud Adams, had been given instructions. He turned abruptly and strode back into the office.
Hal stood for a bit, until he had made sure of his composure. After which he strolled over towards the scales. A difficulty had occurred to him for the first time--that he did not know anything about the working of coal-scales.
But he was given no time to learn. The tipple-boss reappeared. "Get out of here, fellow!" said he.
"But you invited me in," remarked Hal, mildly.
"Well, now I invite you out again."
And so the protestant resumed his vigil at the mandarin's palace-gates.
SECTION 13.
When the quitting-whistle blew, Mike Sikoria came quickly to join Hal and hear what had happened. Mike was exultant, for several new men had come up to him and offered to join the check-weighman movement. The old fellow was not sure whether this was owing to his own eloquence as a propagandist, or to the fine young American buddy he had; but in either case he was equally proud. He gave Hal a note which had been slipped into his hand, and which Hal recognised as coming from Tom Olson. The organiser reported that every one in the camp was talking check-weighman, and so from a propaganda standpoint they could count their move a success, no matter what the bosses might do. He added that Hal should have a number of men stay with him that night, so as to have witnesses if the company tried to "pull off anything." "And be careful of the new men," he added; "one or two of them are sure to be spies."
Hal and Mike discussed their programme for the second night. Neither of them were keen for sleeping out again--the old Slovak because of his bones, and Hal because he saw there were now several spies following them about. At Reminitsky's, he spoke to some of those who had offered their support, and asked them if they would be willing to spend the night with him in Edstrom's cabin. Not one shrank from this test of sincerity; they all got their blankets, and repaired to the place, where Hal lighted the lamp and held an impromptu check-weighman meeting--and incidentally entertained himself with a spy-hunt!
One of the new-comers was a Pole named Wojecicowski; this, on top of Zamierowski, caused Hal to give up all effort to call the Poles by their names. "Woji" was an earnest little man, with a pathetic, tired face. He explained his presence by the statement that he was sick of being robbed; he would pay his share for a check-weighman, and if they fired him, all right, he would move on, and to hell with them. After which declaration he rolled up in a blanket and went to snoring on the floor of the cabin. That did not seem to be exactly the conduct of a spy.
Another was an Italian, named Farenzena; a dark-browed and sinister-looking fellow, who might have served as a villain in any melodrama. He sat against the wall and talked in guttural tones, and Hal regarded him with deep suspicion. It was not easy to understand his English, but finally Hal managed to make out the story he was telling--that he was in love with a "fanciulla," and that the "fanciulla" was playing with him. He had about made up his mind that she was a coquette, and not worth bothering with, so he did not care any curses if they sent him down the canyon. "Don't fight for fanciulla, fight for check-weighman!" he concluded, with a growl.
Another volunteer was a Greek labourer, a talkative young chap who had sat with Hal at lunch-time, and had given his name as Apostolikas. He entered into fluent conversation with Hal, explaining how much interested he was in the check-weighman plan; he wanted to know just what they were going to do, what chance of success they thought they had, who had started the movement and who was in it. Hal's replies took the form of little sermons on working-class solidarity. Each time the man would start to "pump" him, Hal would explain the importance of the present issue to the miners, how they must stand by one another and make sacrifices for the good of all. After he had talked abstract theories for half an hour, Apostolikas gave up and moved on to Mike Sikoria, who, having been given a wink by Hal, talked about "scabs," and the dreadful things that honest workingmen would do to them. When finally the Greek grew tired again, and lay down on the floor, Hal moved over to Old Mike and whispered that the first name of Apostolikas must be Judas!
SECTION 14.
Old Mike went to sleep quickly; but Hal had not worked for several days, and had exciting thoughts to keep him awake. He had been lying quiet for a couple of hours, when he became aware that some one was moving in the room. There was a lamp burning dimly, and through half-closed eyes he made out one of the men lifting himself to a sitting position. At first he could not be sure which one it was, but finally he recognised the Greek.
Hal lay motionless, and after a minute or so he stole another look and saw the man crouching and listening, his hands still on the floor.
Through half opened eye-lids Hal continued to steal glimpses, while the other rose and tip-toed towards him, stepping carefully over the sleeping forms.
Hal did his best to simulate the breathing of sleep: no easy matter, with the man stooping over him, and a knife-thrust as one of the possibilities of the situation. He took the chance, however; and after what seemed an age, he felt the man's fingers lightly touch his side.
They moved down to his coat-pocket.
"Going to search me!" thought Hal; and waited, expecting the hand to travel to other pockets. But after what seemed an interminable period, he realised that Apostolikas had risen again, and was stepping back to his place. In a minute more he had lain down, and all was still in the cabin.
Hal's hand moved to the pocket, and his fingers slid inside. They touched something, which he recognised instantly as a roll of bills.
"I see!" thought he. "A frame-up!" And he laughed to himself, his mind going back to early boyhood--to a dilapidated trunk in the attic of his home, containing story-books that his father had owned. He could see them now, with their worn brown covers and crude pictures: "The Luck and Pluck Series," by Horatio Alger; "Live or Die," "Rough and Ready," etc.
How he had thrilled over the story of the country-boy who comes to the city, and meets the villain who robs his employer's cash-drawer and drops the key of it into the hero's pocket! Evidently some one connected with the General Fuel Company had read Horatio Alger!
Hal realised that he could not be too quick about getting those bills out of his pocket. He thought of returning them to "Judas," but decided that he would save them for Edstrom, who was likely to need money before long. He gave the Greek half an hour to go to sleep, then with his pocket-knife he gently picked out a hole in the cinders of the floor and buried the money as best he could. After which he wormed his way to another place, and lay thinking.
SECTION 15.
Would they wait until morning, or would they come soon? He was inclined to the latter guess, so he was only slightly startled when, an hour or two later, he heard the knob of the cabin-door turned. A moment later came a crash and the door was burst open, with the shoulder of a heavy man behind it.
The room was in confusion in a second. Men sprang to their feet, crying out; others sat up bewildered, still half asleep. The room was bright from an electric torch in the hands of one of the invaders. "There's the fellow!" cried a voice, which Hal instantly recognised as belonging to Jeff Cotton, the camp-marshal. "Stick 'em up, there! You, Joe Smith!"
Hal did not wait to see the glint of the marshal's revolver.
There followed a silence. As this drama was being staged for the benefit of the other men, it was necessary to give them time to get thoroughly awake, and to get their eyes used to the light. Meantime Hal stood, his hands in the air. Behind the torch he could make out the faces of the marshal, Bud Adams, Alec Stone, Jake Predovich, and two or three others.
"Now, men," said Cotton, at last, "you are some of the fellows that want a check-weighman. And this is the man you chose. Is that right?"
There was no answer.
"I'm going to show you the kind of fellow he is. He came to Mr. Stone here and offered to sell you out."
"It's a lie, men," said Hal, quietly.
"He took some money from Mr. Stone to sell you out!" insisted the marshal.
"It's a lie," said Hal, again.
"He's got that money now!" cried the other.
And Hal cried, in turn, "They are trying to frame something on me, boys!
Don't let them fool you!"
"Shut up," commanded the marshal; then, to the men, "I'll show you. I think he's got that money on him now. Jake, search him."
The store-clerk advanced.
"Watch out, boys!" exclaimed Hal. "They will put something in my pockets." And then to Old Mike, who had started angrily forward, "It's all right, Mike! Let them alone!"
"Jake, take off your coat," ordered Cotton. "Roll up your sleeves. Show your hands."