Hal found the old cripple in a state of perturbation. All that afternoon his telephone had been ringing; one person after another had warned him--some pleading with him, some abusing him. It was evident that among them were people who had a hold on the old man; but he was undaunted, and would not hear of Hal's going to stay at the hotel until train-time.
Then Keating returned, with an exciting tale to tell. Schulman, general manager of the "G. F. C.," had been sending out messengers to hunt for him, and finally had got him in his office, arguing and pleading, cajoling and denouncing him by turns. He had got Cartwright on the telephone, and the North Valley superintendent had laboured to convince Keating that he had done the company a wrong. Cartwright had told a story about Hal's efforts to hold up the company for money.
"Incidentally," said Keating, "he added the charge that you had seduced a girl in his camp."
Hal stared at his friend. "Seduced a girl!" he exclaimed.
"That's what he said; a red-headed Irish girl."
"Well, damn his soul!"
There followed a silence, broken by a laugh from Billy. "Don't glare at me like that. _I_ didn't say it!"
But Hal continued to glare, nevertheless. "The dirty little skunk!"
"Take it easy, sonny," said the fat man, soothingly. "It's quite the usual thing, to drag in a woman. It's so easy--for of course there always _is_ a woman. There's one in this case, I suppose?"
"There's a perfectly decent girl."
"But you've been friendly with her? You've been walking around where people can see you?"
"Yes."
"So you see, they've got you. There's nothing you can do about a thing of that sort."
"You wait and see!" Hal burst out.
The other gazed curiously at the angry young miner. "What'll you do?
Beat him up some night?"
But the young miner did not answer. "You say he described the girl?"
"He was kind enough to say she was a red-headed beauty, and with no one to protect her but a drunken father. I could understand that must have made it pretty hard for her, in one of these coal-camps." There was a pause. "But see here," said the reporter, "you'll only do the girl harm by making a row. Nobody believes that women in coal-camps have any virtue. God knows, I don't see how they do have, considering the sort of men who run the camps, and the power they have."
"Mr. Keating," said Hal, "did _you_ believe what Cartwright told you?"
Keating had started to light a cigar. He stopped in the middle, and his eyes met Hal's. "My dear boy," said he, "I didn't consider it my business to have an opinion."
"But what did you say to Cartwright?"
"Ah! That's another matter. I said that I'd been a newspaper man for a good many years, and I knew his game."
"Thank you for that," said Hal. "You may be interested to know there isn't any truth in the story."
"Glad to hear it," said the other. "I believe you."
"Also you may be interested to know that I shan't drop the matter until I've made Cartwright take it back."
"Well, you're an enterprising cuss!" laughed the reporter. "Haven't you got enough on your hands, with all the men you're going to get out of the mine?"
SECTION 9.
Billy Keating went out again, saying that he knew a man who might be willing to talk to him on the quiet, and give him some idea what was going to happen to Hal. Meantime Hal and Edstrom sat down to dinner with MacKellar. The family were afraid to use the dining-room of their home, but spread a little table in the upstairs hall. The distress of mind of MacKellar's wife and daughter was apparent, and this brought home to Hal the terror of life in this coal-country. Here were American women, in an American home, a home with evidences of refinement and culture; yet they felt and acted as if they were Russian conspirators, in terror of Siberia and the knout!
The reporter was gone a couple of hours; when he came back, he brought news. "You can prepare for trouble, young fellow."
"Why so?"
"Jeff Cotton's in town."
"How do you know?"
"I saw him in an automobile. If he left North Valley at this time, it was for something serious, you may be sure."
"What does he mean to do?"
"There's no telling. He may have you slugged; he may have you run out of town and dumped out in the desert; he may just have you arrested."
Hal considered for a moment. "For slander?"
"Or for vagrancy; or on suspicion of having robbed a bank in Texas, or murdered your great-grandmother in Tasmania. The point is, he'll keep you locked up till this trouble has blown over."
"Well," said Hal, "I don't want to be locked up. I want to go up to Western City. I'm waiting for the train."
"You may have to wait till morning," replied Keating. "There's been trouble on the railroad--a freight-car broke down and ripped up the track; it'll be some time before it's clear."
They discussed this new problem back and forth. MacKellar wanted to get in half a dozen friends and keep guard over Hal during the night; and Hal had about agreed to this idea, when the discussion was given a new turn by a chance remark of Keating's. "Somebody else is tied up by the railroad accident. The Coal King's son!"
"The Coal King's son?" echoed Hal.
"Young Percy Harrigan. He's got a private car here--or rather a whole train. Think of it--dining-car, drawing-room car, two whole cars with sleeping apartments! Wouldn't you like to be a son of the Coal King?"
"Has he come on account of the mine-disaster?"
"Mine-disaster?" echoed Keating. "I doubt if he's heard of it. They've been on a trip to the Grand Canyon, I was told; there's a baggage-car with four automobiles."
"Is Old Peter with them?"
"No, he's in New York. Percy's the host. He's got one of his automobiles out, and was up in town--two other fellows and some girls."
"Who's in his party?"
"I couldn't find out. You can see, it might be a story for the _Gazette_--the Coal King's son, coming by chance at the moment when a hundred and seven of his serfs are perishing in the mine! If I could only have got him to say a word about the disaster! If I could even have got him to say he didn't know about it!"
"Did you try?"
"What am I a reporter for?"