King coal, p.21
King Coal, page 21
“That was while he was running for election,” said MacKellar.
“Oh! I remember what Jeff Cotton said—that he was friendly to the miners in his speeches, and to the companies in his acts.”
“That’s the man,” said the other, drily.
“Well,” argued Hal, “oughtn’t I go to him, to give him a chance, at least? You can’t tell, he might have a heart inside him.”
“It isn’t a heart he needs,” replied MacKellar; “it’s a back-bone.”
“But surely I ought to put it up to him! If he won’t do anything, at least I’ll put him on record, and it’ll make another story for you, won’t it, Mr. Keating?”
“Yes, that’s true,” admitted the reporter. “What would you ask him to do?”
“Why, to lay the matter before the Grand Jury; to bring indictments against the North Valley bosses.”
“But that would take a long time; it wouldn’t save the men in the mine.”
“What might save them would be the threat of it.” MacKellar put in. “I don’t think any threat of Dick Barker’s would count for that much. The bosses know they could stop him.”
“Well, isn’t there somebody else? Shouldn’t I try the courts?”
“What courts?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Well,” said the Scotchman, “to begin at the bottom, there’s a justice of the peace.”
“Who’s he?”
“Jim Anderson, a horse-doctor. He’s like any other J.P. you ever knew—he lives on petty graft.”
“Is there a higher court?”
“Yes, the district court; Judge Denton. He’s the law-partner of Vagleman, counsel for the ‘G. F. C.’ How far would you expect to get with him?”
“I suppose I’m clutching at straws,” said Hal. “But they say that’s what a drowning man does. Anyway, I’m going to see these people, and maybe out of the lot of them I can find one who’ll act. It can’t do any harm!”
The three men thought of some harm it might do; they tried to make Hal consider the danger of being slugged Or shot. “They’ll do it!” exclaimed MacKellar. “And no trouble for them—they’ll prove you were stabbed by a drunken Dago, quarrelling over some woman.”
But Hal had got his head set; he believed he could put this job through before his enemies had time to lay any plans. Nor would he let any of his friends accompany him; he had something more important for both Edstrom and Keating to do—and as for MacKellar, he could not get about rapidly enough. Hal bade Edstrom go to the post-office and get the registered letter, and proceed at once to change the bills. It was his plan to make out affidavits, and if the officials here would not act, to take the affidavits to the Governor. And for this he would need money. Meantime, he said, let Billy Keating write out the check-weighman story, and in a couple of hours meet him at the American Hotel, to get copies of the affidavits for the Gazette.
Hal was still wearing the miner’s clothes he had worn on the night of his arrest in Edstrom’s cabin. But he declined MacKellar’s offer to lend him a business-suit; the old Scotchman’s clothes would not fit him, he knew, and it would be better to make his appeal as a real miner than as a misfit gentleman.
These matters being settled, Hal went out upon the street, where Pete Hanun, the breaker of teeth, fell in behind him. The young miner at once broke into a run, and the other followed suit, and so the two of them sped down the street, to the wonder of people on the way. As Hal had had practice as a sprinter, no doubt Pete was glad that the District Attorney’s office was not far away!
4. Mr. Richard Parker was busy, said the clerk in toe outer office; for which Hal was not sorry, as it gave him a chance to get his breath. Seeing a young man flushed and panting, the clerk stared with curiosity; but Hal offered no explanation, and the breaker of teeth waited on the street outside.
Mr. Parker received his caller in a couple of minutes. He was a well-fed gentleman with generous neck and chin, freshly shaved and rubbed with talcum powder. His clothing was handsome, his linen immaculate; one got the impression of a person who “did himself well.” There were papers on his desk, and he looked preoccupied.
“Well?” said he, with a swift glance at the young miner.
“I understand that I am speaking to the District Attorney of Pedro County?”
“That’s right.”
“Mr. Parker, have you given any attention to the circumstances of the North Valley disaster?”
“No,” said Mr. Parker. “Why?”
“I have just come from North Valley, and I can give you information which may be of interest to you. There are a hundred and seven people entombed in the mine, and the company officials have sealed it, and are sacrificing those lives.”
The other put down the correspondence, and made an examination of his caller from under his heavy eyelids. “How do you know this?”
“I left there only a few hours ago. The facts are known to all the workers in the camp.”
“You are speaking from what you heard?”
“I am speaking from what I know at first hand. I saw the disaster, I saw the pit-mouth boarded over and covered with canvas. I know a man who was driven out of camp this morning for complaining about the delay in starting the fan. It has been over three days since the explosion, and still nothing has been done.”
Mr. Parker proceeded to fire a series of questions, in the sharp, suspicious manner customary to prosecuting officials. But Hal did not mind that; it was the man’s business to make sure.
Presently he demanded to know how he could get corroboration of Hal’s statements.
“You’ll have to go up there,” was the reply.
“You say the facts are known to the men. Give me the names of some of them.”
“I have no authority to give their names, Mr. Parker.”
“What authority do you need? They will tell me, won’t they?”
“They may, and they may not. One man has already lost his job; not every man cares to lose his job.”
“You expect me to go up there on your bare say-so?”
“I offer you more than my say-so. I offer an affidavit.”
“But what do I know about you?”
“You know that I worked in North Valley—or you can verify the fact by using the telephone. My name is Joe Smith, and I was a miner’s helper in Number Two.”
But that was not sufficient, said Mr. Parker; his time was valuable, and before he took a trip to North Valley he must have the names of witnesses who would corroborate these statements.
“I offer you an affidavit!” exclaimed Hal. “I say that I have knowledge that a crime is being committed—that a hundred and seven human lives are being sacrificed. You don’t consider that a sufficient reason for even making inquiry?”
The District Attorney answered again that he desired to do his duty, he desired to protect the workers in their rights; but he could not afford to go off on a “wild goose chase,” he must have the names of witnesses. And Hal found himself wondering. Was the man merely taking the first pretext for doing nothing? Or could it be that an official of the state would go as far as to help the company by listing the names of “trouble-makers”?
In spite of his distrust, Hal was resolved to give the man every chance he could. He went over the whole story of the disaster. He took Mr. Parker up to the camp, showed him the agonised women and terrified children crowding about the pit-mouth, driven back with clubs and revolvers. He named family after family, widows and mothers and orphans. He told of the miners clamouring for a chance to risk their lives to save their fellows. He let his own feelings sweep him along; he pleaded with fervour for his suffering friends.
“Young man,” said the other, breaking in upon his eloquence, “how long have you been working in North Valley?”
“About ten weeks.”
“How long have you been working in coal-mines?”
“That was my first experience.”
“And you think that in ten weeks you have learned enough to entitle you to bring a charge of ‘murder’ against men who have spent their lives in learning the business of mining?”
“As I have told you,” exclaimed Hal, “it’s not merely my opinion; it’s the opinion of the oldest and most experienced of the miners. I tell you no effort whatever is being made to save those men! The bosses care nothing about their men! One of them, Alec Stone, was heard by a crowd of people to say, ‘Damn the men! Save the mules!’”
“Everybody up there is excited,” declared the other. “Nobody can think straight at present—you can’t think straight yourself. If the mine’s on fire, and if the fire is spreading to such an extent that it can’t be put out—”
“But, Mr. Parker, how can you say that it’s spreading to such an extent?”
“Well, how can you say that it isn’t?”
There was a pause. “I understand there’s a deputy mine-inspector up there,” said the District Attorney, suddenly. “What’s his name?”
“Carmichael,” said Hal.
“Well, and what does he say about it?”
“It was for appealing to him that the miner, Huszar, was turned out of camp.”
“Well,” said Mr. Parker—and there came a note into his voice by which Hal knew that he had found the excuse he sought—“Well, it’s Carmichael’s business, and I have no right to butt in on it. If he comes to me and asks for indictments, I’ll act—but not otherwise. That’s all I have to say about it.”
And Hal rose. “Very well, Mr. Parker,” said he. “I have put the facts before you. I was told you wouldn’t do anything, but I wanted to give you a chance. Now I’m going to ask the Governor for your removal!” And with these words the young miner strode out of the office.
5. Hal went down the street to the American Hotel, where there was a public stenographer. When this young woman discovered the nature of the material he proposed to dictate, her fingers trembled visibly; but she did not refuse the task, and Hal proceeded to set forth the circumstances of the sealing of the pit-mouth of Number One Mine at North Valley, and to pray for warrants for the arrest of Enos Cartwright and Alec Stone. Then he gave an account of how he had been selected as check-weighman and been refused access to the scales; and with all the legal phraseology he could rake up, he prayed for the arrest of Enos Cartwright and James Peters, superintendent and tipple-boss at North Valley, for these offences. In another affidavit he narrated how Jeff Cotton, camp-marshal, had seized him at night, mistreated him, and shut him in prison for thirty-six hours without warrant or charge; also how Cotton, Pete Hanun, and two other parties by name unknown, had illegally driven him from the town of North Valley, threatening him with violence; for which he prayed the arrest of Jeff Cotton, Pete Hanun, and the two parties unknown.
Before this task was finished, Billy Keating came in, bringing the twenty-five dollars which Edstrom had got from the post-office. They found a notary public, before whom Hal made oath to each document; and when these had been duly inscribed and stamped with the seal of the state, he gave carbon copies to Keating, who hurried off to catch a mail-train which was just due. Billy would not trust such things to the local post-office; for Pedro was the hell of a town, he declared. As they went out on the street again they noticed that their body-guard had been increased by another husky-looking personage, who made no attempt to conceal what he was doing.
Hal went around the corner to an office bearing the legend, “J.W. Anderson, Justice of the Peace.”
Jim Anderson, the horse-doctor, sat at his desk within. He had evidently chewed tobacco before he assumed the ermine, and his reddish-coloured moustache still showed the stains. Hal observed such details, trying to weigh his chances of success. He presented the affidavit describing his treatment in North Valley, and sat waiting while His Honour read it through with painful slowness.
“Well,” said the man, at last, “what do you want?”
“I want a warrant for Jeff Cotton’s arrest.”
The other studied him for a minute. “No, young fellow,” said he. “You can’t get no such warrant here.”
“Why not?”
“Because Cotton’s a deputy-sheriff; he had a right to arrest you.”
“To arrest me without a warrant?”
“How do you know he didn’t have a warrant?”
“He admitted to me that he didn’t.”
“Well, whether he had a warrant or not, it was his business to keep order in the camp.”
“You mean he can do anything he pleases in the camp?”
“What I mean is, it ain’t my business to interfere. Why didn’t you see Si Adams, up to the camp?”
“They didn’t give me any chance to see him.”
“Well,” replied the other, “there’s nothing I can do for you. You can see that for yourself. What kind of discipline could they keep in them camps if any fellow that had a kick could come down here and have the marshal arrested?”
“Then a camp-marshal can act without regard to the law?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Suppose he had committed murder—would you give a warrant for that?”
“Yes, of course, if it was murder.”
“And if you knew that he was in the act of committing murder in a coal-camp—would you try to stop him?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then here’s another affidavit,” said Hal; and he produced the one about the sealing of the mine. There was silence while Justice Anderson read it through.
But again he shook his head. “No, you can’t get no such warrants here.”
“Why not?”
“Because it ain’t my business to run a coal-mine. I don’t understand it, and I’d make a fool of myself if I tried to tell them people how to run their business.”
Hal argued with him. Could company officials in charge of a coal-mine commit any sort of outrage upon their employés, and call it running their business? Their control of the mine in such an emergency as this meant the power of life and death over a hundred and seven men and boys; could it be that the law had nothing to say in such a situation? But Mr. Anderson only shook his head; it was not his business to interfere. Hal might go up to the court-house and see Judge Denton about it. So Hal gathered up his affidavits and went out to the street again—where there were now three husky-looking personages waiting to escort him.
6. The district court was in session and Hal sat for a while in the court-room, watching Judge Denton. Here was another prosperous and well-fed appearing gentleman, with a rubicund visage shining over the top of his black silk robe. The young miner found himself regarding both the robe and the visage with suspicion. Could it be that Hal was becoming cynical, and losing his faith in his fellow man? What he thought of, in connection with the Judge’s appearance, was that there was a living to be made sitting on the bench, while one’s partner appeared before the bench as coal-company counsel!
In an interval of the proceedings, Hal spoke to the clerk, and was told that he might see the judge at four-thirty; but a few minutes later Pete Hanun came in and whispered to this clerk. The clerk looked at Hal, then he went up and whispered to the Judge. At four-thirty, when the court was declared adjourned, the Judge rose and disappeared into his private office; and when Hal applied to the clerk, the latter brought out the message that Judge Denton was too busy to see him.
But Hal was not to be disposed of in that easy fashion. There was a side door to the court-room, with a corridor beyond it, and while he stood arguing with the clerk he saw the rubicund visage of the Judge flit past.
He darted in pursuit. He did not shout or make a disturbance; but when he was close behind his victim, he said, quietly, “Judge Denton, I appeal to you for justice!”
The Judge turned and looked at him, his countenance showing annoyance. “What do you want?”
It was a ticklish moment, for Pete Hanun was at Hal’s heels, and it would have needed no more than a nod from the Judge to cause him to collar Hal. But the Judge, taken by surprise, permitted himself to parley with the young miner; and the detective hesitated, and finally fell back a step or two.
Hal repeated his appeal. “Your Honour, there are a hundred and seven men and boys now dying up at the North Valley mine. They are being murdered, and I am trying to save their lives!”
“Young man,” said the Judge, “I have an urgent engagement down the street.”
“Very well,” replied Hal, “I will walk with you and tell you as you go.” Nor did he give “His Honour” a chance to say whether this arrangement was pleasing to him; he set out by his side, with Pete Hanun and the other two men some ten yards in the rear.
Hal told the story as he had told it to Mr. Richard Parker; and he received the same response. Such matters were not easy to decide about; they were hardly a Judge’s business. There was a state official on the ground, and it was for him to decide if there was violation of law.
Hal repeated his statement that a man who made a complaint to this official had been thrown out of camp. “And I was thrown out also, your Honour.”
“What for?”
“Nobody told me what for.”
“Tut, tut, young man! They don’t throw men out without telling them the reason!”
“But they do, your Honour! Shortly before that they locked me up in jail, and held me for thirty-six hours without the slightest show of authority.”
“You must have been doing something!”
“What I had done was to be chosen by a committee of miners to act as their check-weighman.”
“Their check-weighman?”
“Yes, your Honour. I am informed there’s a law providing that when the men demand a check-weighman, and offer to pay for him, the company must permit him to inspect the weights. Is that correct?”
“It is, I believe.”
“And there’s a penalty for refusing?”
