The Coal War (27 page)

“I've been telling the Adjutant-General what I thought of him.”

The other's eyes showed a flash. “I'd like to been there!” said he.

To which Hal answered, “If you want me to, I'll do the same thing to you.”

“How do you mean?”

“First tell me—are you the fellow who knocked down Louie the Greek when he came in here?”

So the geniality of the head-jailer suddenly dried up; he perceived that he had a dangerous man to deal with, and took him to one of the cells and shut him in with a bang.

The size of this cell was eight feet by seven, and there were five men already in it—three of them sitting on the floor. There were six such cells in a tier, and two tiers, one on top of the other, and every cell crowded in exactly the same way; in addition, boards had been laid on top of the second tier of cells, where the hoboes and drunks were packed. Hal found that Jailer Kerrigan had been correct in his description of the odor of the place.

All five of the men in the cell with Hal were strikers; four of them having been arrested for picketing in the early days. Hal introduced himself, and they shook hands all around; then, standing in the middle of the floor, Hal suddenly began to sing at the top of his voice:

“We'll win the fight today, boys,

We'll win the fight today,

Shouting the battle-cry of union!”

The song was taken up in chorus, and seemed to shake the very walls of the building. For a minute or two the city-jail was a glorious place to be in. But then one of the jailers, having marked the source of the trouble, rushed up with a bucket of ice cold water and hurled it into Hal's face, and the young man's revolutionary fervor was ingloriously extinguished!

[20]

It had been ten-twenty when Hal gave up his watch to the head-jailer; it was one-three by the same watch when it was returned to him. “However did you do it?” inquired Kerrigan, as he counted back Hal's money to him.

Then he added, somewhat nervously, “I hope you'll understand, Mr. Warner, it ain't my fault if this place is crowded.”

“You could resign,” remarked Hal.

“What good would that do?”

“It would give you a chance to protest and let the public know what is going on.”

“I'm sorry,” said Kerrigan, “but I've got a family.”

“Children?”

“Six of them.”

“And you choose to feed them on the blood of these prisoners?” And so, leaving the head-jailer with his jaw fallen down, Hal went out with his guards, and returned in the automobile to the American Hotel.

This time, however, it was not to the commanding officer, but to the Judge-Advocate. Major Cassels sat at his desk, tapping nervously with his pencil. “Well, Warner, you've had a little misadventure,” he remarked, with what was meant to be a genial smile. He was a foppish person with an affected accent, and his black-rimmed eye-glasses looked strange with his military uniform.

As Hal made no answer, he indicated a chair. “Have a seat.”

“I prefer to stand,” answered Hal.

“Now Warner,” began the other, “I want to have a talk with you, and see if we can't come to an understanding.”

“Barry Cassels,” demanded Hal, abruptly, “have you been inside that city-jail?”

“Now—”

“You are willing to pile men in there—to starve and suffocate them—men who you know are innocent of any crime—”

“I have something to say to you, Warner—”

“I have something to say to you, Barry Cassels, and mine is the more urgent. In the beginning, I was puzzled, I could hardly believe it. You are what the world calls a gentleman—a college graduate, a lawyer who has sworn an an oath; and you are setting out deliberately to ‘frame up' men whom you know to be innocent—”

The foppish Major's patience was beginning to wear through. “That's strong talk, young man!”

“Not half as strong as the situation deserves. I've been to the bottom of this matter, Cassels, and I know the knavery of what you and Wrightman are doing. I've read the statements you've given the press—one series of lies after another—”

The Major clenched his fist. “Be careful!” he cried.

“I say lies, Barry Cassels—lies! You were lying when you gave out that interview with Johann Hartman. You were lying when you wrote that statement for Joe Prince to sign. You were lying in everything you said about Louie the Greek. You were lying when you quoted the deputy commissioner of labor—I know, because he told me so. You were lying in the statements you made about Tim Rafferty. You were lying when you said there was typhoid at the Horton tent-colony—”

The Judge-Advocate had become livid with rage. “By God! I'll make you sweat for this!”

Hal laughed at him. “Come off, Cassels!” he said. “Don't I know that if you could have kept me in prison you'd have done it? You've sent for me to let me go, so hurry up!”

For a minute Cassels glared in silence. Then with an extreme effort he controlled himself. “We wish to give you another chance; that is provided—”

“Cut it out!” broke in Hal. “I'll not make terms with you.”

“You must understand, you are not to return to this district—”

“No, I'll not have to return—I'm not going away.”

“You're to be sent out on the next train, young man!”

“Oho! Like Mother Mary! You honor me, Cassels! Will you send your whole army to escort me, as you did for her?”

Major Cassels rang a bell. “Judson,” he said, to the soldier who answered, “take this man and put him on the train for Western City.”

“You'd better tell him to call out the artillery,” taunted Hal. “I'm popular with the strikers, you know.”

Evidently the Major agreed with Hal's judgment, for a detachment of thirty men marched down to the depot to see him off. And of course that was notice to the strikers that something important was happening. A crowd gathered, and when they saw who was being shipped away, they sang the union song and cheered vociferously. It warmed Hal's heart; it was his reward for the discomforts he had undergone!

[21]

Hal had refused to buy himself a railroad ticket. When he explained matters to the conductor, that official was vastly amused, and agreed to put him off at Sheridan for nonpayment of fare. But evidently a warning had been sent ahead, for there was a squad of militiamen on hand at Sheridan, and they had conceded the point of paying Hal's fare up to Western City.

Hal was content to go, for now was the time to reach the public. The newspapers would have an account of his arrest and deportation—the “Gazette” would force them to that. So the channels of publicity would be open to him; he could tell the public a little of why he was behaving in this disgraceful fashion. Such is the pass to which things have come in our land of freedom—the only way to let the public know about strike-outrages is to get one's self in jail!

Hal's train got in at seven o'clock in the morning, and he went directly to his brother's home. Edward was shaving, a rite which must not be interrupted; but Lucy May ran to welcome her wayward brother-in-law, clad in an embroidered pink dressing-gown. She caught him by the hands, and there were two little pearls of tears, one in the corner of each eye; it was evident that the Philadelphia lady had been in a state of tremendous excitement. “Oh, Hal! How terrible!” she exclaimed.

“It was jolly!” laughed Hal—“Just long enough not to be monotonous! How did you manage it?”

So Lucy May told her thrilling little story. She had got Hal's letter, with the dreadful account of the jail, and had read it aloud to Edward at the breakfast-table; and then, two or three hours later, at the dressmaker's, had come Billy Keating's telephone-message. Lucy May had gone nearly beside herself; she had called up her husband on the phone, and they had nearly broken up matrimony on the spot. For Edward had refused to do anything, declaring that the best thing for his brother would be to stay in jail and cool off!

So Lucy May had jumped into her limousine and sped to Hal's father, and read him the letter and told him the news. “Hal!” she exclaimed. “It was wonderful! Just as it used to be before he was ill!”

“Dear old Dad!” cried Hal.

“He was so angry! I'd never seen him so angry! He didn't stop to think that somebody might cut off his credit, and compel him to stop work on the new mine! He said, “That boy's coming out of jail!'—I said, ‘What will you do, Dad? See the Governor?'—‘What?' said he. ‘That nincompoop? Not much! I'll see the head of the firm!' And he called up Peter Harrigan!”

And Lucy May stopped. “What did he say?” asked Hal.

“I can't tell it, Hal—he used such bad language!”

The other laughed. “I'll remember the quotation marks. Go ahead!”

“It was dreadful, you know. I remembered what the doctor had said, about Dad's not getting excited; and really, he was terribly excited. And I couldn't forget it was Old Peter he was talking to. Afterwards Dad told me what he'd said.”

“Tell
me!
” said Hal.

“Dad went right for him. ‘I understand your tin soldiers down at Pedro have put my boy in jail!'

“‘Well,' said he, ‘why don't you keep your boy out of my coal-mines?'

“‘When my boy was in your coal-mines, he worked,' said Dad. ‘He earned his wages, and profits for you besides. Since then, if I understand the matter, he's been the guest of some people who pay rent for their land, and have a right to be there. Anyhow, I've called you up to tell you that my boy comes out of jail, and comes out quick!'

“‘Well,' said he, ‘I've got nothing to do with it—'

“‘Don't talk that rot to me! I want that boy out of jail!'

“Then Old Peter swore for a while; but finally he came down to business. ‘I won't have him making trouble down there in that strike. If I get him out, will you see that he keeps out of the district?'

“‘I'll make no promises,' said Dad. ‘I've tried my best to control the boy, but he's seen too much of the way you treat your working-people. And understand me, Peter Harrigan—you can abuse your Dagos and Hunkies, but by God, when you put Edward Warner's son in a cell you've gone too far! I'll give you just one hour to get that boy out, and if you don't I tell you right now there'll be trouble.'

“‘What will you do?' he asked; because, of course, he's not used to having men talk to him like that.

“‘I've got the letters my boy has been writing me,' said Dad. ‘I've got the inside story of that strike, and I'll send for the newspaper reporters and give out an interview that'll blow you and your tin soldiers to kingdom come! And understand, Harrigan, if I go on the war-path, I'll stay on. I see there's going to be a mass-meeting at the Auditorium tomorrow night—if my boy isn't up here in Western City before that, I'll go there and give them a talk that this city won't forget in a hundred years. You think it over now, and get busy!' And then he hung up the receiver.”

Hal chuckled with delight. “That's the way to talk to Old Peter!” he cried. “You're a jewel, Lucy May! I knew you'd get me out!”

And she put out her hands to him imploringly. “You aren't going back to the dreadful place, Hal!”

At which he became instantly grave. “Think of it, Lucy May! All the poor devils whose fathers don't happen to be rich, and who have no way to frighten Old Peter, and have to stay down there in that hell and starve and suffocate!

[22]

After this Hal had the customary argument with his brother. There was news in the morning paper which gave material for controversy—a “confession” by Dinardo, the Italian who was accused of having shot Pete Hanun. Here was the whole conspiracy revealed—an elaborate account of the shooting, how Rovetta had got him the gun, how Minetti and Hartman had paid him for the deed. These were Hal's friends from North Valley—the very people he had tried to persuade his brother to meet! A bunch of conspirators and assassins!

“It's an obvious frame-up,” declared Hal; but how far would that get him with Edward? How far would it get him with any of the friends he hoped to influence? The statement of Dinardo was published in full all over the state, and did its intended work of alienating sympathy from the strikers. When Dinardo came out of prison at the end of a couple of months, a broken man, he repudiated the so-called “confession”, declaring that when he had signed it he had been so nearly insane from lack of sleep that he had had no idea of what he was doing. But that, of course, was after the public had lost interest in the Hanun case, so the papers did not consider it “news”.

Hal went to see his father, to thank him for what he had done—and to have his heart torn with fresh grief. The old gentleman had disobeyed the warning of his doctors, and now his hands were trembling so that he could not hold a glass of water. Of course he pleaded with Hal to promise not to go back to that dreadful strike-country; and Hal had no way to meet his plea save to tell about the sights of horror he had seen.

It was a painful situation; Hal realized that there might be deeper complications than he could see. He was fighting one group of coal-companies, with money derived from another group. Could he expect the world to regard that as an altruistic proceeding? The Warner mines were in what was called the “Northern field”, and were union properties. But what, precisely, did that mean—how did Edward work it? Just now the Warner Company was “in clover”, as the phrase has it, because its big rivals were tied up in a strike; but suppose it were to occur to Old Peter to have the “Northern field” tied up as well! The Schultz Detective Agency would know how to arrange it, turning loose some “radical” agitators, telling the workers of the Warner Company that their union leaders were a lot of grafters, standing in with the bosses, and that now was the time for them to join their fellows in the South and get their full rights! A “sympathetic” strike! Edward wanted to know what would be Hal's attitude in such an event; the Harrigans would want to know also, the newspapers would want to know!