something. Munro used words—backed up by the threat of violence, of course—to get what he wanted.
“Listen, you men,” Hammersmith began. “You know you just got a raise, and you’re working ten-hour shifts now, not twelve.”
“You can’t buy us,” Rogan shot back. “Not with a measly ten cents more than what caused the miners over at the Lucky Lizard to go on strike.”
“You know it wasn’t just the pay that made those men decide to strike,” Hammersmith argued. “They had a cave-in too. They don’t trust Woodford to keep ’em safe anymore. You don’t have to worry about that here.”
“No?” Rogan asked. “Woodford claimed his mine was safe too, until the ceiling came down in the shaft!”
“You can see for yourself, damn it!” Hammersmith paused and forced himself to draw a deep breath. In a calmer tone, he went on. “Just look at the timbers and everything else in the Alhambra. You’ll see that it’s a safe place to work.”
“Any mine can have a cave-in,” one of the other miners pointed out. “It’s a dangerous job, no matter how careful you are.”
“Yeah!” another man called. “That’s why you ought to pay us better, Hammersmith. We’re riskin’ our lives down there!”
“Blast it, that’s true of any mine anywhere in the world!” Hammersmith said.
Rogan folded his arms across his brawny chest and glared at Hammersmith. “We’re goin’ on strike,” he declared. “We want two bits more an hour,
Again, they cheered. Some snatched their hats off and waved them over their heads. Others pumped their fists in the air. Hammersmith couldn’t believe what he was hearing and seeing. How had things gone so wrong so quickly and unexpectedly? It had never occurred to him that the strike at the Lucky Lizard might spread over here to the Alhambra!
Munro was going to be mad. Damned mad.
That was why Hammersmith had to put a stop to this
He stepped closer to Rogan and said between clenched teeth, “Get into that mine and get back to work, mister. Right now, or you’re fired!”
Rogan gave a stubborn shake of his head. “You can’t fire me,” he said. “I’m on strike!”
And with that, he spit in Hammersmith’s face.
That was more than Hammersmith could stand. With a howl of rage, he slammed a punch into Rogan’s jaw. The blow landed with a solid thud and knocked Rogan back a couple of steps, but the miner didn’t go down. He stayed on his feet, caught his balance, and roared in defiance as he charged Hammersmith.
The battle was on. A clash of titans, a poet might have called it. Actually, it was just two big men beating the hell out of each other. They slugged, they wrestled, they threw each other down and rolled on the ground. Hammersmith tried to knee Rogan in the groin, but Rogan twisted aside and took the blow on his thigh. Rogan tried to dig his thumbs into Hammersmith’s eyes, but Hammersmith caught one of them in his mouth and bit down hard, tasting blood as his teeth went all the way to the bone. Rogan screamed, pulled free, and flailed at Hammersmith. Blood from the injured thumb spattered on Hammersmith’s face as some of the punches got through and battered him.
All the while, the assembled miners cheered and shouted. Some of them grabbed the guard and took his rifle away from him, as well as the pistol on his hip. The man tore out of their grip and sprinted away, fearing for his life if he tried to stay and help Hammersmith.
The mine superintendent roared like a maddened bull, grabbed Rogan by the shoulders, and pitched him off to the side. Rolling to his feet, Hammersmith charged after Rogan and kicked him hard in the side, hard enough to maybe break a rib. Rogan grunted in pain and tried to get up, but Hammersmith’s foot thudded into his chest and knocked him onto his back. Hammersmith lifted his foot again, ready to drive the heel of his work boot down into Rogan’s face. Caught up in the grip of rage like he was, he didn’t care if he stomped the life out of the bastard.
Before Hammersmith could bring his foot down, the mob surged forward. Strong hands gripped him and pulled him back. He yelled in alarm as he felt himself lifted off his feet. He struck out, throwing wild punches as fast and hard as he could, in every direction. He knew that if he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the miners, he might be the one who wound up being stomped to death.
“Hold it!” The shouted command cut through the noisy confusion. “Let him go, damn it! If you kill him, you’ll be playin’ right into Munro’s hands!”
The orders came from Dave Rogan. He continued to shout as Hammersmith was shoved roughly back and forth. Gradually, the miners let go of him and moved back a little to give him some breathing room, although he was still surrounded. They looked like a pack of wild-eyed wolves, Hammersmith thought as he stood there with his chest heaving. His muscles already ached from the battering he had received, and his left eye was trying to swell shut.
“If you kill him, Munro will have the law on us,” Rogan said as he shouldered his way through the crowd to confront Hammersmith again. “It’s legal for us to strike, as long as we don’t murder anybody.” He sneered at Hammersmith. “No matter how much they might deserve killin’.”
“Why the hell do you hate me?” Hammersmith burst out, genuinely puzzled. “I never did anything to you!”
“You work for Munro. That’s enough. But I’ve heard plenty about you, Hammersmith. You’ve beaten men to death before for not obeying your orders. And you’ve worked them to death in the mines, damn you.”
Hammersmith wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. It came away bloody. “I never laid into anybody except lazy sons o’ bitches who had it comin’,” he insisted. “Either that, or they jumped me first.”
“Well, it don’t matter now. You won’t run roughshod over us anymore.” Rogan thumped his chest with a clenched fist. “We’re on strike. Go tell Munro that he’d better meet our demands, or else he won’t ever take any more ore outta this mine!”
