always I die and never get in automobile ride!’ We go down canyon, and I look round and see them mountains, and feel nice cool wind in my face, and I say, ‘Bully for you, Mister Bud, I don’t never forget this automobile. I don’t have such good time any day all my life.’ And he say, ‘Shut your face, you old wop!’ Then we come out on prairie, we go up in Black Hills, and they stop, and say, ‘Get out here, you sons o’ guns.’ And they leave us there all alone. They say, ‘You come back again, we catch you and we rip the guts out of you!’ They go away fast, and we got to walk seven hours, us fellers, before we come to a house! But I don’t mind that, I begged some grub, and then I got job mending track; only I don’t find out if you get out of jail, and I think maybe I lose my buddy and never see him no more.”

Here the old man stopped, gazing affectionately at Hal. “I write you letter to North Valley, but I don’t hear nothing, and I got to walk all the way on railroad track to look for you.”

How was it? Hal wondered. He had encountered naked horror in this coal-country⁠—yet here he was, not entirely glad at the thought of leaving it! He would miss Old Mike Sikoria, his hairy kiss and his grizzly-bear hug!

He struck the old man dumb by pressing a twenty-dollar bill into his hand. Also he gave him the address of Edstrom and Mary, and a note to Johann Hartman, who might use him to work among the Slovaks who came down into the town. Hal explained that he had to go back to Western City that night, but that he would never forget his old friend, and would see that he had a good job. He was trying to figure out some occupation for the old man on his father’s country-place. A pet grizzly!

Train-time came, and the long line of dark sleepers rolled in by the depot-platform. It was late⁠—after midnight; but, nevertheless, there was Old Mike. He was in awe of Hal now, with his fine clothes and his twenty-dollar bills; but, nevertheless, under stress of his emotion, he gave him one more hug, and one more hairy kiss. “Goodbye, my buddy!” he cried. “You come back, my buddy! I don’t forget my buddy!” And when the train began to move, he waved his ragged cap, and ran along the platform to get a last glimpse, to call a last farewell. When Hal turned into the car, it was with more than a trace of moisture in his eyes.

Postscript

From previous experiences the writer has learned that many people, reading a novel such as King Coal, desire to be informed as to whether it is true to fact. They write to ask if the book is meant to be so taken; they ask for evidence to convince themselves and others. Having answered thousands of such letters in the course of his life, it seems to the author the part of common sense to answer some of them in advance.

King Coal is a picture of the life of the workers in unorganised labour-camps in many parts of America, The writer has avoided naming a definite place, for the reason that such conditions are to be found as far apart as West Virginia, Alabama, Michigan, Minnesota, and Colorado. Most of the details of his picture were gathered in the last-named state, which the writer visited on three occasions during and just after the great coal-strike of 1913⁠–⁠14. The book gives a true picture of conditions and events observed by him at this time. Practically all the characters are real persons, and every incident which has social significance is not merely a true incident, but a typical one. The life portrayed in King Coal is the life that is lived today by hundreds of thousands of men, women and children in this “land of the free.”

The reader who wishes evidence may be accommodated. There was never a strike more investigated than the Colorado coal-strike. The material about it in the writer’s possession cannot be less than eight million words, the greater part of it sworn testimony taken under government supervision. There is, first, the report of the Congressional Committee, a government document of three thousand closely printed pages, about two million words; an equal amount of testimony given before the U.S. Commission on Industrial Relations, also a government document; a special report on the Colorado strike, prepared for the same commission, a book of 189 pages, supporting every contention of this story; about four hundred thousand words of testimony given before a committee appointed at the suggestion of the Governor of Colorado; a report made by the Rev. Henry A. Atkinson, who investigated the strike as representative of the Federal Council of the Churches of Christ in America, and of the Social Service Commission of the Congregational Churches; the report of an elaborate investigation by the Colorado state militia; the bulletins issued by both sides during the controversy; the testimony given at various coroners’ inquests; and, finally, articles by different writers to be found in the files of Everybody’s Magazine, the Metropolitan Magazine, the Survey, Harper’s Weekly, and Collier’s Weekly, all during the year 1914.

The writer prepared a collection of extracts from these various sources, meaning to publish them in this place; but while the manuscript was in the hands of the publishers, there appeared one document, which, in the weight of its authority, seemed to discount all others. A decision was rendered by the Supreme Court of the State of Colorado, in a case which included the most fundamental of the many issues raised in King Coal. It is not often that the writer of a novel of contemporary life is so

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