The meaning of that situation was plain enough. In a moment more the mob would be up the steps, and there would be shooting. And if once that happened, who could guess the end? Wrought up as the crowd was, it might not stop till it had fired every company building, perhaps not until it had murdered every company representative.
Hal had resolved to keep in the background, but he saw that to keep in the background at that moment would be an act of cowardice, almost a crime. He sprang forward, his cry rising above the clamour. “Stop, men! Stop!”
There was probably no other man in North Valley who could have got himself heeded at that moment. But Hal had their confidence, he had earned the right to be heard. Had he not been to prison for them, had they not seen him behind the bars? “Joe Smith!” The cry ran from one end of the excited throng to the other.
Hal was fighting his way forward, shoving men to one side, imploring, commanding silence. “Tim Rafferty! Wait!” And Tim, recognising the voice, obeyed.
Once clear of the press, Hal sprang upon the porch, where Cartwright did not attempt to interfere with him.
“Men!” he cried. “Hold on a moment! This isn’t what you want! You don’t want a fight!” He paused for an instant; but he knew that no mere negative would hold them at that moment. They must be told what they did want. Just now he had learned the particular words that would carry, and he proclaimed them at the top of his voice: “What you want is a union! A strike!”
He was answered by a roar from the crowd, the loudest yet. Yes, that was what they wanted! A strike! And they wanted Joe Smith to organise it, to lead it. He had been their leader once, he had been thrown out of camp for it. How he had got back they were not quite clear—but here he was, and he was their darling. Hurrah for him! They would follow him to hell and back!
And wasn’t he the boy with the nerve! Standing there on the porch of the hospital, right under the very noses of the bosses, making a union speech to them, and the bosses never daring to touch him! The crowd, realising this situation, went wild with delight. The English-speaking men shouted assent to his words; and those who could not understand, shouted because the others did.
They did not want fighting—of course not! Fighting would not help them! What would help them was to get together, and stand a solid body of free men. There would be a union committee, able to speak for all of them, to say that no man would go to work any more until justice was secured! They would have an end to the business of discharging men because they asked for their rights, of blacklisting men and driving them out of the district because they presumed to want what the laws of the state awarded them!
VI
How long could a man expect to stand on the steps of a company building, with a super and a pit-boss at his back, and organise a union of mineworkers? Hal realised that he must move the crowd from that perilous place.
“You’ll do what I say, now?” he demanded; and when they agreed in chorus, he added the warning: “There’ll be no fighting! And no drinking! If you see any man drunk tonight, sit on him and hold him down!”
They laughed and cheered. Yes, they would keep straight. Here was a job for sober men, you bet!
“And now,” Hal continued, “the people in the hospital. We’ll have a committee go in and see about them. No noise—we don’t want to disturb the sick men. We only want to make sure nobody else is disturbing them. Someone will go in and stay with them. Does that suit you?”
Yes, that suited them.
“All right,” said Hal. “Keep quiet for a moment.”
And he turned to the superintendent. “Cartwright,” said he, “we want a committee to go in and stay with our people.” Then, as the superintendent started to expostulate, he added, in a low voice, “Don’t be a fool, man! Don’t you see I’m trying to save your life?”
The superintendent knew how bad it would be for discipline to let Hal carry his point with the crowd; but also he saw the immediate danger—and he was not sure of the courage and shooting ability of bookkeepers and stenographers.
“Be quick, man!” exclaimed Hal. “I can’t hold these people long. If you don’t want hell breaking loose, come to your senses.”
“All right,” said Cartwright, swallowing his dignity.
And Hal turned to the men and announced the concession. There was a shout of triumph.
“Now, who’s to go?” said Hal, when he could be heard again; and he looked about at the upturned faces. There Were Tim and Wauchope, the most obvious ones; but Hal decided to keep them under his eye. He thought of Jerry Minetti and of Mrs. David—but remembered his agreement with “Big Jack,” to keep their own little group in the background. Then he thought of Mary Burke; she had already done herself all the harm she could do, and she was a person the crowd would trust. He called her, and called Mrs. Ferris, an American woman in the crowd. The two came up the steps, and Hal turned to Cartwright.
“Now, let’s have an understanding,” he said. “These people are going in to stay with the sick men, and to talk to them if they want to, and nobody’s going to give them any orders but the doctors and nurses. Is that right?”
“All right,” said the superintendent, sullenly.
“Good!” said Hal. “And for God’s sake have a little sense and stand by your word; this crowd has had all it can
