While this speech was being delivered, young Rovetta pushed his way through the crowd and drew Hal to one side. He had been down by the railroad-station and seen the morning train come in. From it had descended a crowd of thirty or forty men, of that “hard citizen” type which every miner in the district could recognise at the first glance. Evidently the company officials had been keeping the telephone-wires busy that night; they were bringing in, not merely this trainload of guards, but automobile loads from other camps—from the Northeastern down the canyon, and from Barela, in a side canyon over the mountain.
Hal told this news to the meeting, which received it with howls of rage. So that was the bosses’ plan! Hotheads sprang upon the cinder-heap, half a dozen of them trying to make speeches at once. The leaders had to suppress these too impetuous ones by main force; once more Hal gave the warning of “No fighting!” They were going to have faith in their union; they were going to present a solid front to the company, and the company would learn the lesson that intimidation would not win a strike.
So it was agreed, and the committee set out for the company’s office, Wauchope carrying in his hand the written demands of the meeting. Behind the committee marched the crowd in a solid mass; they packed the street in front of the office, while the heroic seven went up the steps and passed into the building. Wauchope made inquiry for Mr. Cartwright, and a clerk took in the message.
They stood waiting; and meanwhile, one of the office-people, coming in from the street, beckoned to Hal. He had an envelope in his hand, and gave it over without a word. It was addressed, “Joe Smith,” and Hal opened it, and found within a small visiting card, at which he stared. “Edward S. Warner, Jr.”!
For a moment Hal could hardly believe the evidence of his eyesight. Edward in North Valley! Then, turning the card over, he read, in his brother’s familiar handwriting, “I am at Cartwright’s house. I must see you. The matter concerns Dad. Come instantly.”
Fear leaped into Hal’s heart. What could such a message mean?
He turned quickly to the committee and explained. “My father’s an old man, and had a stroke of apoplexy three years ago. I’m afraid he may be dead, or very ill. I must go.”
“It’s a trick!” cried Wauchope excitedly.
“No, not possibly,” answered Hal. “I know my brother’s handwriting. I must see him.”
“Well,” declared the other, “we’ll wait. We’ll not see Cartwright until you get back.”
Hal considered this. “I don’t think that’s wise,” he said. “You can do what you have to do just as well without me.”
“But I wanted you to do the talking!”
“No,” replied Hal, “that’s your business, Wauchope. You are the president of the union. You know what the men want, as well as I do; you know what they complain of. And besides, there’s not going to be any need of talking with Cartwright. Either he’s going to grant our demands or he isn’t.”
They discussed the matter back and forth. Mary Burke insisted that they were pulling Hal away just at the critical moment! He laughed as he answered. She was as good as any man when it came to an argument. If Wauchope showed signs of weakening, let her speak up!
X
So Hal hurried off, and climbed the street which led to the superintendent’s house, a concrete bungalow set upon a little elevation overlooking the camp. He rang the bell, and the door opened, and in the entrance stood his brother.
Edward Warner was eight years older than Hal; the perfect type of the young American business man. His figure was erect and athletic, his features were regular and strong, his voice, his manner, everything about him spoke of quiet decision, of energy precisely directed. As a rule, he was a model of what the tailor’s art could do, but just now there was something abnormal about his attire as well as his manner.
Hal’s anxiety had been increasing all the way up the street. “What’s the matter with Dad?” he cried.
“Dad’s all right,” was the answer—“that is, for the moment.”
“Then what—?”
“Peter Harrigan’s on his way back from the East. He’s due in Western City tomorrow. You can see that something will be the matter with Dad unless you quit this business at once.”
Hal had a sudden reaction from his fear. “So that’s all!” he exclaimed.
His brother was gazing at the young miner, dressed in sooty blue overalls, his face streaked with black, his wavy hair all mussed. “You wired me you were going to leave here, Hal!”
“So I was; but things happened that I couldn’t foresee. There’s a strike.”
“Yes; but what’s that got to do with it?” Then, with exasperation in his voice, “For God’s sake, Hal, how much farther do you expect to go?”
Hal stood for a few moments, looking at his brother. Even in a tension as he was, he could not help laughing. “I know how all this must seem to you, Edward. It’s a long story; I hardly know how to begin.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Edward, drily.
And Hal laughed again. “Well, we agree that far, at any rate. What I was hoping was that we could talk it all over quietly, after the excitement was past. When I explain to you about conditions in this place—”
But Edward interrupted. “Really, Hal, there’s no use of such an argument. I have nothing to do with conditions in Peter Harrigan’s camps.”
The smile left Hal’s face. “Would you have preferred to have me investigate conditions in the Warner camps?” Hal had tried to suppress his irritation, but there was simply no way these two could get along. “We’ve had our arguments about these things, Edward, and you’ve always had the best of me—you could tell me I was a
