King Coal | Page 7

after another, consigning
them to the fires of eternal perdition.
"I wanted to work while I was young," said he, "but now I'm cured, an'
fer good." The world had come to seem to him a place especially
constructed for the purpose of making him work, and every faculty he
possessed was devoted to foiling this plot. Sitting by a camp-fire near
the stream which ran down the valley, Hal had a merry time pointing
out to "Dutch Mike" how he worked harder at dodging work than other
men worked at working. The hobo did not seem to mind that,
however--it was a matter of principle with him, and he was willing to
make sacrifices for his convictions. Even when they had sent him to the
work-house, he had refused to work; he had been shut in a dungeon,
and had nearly died on a diet of bread and water, rather than work. If
everybody would do the same, he said, they would soon "bust things."
Hal took a fancy to this spontaneous revolutionist, and travelled with
him for a couple of days, in the course of which he pumped him as to
details of the life of a miner. Most of the companies used regular
employment agencies, as the guard had mentioned; but the trouble was,
these agencies got something from your pay for a long time--the bosses
were "in cahoots" with them. When Hal wondered if this were not

against the law, "Cut it out, Bo!" said his companion. "When you've
had a job for a while, you'll know that the law in a coal-camp is what
your boss tells you." The hobo went on to register his conviction that
when one man has the giving of jobs, and other men have to scramble
for them, the law would never have much to say in the deal. Hal judged
this a profound observation, and wished that it might be communicated
to the professor of political economy at Harrigan.
On the second night of his acquaintance with "Dutch Mike," their
"jungle" was raided by a constable with half a dozen deputies; for a
determined effort was being made just then to drive vagrants from the
neighbourhood--or to get them to work in the mines. Hal's friend, who
slept with one eye open, made a break in the darkness, and Hal
followed him, getting under the guard of the raiders by a foot-ball trick.
They left their food and blankets behind them, but "Dutch Mike" made
light of this, and lifted a chicken from a roost to keep them cheerful
through the night hours, and stole a change of underclothing off a
clothes-line the next day. Hal ate the chicken, and wore the
underclothing, thus beginning his career in crime.
Parting from "Dutch Mike," he went back to Pedro. The hobo had told
him that saloon-keepers nearly always had friends in the coal-camps,
and could help a fellow to a job. So Hal began enquiring, and the
second one replied, Yes, he would give him a letter to a man at North
Valley, and if he got the job, the friend would deduct a dollar a month
from his pay. Hal agreed, and set out upon another tramp up another
canyon, upon the strength of a sandwich "bummed" from a ranch-house
at the entrance to the valley. At another stockaded gate of the General
Fuel Company he presented his letter, addressed to a person named
O'Callahan, who turned out also to be a saloon-keeper.
The guard did not even open the letter, but passed Hal in at sight of it,
and he sought out his man and applied for work. The man said he
would help him, but would have to deduct a dollar a month for himself,
as well as a dollar for his friend in Pedro. Hal kicked at this, and they
bartered back and forth; finally, when Hal turned away and threatened
to appeal directly to the "super," the saloon-keeper compromised on a

dollar and a half.
"You know mine-work?" he asked.
"Brought up at it," said Hal, made wise, now, in the ways of the world.
"Where did you work?"
Hal named several mines, concerning which he had learned something
from the hoboes. He was going by the name of "Joe Smith," which he
judged likely to be found on the payroll of any mine. He had more than
a week's growth of beard to disguise him, and had picked up some
profanity as well.
The saloon-keeper took him to interview Mr. Alec Stone, pit-boss in
Number Two mine, who inquired promptly: "You know anything about
mules?"
"I worked in a stable," said Hal, "I know about horses."
"Well, mules is different," said the man. "One of my stable-men got the
colic the other day, and I don't