FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS
While Harley had been in no way responsible for Pelton’s murderous
attack upon Yesler, public opinion held him to account. The Pinkertons
who had, up till this time, been employed at the mines, were now moved
to the hotel to be ready for an emergency. A special train was held in
readiness to take the New Yorker out of the State in the event that the
stockman should die. Meanwhile, the harassing attacks of Ridgway
continued. Through another judge than Purcell, the absurd injunction
against working the Diamond King, the Mary K, and the Marcus Daly had
been dissolved, but even this advantage had been neutralized by the
necessity of giving back to the enemy the Taurus and the New York, of
which he had just possessed himself. All his life he had kept a
wheather-eye upon the impulsive and fickle public. There were times
when its feeling could be abused with impunity, and other times when
this must be respected. Reluctantly, Harley gave the word for the
withdrawal of his men from the territory gained. Ridgway pushed his
advantage home and secured an injunction, not only against the working,
but against the inspection of the Copper King and the Jim Hill. The
result of the Consolidated move had been in effect to turn over,
temporarily, its two rich mines to be looted by the pirate, and to make
him very much stronger than before with his allies, the unions. By his
own imprudence, Harley had made a bad situation worse, and delivered
himself, with his hands tied, into the power of the enemy.
In the days of turmoil that followed, Waring Ridgway’s telling blows
scored once and again. The morning after the explosion, he started a
relief fund in his paper, the Sun, for the families of the dead miners,
contributing two thousand dollars himself. He also insisted that the
Consolidated pay damages to the bereaved families to the extent of
twenty thousand dollars for each man killed. The town rang with his
praises. Mesa had always been proud of his success; had liked the
democratic spirit of him that led him to mix on apparently equal terms
with his working men, and had backed him in his opposition to the trust
because his plucky and unscrupulous fight had been, in a measure, its
fight. But now it idolized him. He was the buffer between it and the
trust, fighting the battles of labor against the great octopus of
Broadway, and beating it to a standstill. He was the Moses destined to
lead the working man out of the Egypt of his discontent. Had he not
maintained the standard of wages and forced the Consolidated to do the
same? Had he not declared an eight-hour day, and was not the trust
almost ready to do this also, forced by the impetus his example had
given the unions? So Ridgway’s agents whispered, and the union leaders,
whom he had bought, took up the burden of their tale and preached it
both in private talk and in their speeches.
In an attempt to stem the rising tide of denunciation that was
spreading from Mesa to the country at large, Harley announced an eight
hour day and an immense banquet to all the Consolidated employees in
celebration of the occasion. Ten thousand men sat down to the long
tables, but when one of the speakers injudiciously mentioned the name
of Ridgway, there was steady cheering for ten minutes. It was quite
plain that the miners gave him the credit for having forced the
Consolidated to the eight-hour day.
The verdict of the coroner’s jury was that Vance Edwards and the other
deceased miners had come to their death at the hands of the foreman,
Michael Donleavy, at the instigation of Simon Harley. True bills were
at once drawn up by the prosecuting attorney of Mesa County, an
official elected by Ridgway, charging Harley and Donleavy with
conspiracy, resulting in the murder of Vance Edwards. The billionaire
furnished bail for himself and foreman, treating the indictments merely
as part of the attacks of the enemy.
The tragedy in the Taurus brought to the surface a bitterness that had
hitherto not been apparent in the contest between the rival copper
interests. The lines of division became more sharply drawn, and every
business man in Mesa was forced to declare himself on one side or the
other. Harley scattered detectives broadcast and imported five hundred
Pinkertons to meet any emergency that might arise. The spies of the
Consolidated were everywhere, gathering evidence against the Mesa
Ore-producing Company, its conduct of the senatorial campaign, its
judges, and its supporters Criminal indictments flew back and forth
thick as snowflakes in a Christmas storm.
It began to be noticed that an occasional foreman, superintendent, or
mining engineer was slipping from the employ of Ridgway to that of the
trust, carrying secrets and evidence that would be invaluable later in
the courts. Everywhere the money of the Consolidated, scattered
lavishly where it would do the most good, attempted to sap the loyalty
of the followers of the other candidates. Even Eaton was approached
with the offer of a bribe.
But Ridgway’s potent personality had built up an esprit de corps not
easily to be broken. The adventurers gathered to his side were, for the
most part, bound to him by ties personal in their nature. They were
financial fillibusters, pledged to stand or fall together, with an
interest in their predatory leader’s success that was not entirely
measurable in dollars and cents. Nor was that leader the man to allow
the organization he had builded with such care to become disintegrated
while he slept. His alert eye and cheery smile were everywhere,
instilling confidence in such as faltered, and dread in those
contemplating defection.
He harassed his rival with an audacity that was almost devilish in its
unexpected ingenuity. For the first time in his life Simon Harley, the
town back on the defensive by a combination of circumstances engineered
by a master brain, knew what it was to be checkmated. He had not the
least doubt of ultimate victory, but the tentative success of the
brazen young adventurer, were gall and wormwood to his soul. He had
made money his god, had always believed it would buy anything worth
while except life, but this Western buccaneer had taught him it could
not purchase the love of a woman nor the immediate defeat of a man so
well armed as Waring Ridgway. In truth, though Harley stuck at nothing,
his success in accomplishing the destruction of this thorn in his side
was no more appreciable than had been that of Hobart. The Westerner
held his own and more, the while he robbed the great trust of its ore
under cover of the courts.
In the flush of success, Ridgway, through his lieutenant, Eaton, came
to Judge Purcell asking that a receiver be appointed for the
Consolidated Supply Company, a subsidiary branch of the trust, on the
ground that its affairs were not being properly administered. The
Supply Company had paid dividends ranging from fifteen to twenty-five
per cent for many years, but Ridgway exercised his right as a
stockholder to ask for a receivership. In point of fact, he owned, in
the name of Eaton, only one-tenth of one per cent of the stock, but it
was enough to serve. For Purcell was a bigoted old Missourian, as
courageous and obstinate as perfect health and ignorance could make
him. He was quite innocent of any legal knowledge, his own rule of law
being to hit a Consolidated head whenever he saw one. Lawyers might
argue themselves black in the face without affecting his serenity or
his justice.
Purcell granted the application, as well as a restraining order against
the payment of dividends until further notice, and appointed Eaton
receiver over the protests of the Consolidated lawyers.
Ridgway and Eaton left the court-room together, jubilant over their
success. They dined at a restaurant, and spent the evening at the
ore-producing company’s offices, discussing ways and means. When they
had finished, his chief followed Eaton to the doors, an arm thrown
affectionately round his shoulder.
“Steve, we’re going to make a big killing. I was never so sure of
anything in my life as that we shall beat Simon Harley at his own game.
We’re bound to win. We’ve got to win.”
“I wish I were as sure as you.”
“It’s hard pounding does it, my boy. We’ll drive him out of the Montana
copper-fields yet. We’ll show him there is one little corner of the U.
S. where Simon Harley’s orders don’t go as the last word.”
“He has a hundred dollars to your one.”
“And I have youth and mining experience and the inside track, as well
as stancher friends than he ever dreamed of,” laughed Ridgway, clapping
the other on the back. “Well, good night, Steve. Pleasant dreams, old
man.”
The boyish secretary shook hands warmly. “You’re a MAN, chief. If
anybody can pull us through it will be you.”
Triumphant confidence rang in the other’s answering laugh. “You bet I
can, Steve.”