Hal did not look back, but turned into the company-store. “North Valley
Trading Company” read the sign over the door; within was a Serbian woman
pointing out what she wanted to buy, and two little Lithuanian girls
watching the weighing of a pound of sugar. Hal strolled up to the person
who was doing the weighing, a middle-aged man with a yellow moustache
stained with tobacco-juice. “Morning, Judge.”
“Huh!” was the reply from Silas Adams, justice of the peace in the town
of North Valley.
“Judge,” said Hal, “what do you think about the election?”
“I don’t think about it,” said the other. “Busy weighin’ sugar.”
“Anybody round here going to vote for MacDougall?”
“They better not tell me if they are!”
“What?” smiled Hal. “In this free American republic?”
“In this part of the free American republic a man is free to dig coal,
but not to vote for a skunk like MacDougall.” Then, having tied up the
sugar, the “J. P.” whittled off a fresh chew from his plug, and turned
to Hal. “What’ll you have?”
Hal purchased half a pound of dried peaches, so that he might have an
excuse to loiter, and be able to keep time with the jaws of the Judge.
While the order was being filled, he seated himself upon the counter.
“You know,” said he, “I used to work in a grocery.”
“That so? Where at?”
“Peterson & Co., in American City.” Hal had told this so often that he
had begun to believe it.
“Pay pretty good up there?”
“Yes, pretty fair.” Then, realising that he had no idea what would
constitute good pay in a grocery, Hal added, quickly, “Got a bad wrist
here!”
“That so?” said the other.
He did not show much sociability; but Hal persisted, refusing to believe
that any one in a country store would miss an opening to discuss
politics, even with a miner’s helper. “Tell me,” said he, “just what is
the matter with MacDougall?”
“The matter with him,” said the Judge, “is that the company’s against
him.” He looked hard at the young miner. “You meddlin’ in politics?” he
growled. But the young miner’s gay brown eyes showed only appreciation
of the earlier response; so the “J. P.” was tempted into specifying the
would-be congressman’s vices. Thus conversation started; and pretty soon
the others in the store joined in--“Bob” Johnson, bookkeeper and
post-master, and “Jake” Predovich, the Galician Jew who was a member of
the local school-board, and knew the words for staple groceries in
fifteen languages.
Hal listened to an exposition of the crimes of the political opposition
in Pedro County. Their candidate, MacDougall, had come to the state as a
“tin-horn gambler,” yet now he was going around making speeches in
churches, and talking about the moral sentiment of the community. “And
him with a district chairman keeping three families in Pedro!” declared
Si Adams.
“Well,” ventured Hal, “if what I hear is true, the Republican chairman
isn’t a plaster saint. They say he was drunk at the convention--”
“Maybe so,” said the “J. P.” “But we ain’t playin’ for the prohibition
vote; and we ain’t playin’ for the labour vote--tryin’ to stir up the
riff-raff in these coal-camps, promisin’ ’em high wages an’ short hours.
Don’t he know he can’t get it for ’em? But he figgers he’ll go off to
Washington and leave us here to deal with the mess he’s stirred up!”
“Don’t you fret,” put in Bob Johnson--“he ain’t goin’ to no Washin’ton.”
The other two agreed, and Hal ventured again, “He says you stuff the
ballot-boxes.”
“What do you suppose his crowd is doin’ in the cities? We got to meet
’em some way, ain’t we?”
“Oh, I see,” said Hal, naïvely. “You stuff them worse!”
“Sometimes we stuff the boxes, and sometimes we stuff the voters.” There
was an appreciative titter from the others, and the “J. P.” was moved to
reminiscence. “Two years ago I was election clerk, over to Sheridan, and
we found we’d let ’em get ahead of us--they had carried the whole state.
‘By God,’ said Alf. Raymond, ‘we’ll show ’em a trick from the
coal-counties! And there won’t be no recount business either!’ So we
held back our returns till the rest had come in, and when we seen how
many votes we needed, we wrote ’em down. And that settled it.”
“That seems a simple method,” remarked Hal. “They’ll have to get up
early to beat Alf.”
“You bet you!” said Si, with the complacency of one of the gang. “They
call this county the ‘Empire of Raymond.’”
“It must be a cinch,” said Hal--“being the sheriff, and having the
naming of so many deputies as they need in these coal-camps!”
“Yes,” agreed the other. “And there’s his wholesale liquor business,
too. If you want a license in Pedro county, you not only vote for Alf,
but you pay your bills on time!”
“Must be a fortune in that!” remarked Hal; and the Judge, the
Post-master and the School-commissioner appeared like children listening
to a story of a feast. “You bet you!”
“I suppose it takes money to run politics in this county,” Hal added.
“Well, Alf don’t put none of it up, you can bet! That’s the company’s
job.”
This from the Judge; and the School-commissioner added, “De coin in dese
camps is beer.”
“Oh, I see!” laughed Hal. “The companies buy Alf’s beer, and use it to
get him votes!”
“Sure thing!” said the Post-master.
At this moment he happened to reach into his pocket for a cigar, and Hal
observed a silver shield on the breast of his waistcoat. “That a
deputy’s badge?” he inquired, and then turned to examine the
School-commissioner’s costume. “Where’s yours?”
“I git mine ven election comes,” said Jake, with a grin.
“And yours, Judge?”
“I’m a justice of the peace, young feller,” said Silas, with dignity.
Leaning round, and observing a bulge on the right hip of the
School-commissioner, Hal put out his hand towards it. Instinctively the
other moved his hand to the spot.
Hal turned to the Post-master. “Yours?” he asked.
“Mine’s under the counter,” grinned Bob.
“And yours, Judge?”
“Mine’s in the desk,” said the Judge.
Hal drew a breath. “Gee!” said he. “It’s like a steel trap!” He managed
to keep the laugh on his face, but within he was conscious of other
feelings than those of amusement. He was losing that “first fine
careless rapture” with which he had set out to run with the hare and the
hounds in North Valley!