When the quitting-whistle blew, Mike Sikoria came quickly to join Hal
and hear what had happened. Mike was exultant, for several new men had
come up to him and offered to join the check-weighman movement. The old
fellow was not sure whether this was owing to his own eloquence as a
propagandist, or to the fine young American buddy he had; but in either
case he was equally proud. He gave Hal a note which had been slipped
into his hand, and which Hal recognised as coming from Tom Olson. The
organiser reported that every one in the camp was talking
check-weighman, and so from a propaganda standpoint they could count
their move a success, no matter what the bosses might do. He added that
Hal should have a number of men stay with him that night, so as to have
witnesses if the company tried to “pull off anything.” “And be careful
of the new men,” he added; “one or two of them are sure to be spies.”
Hal and Mike discussed their programme for the second night. Neither of
them were keen for sleeping out again--the old Slovak because of his
bones, and Hal because he saw there were now several spies following
them about. At Reminitsky’s, he spoke to some of those who had offered
their support, and asked them if they would be willing to spend the
night with him in Edstrom’s cabin. Not one shrank from this test of
sincerity; they all got their blankets, and repaired to the place, where
Hal lighted the lamp and held an impromptu check-weighman meeting--and
incidentally entertained himself with a spy-hunt!
One of the new-comers was a Pole named Wojecicowski; this, on top of
Zamierowski, caused Hal to give up all effort to call the Poles by their
names. “Woji” was an earnest little man, with a pathetic, tired face. He
explained his presence by the statement that he was sick of being
robbed; he would pay his share for a check-weighman, and if they fired
him, all right, he would move on, and to hell with them. After which
declaration he rolled up in a blanket and went to snoring on the floor
of the cabin. That did not seem to be exactly the conduct of a spy.
Another was an Italian, named Farenzena; a dark-browed and
sinister-looking fellow, who might have served as a villain in any
melodrama. He sat against the wall and talked in guttural tones, and Hal
regarded him with deep suspicion. It was not easy to understand his
English, but finally Hal managed to make out the story he was
telling--that he was in love with a “fanciulla,” and that the
“fanciulla” was playing with him. He had about made up his mind that she
was a coquette, and not worth bothering with, so he did not care any
curses if they sent him down the canyon. “Don’t fight for fanciulla,
fight for check-weighman!” he concluded, with a growl.
Another volunteer was a Greek labourer, a talkative young chap who had
sat with Hal at lunch-time, and had given his name as Apostolikas. He
entered into fluent conversation with Hal, explaining how much
interested he was in the check-weighman plan; he wanted to know just
what they were going to do, what chance of success they thought they
had, who had started the movement and who was in it. Hal’s replies took
the form of little sermons on working-class solidarity. Each time the
man would start to “pump” him, Hal would explain the importance of the
present issue to the miners, how they must stand by one another and make
sacrifices for the good of all. After he had talked abstract theories
for half an hour, Apostolikas gave up and moved on to Mike Sikoria, who,
having been given a wink by Hal, talked about “scabs,” and the dreadful
things that honest workingmen would do to them. When finally the Greek
grew tired again, and lay down on the floor, Hal moved over to Old Mike
and whispered that the first name of Apostolikas must be Judas!