The Blue Goose Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  _Mr. Morrison Tackles a Man with a Mind of His Own and a Man withoutOne_

  Mr. Morrison was a slick bird--in fact, a very slick bird. It was hissoul's delight to preen his unctuous feathers and to shiver them intothe most effective and comfortable position, to settle his head betweenhis shoulders, and, with moistened lips, to view his little world fromdreamy, half-closed eyes. This, however, only happened in restfulmoments of complacent self-contemplation. He never allowed these moodsto interfere with business. He had broached the subject of marriage toPierre, and Pierre had of course fallen in with his views. The fact thatElise evidently loathed him disturbed no whit his placid mind. He was inno hurry. He assumed Elise as his own whenever he chose to say the word.He regarded her in much the same way as a half-hungered epicure atoothsome dinner, holding himself aloof until his craving stomach shouldgive the utmost zest to his viands without curtailing the pleasure ofhis palate by ravenous haste. He served Pierre with diligence andfidelity. The Blue Goose would sooner or later come to him with Elise.

  He had ambitions, political especially, not acquired, but instinctive.Not that he felt inspired with a mission to do good unto others, butthat others should do good unto him, and also that the particular kindof good should be of his own choosing. He knew very well thetemperaments of his chosen constituency, and he adapted himself to theirimpressionable peculiarities. To this end he dispensed heavily paddedgratuities with much ostentation on selected occasions, but gathered histolls in merciless silence. He did this without fear, for he knew thatthe blare of the multitude would drown the cries of the stricken few.

  Mr. Morrison had long meditated upon the proper course to take in orderbest to compass his ends. The unrest among the employees of the RainbowCompany came to him unsought, and he at once grasped the opportunity.The organisation of a miners' and millmen's union would be an obviousbenefit to the rank and file; their manifestation of gratitude wouldnaturally take the very form he most desired. To this end before themany he displayed the pyrotechnics of meaningless oratory, in much thesame manner as a strutting peacock his brilliant tail; but individualshe hunted with nickel bullets and high-power guns. On various occasionshe had displayed the peacock tail; this particular afternoon he tookdown his flat-trajectoried weapon and went forth to gun for Bennie.

  Bennie had washed the dinner dishes, reset his table, prepared for thecoming meal, and now, as was his custom, was lying in his bunk, with anopen book in his hands, prepared to read or doze, as the spirit movedhim.

  Mr. Morrison appeared before him.

  "Howdy, Bennie! Taking a nap?"

  "I'm taking nothing but what's my own." Bennie looked meaningly atMorrison.

  Morrison slipped into what he mistook for Bennie's mood.

  "You're wise, if you get it all. Many's the ignorant devil that takesonly what's given him and asks no questions, worse luck to him!"

  "You'll do well to go on," remarked Bennie, placidly. "There's many thatgets more, and then damns the gift and the giver."

  "And just what might that mean, Bennie?" Morrison looked a littlepuzzled.

  "It means that, if more got what they deserved, 'twould be better forhonest men." Bennie was very decided.

  Morrison's face cleared. He held out his hand.

  "Shake!" he said.

  Bennie took the proffered hand.

  "Here's hoping you'll come to your own!" he remarked, grimly.

  The clasped hands each fell to its own. Morrison's hands went to hispocket as he stretched out his crossed legs with a thankful look on hisface.

  "I'm not specially troubled about myself. I've had fairly good lucklooking out for Patrick Morrison, Esq. It's these poor devils aroundhere that's troubling me. They get nipped and pinched at every turn ofthe cards."

  "It's God's truth you're talking. And you want to help them same poordevils?"

  "That's what."

  "Then listen to me. Smash your roulette and faro. Burn down the BlueGoose, first taking out your whisky that'll burn only the throats of thefools who drink it. Do that same, and you'll see fat grow on lean bones,and children's pants come out of the shade of the patches."

  Morrison lifted his hat, scratching his head meditatively.

  "That isn't exactly what I'm at."

  "Eagles to snowbirds 'tis not!" put in Bennie, aside.

  Morrison gave no heed to the interruption.

  "Every man has the right to spend his own money in his own way."

  "The poor devils get the money and the Blue Goose furnishes the way,"Bennie again interpolated.

  Morrison was getting uneasy. He was conscious that he was not makingheadway.

  "You can't do but one thing at a time in good shape."

  "You're a damned liar! At the Blue Goose you're doing everyone all thetime."

  Morrison rose impatiently. The nickel bullets were missing their billet.He began tentatively to unfold the peacock's tail.

  "You see," he said, "it's like this. In union is strength. What makesthe rich richer? Because they hang together like swarming bees. You pickthe honey of one and you get the stings of all. Learn from the rich touse the rich man's weapons. Let us poor workingmen band together likebrothers in a common cause. Meet union with union, strength withstrength. Then, and only then, can we get our own."

  "It took more than one cat to make strings for that fiddle," Bennieremarked, thoughtfully. "Just what might that mean?"

  Morrison again looked puzzled. He went back to his bullets.

  "To be specific," he spoke impressively, "as things stand now, if oneworkingman thinks he ought to have more pay he goes to the company andasks for it. The company says no. If he gets troublesome, they fire him.If one man works in a close breast with foul air the company tells himto go back to his work or quit. It costs money to timber bad ground. Onepoor workman's life doesn't count for much. It's cheaper for the companyto take chances than to put in timber." He paused, looking sharply atBennie.

  "You're talking sense now. How do you propose to help it?"

  Morrison felt solid ground beneath his feet.

  "Do as I said. Learn from the rich. Unite. If the men are not gettingfair wages, the union can demand more."

  Bennie lifted an inquiring finger.

  "One word there. You want to organise a union?"

  "That's it. That's the stuff." Morrison was flatteringly acquiescent. "Acompany can turn down one man, but the union will shove it up to themhard."

  "If one man breaks five tons of ore a day, and another man breaks onlyone, will the union see that both get the same pay?"

  "A workingman is a workingman." Morrison spoke less enthusiastically. "Aman that puts in his time earns all that he gets."

  Bennie looked musingly at the toes of his boots.

  "The union will equalise the pay?"

  "You bet it will!"

  "They'll make the company ventilate the mines and keep bad groundtimbered?"

  "They'll look after these things sharp, and anything else that comesup."

  "The union will run the company, but who'll run the union?"

  Morrison waxed enthusiastic.

  "We'll take our turn at bossing all right. Every man in the union standson the same floor, and when any of the boys have a grievance thepresident will see them through. The president and the executivecommittee can tie up the whole camp if the company bucks."

  "Is the union organised?" asked Bennie.

  "Not yet. It's like this." Morrison's voice had a tinge of patronage."You see, I want to get a few of the level-headed men in the camp workedup to the idea; the rest will come in, hands down."

  "Who have you got strung?"

  "Well, there's Luna, and----"

  "Luna's a crowd by himself. He's got more faces than a town-clocktelling time to ten streets. Who else?"

  "There's Thompson, the mine foreman----"

  "Jim Thompson? Don't I know him now? He'll throw more stunts than asmall boy with a bellyful of green apples. Who else?"
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  Morrison looked a little sulky.

  "Well, how about yourself. That's what I'm here to find out."

  Bennie glared up wrathfully.

  "You'll take away no doubts about me, if my tongue isn't struck by apalsy till it can't bore the wax of your ears. When it comes to bosses,I'll choose my own. I'm American and American born. I'd rather be bossedby a silk tile and kid gloves than by a Tipperary hat and a shillalah,with a damned three-cornered shamrock riding the necks of both. It's apretty pass we've come to if we've got to go to Irish peat-bogs andRussian snow-banks to find them as will tell us our rights and how toget them, and then import dagoes with rings in their ears and Hungarianswith spikes in their shoes to back us up. Let me talk a bit! I get myseventy-five dollars a month for knowing my business and attending toit, because my grub goes down the necks of the men instead of out on thedump; because I give more time to a side of bacon than I do toorganising unions. And I'll tell you some more facts. The rich aregrowing richer for using what they have, and the poor are growing poorerbecause they don't know enough to handle what they've got. Organise aunion for keeping damned fools out of the Blue Goose, and from goinghome and lamming hell out of their wives and children, and I'll talkwith you. As it is, the sooner you light out the more respect I'll havefor the sense of you that I haven't seen."

  Morrison was blazing with anger.

  "You'll sing another tune before long. We propose to run every scab outof the country."

  "Run, and be damned to you! I've got a thousand-acre ranch and fivehundred head of cattle. I've sucked it from the Rainbow at seventy-fivea month, and I've given value received, without any union to help me.Only take note of this. I've laid my eggs in my own nest, and not at theBlue Goose."

  Morrison turned and left the room. Over his shoulder he flung back:

  "This isn't the last word, you damned scab! You'll hear from me again."

  "'Tis not the nature of a pig to keep quiet with a dog at his heels."Bennie stretched his neck out of the door to fire his parting shot.

  Morrison went forth with a vigorous flea in each ear, which did much todisturb his complacency. Bennie had not made him thoughtful, onlyvengeful. There is nothing quite so discomposing as the scornfulrejection of proffers of self-seeking philanthropy. Bennie's indignationwas instinctive rather than analytical, the inherent instinct that putsup the back and tail of a new-born kitten at its first sight of abenevolent-appearing dog.

  Morrison had not gone far from the boarding-house before he chancedagainst Luna.

  Morrison was the last person Luna would have wished to meet. Since hisinterview with Firmstone he had scrupulously avoided the Blue Goose, andhe had seen neither Morrison nor Pierre. His resolution to mend his wayswas the result of fear, rather than of change of heart. Neither Morrisonnor Pierre had fear. They were playing safe. Luna felt theirsuperiority; he was doing his best to keep from their influence.

  "Howdy!"

  "Howdy!" Luna answered.

  "Where've you been this long time?" asked Morrison, suavely.

  Luna did not look up.

  "Down at the mill, of course."

  "What's going on?" pursued Morrison. "You haven't been up lately."

  "There's been big things going on. Pierre's little game's all off." Lunashrank from a direct revelation.

  "Oh, drop this! What's up?"

  "I'll tell you what's up." Luna looked defiant. "You know the last lotof ore you pinched? Well, the old man's got it, and, what's more, he'son to your whole business."

  Morrison's face set.

  "Look here now, Luna. You just drop that little _your_ business. Itlooks mighty suspicious, talking like that. I don't know what you mean.If you've been pulling the mill and got caught you'd better pick outanother man to unload on besides me."

  "I never took a dollar from the mill, and I told the old man so. I----"

  But Morrison interrupted:

  "You've been squealing, have you? Well, you just go on, only rememberthis. If you're going to set in a little game of freeze-out, you playyour cards close to your coat."

  Luna saw the drift of Morrison's remarks, and hastened to defendhimself.

  "It's gospel truth. I haven't squealed." He gave a detailed account ofhis midnight interview with Firmstone, defining sharply between hisfacts and his inferences. He finally concluded: "The old man's sharp.There isn't a corner of the mine he doesn't know, and there isn't achink in the mill, from the feed to the tail-sluice, that he hasn't gothis eye on." Luna's mood changed from the defensive to the assertive."I'll tell you one thing more. He's square, square as a die. He had mebunched, but he give me a chance. He told me that I could stop thestealing at the mill, that I had got to, and, by God, I'm going to, inspite of hell!"

  Morrison was relieved, but a sneer buried the manifestation of hisrelief.

  "Well," he exclaimed, "of all the soft, easy things I ever saw you'rethe softest and the easiest!"

  Luna only looked dogged.

  "Hard words break no bones," he answered, sullenly.

  "That may be," answered Morrison; "but it doesn't keep soft ones fromgumming your wits, that's sure."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean just this. You say the old man had you bunched. Well, he's gotyou on your back now, and roped, too."

  Luna answered still more sullenly:

  "There's more'n one will be roped, then. If it comes to a show-down,I'll not be alone."

  "All right, Mr. Luna." Morrison spoke evenly. "When you feel likecalling the game just go right ahead. I'm not going to stop you."

  Luna made no immediate reply. Morrison waited, ostentatiouslyindifferent. Luna finally broke the silence.

  "I don't see how the old man's got me roped."

  "Well, now you're acting as if you had sense. I'll tell you. I'm alwaysready to talk to a man that's got sense. Just answer a few straightquestions. In the first place, you've been stealing from the mill."

  "I tell you I haven't," broke in Luna; "but I can tell you who has." Helooked sharply at Morrison.

  Morrison waved his hand with wearied endurance.

  "Well, you're foreman at the mill. If there's been stealing, and youknow your business, you know where it was done and how it was done. Ifyou don't know your business what are you there for, and how long areyou going to stay? You say yourself the old man is sharp, and he is. Howlong is he going to keep either a thief or a fool in your place?"

  "I'm not a thief," Luna answered, hotly. "I'm not a fool, either, andI'm not going to be made one any longer by you, either."

  "If you're not a fool listen to me, and keep quiet till I'm through."Morrison leaned forward, checking his words with his fingers. "The oldman's sharp, and he's got you roped, any turn. There's been stealing atthe mill. You say this. You're foreman there. It doesn't make anydifference whether you stole or someone else. They hold you responsible.The old man's got the cards in his hands. The men saw him come in themill, shut down, and take samples to back him up."

  "Well, what of it?"

  "What of it, you fool! This is what of it. He's got you just where hewants you. You'll walk turkey from now on, according to his orders. Ifthere's any dirty work to be done you'll do it. You squeal or you kick,and he'll start the whole slide and bury you."

  "I'm not obliged to do any dirty work for him or any other man. Not evenfor you. I can quit."

  "And get another job?" Morrison asked, mockingly.

  "That's what."

  "Let me just point out a few things. You get mad and quit. Call for yourtime. Pack your turkey and go to another mill. They will ask your name.Then, 'Excuse me a minute.' Then they'll go to a little book, andthey'll find something like this, 'Henry Luna, mill man, foreman Rainbowmill. Richard Firmstone, superintendent. Discharged on account ofstealing ore from the mill.' Then they'll come back. 'No place for you,Mr. Luna,' and you'll go on till hell freezes, and that little record ofyours will knock you, every clip. When you wear the skin off your feet,and the shirt off your back, you'll come
back to the Rainbow, and Mr.Firmstone will politely tell you that, if you've walked the kick out ofyou, he'll give you another try."

  Luna was open-eyed. He had grasped but one thing.

  "What little book are you talking about?" he asked.

  "It's known as the Black List, little lambie. You'll know more about itif you keep on. Every company in Colorado or in the United States hasone. You'll run up against it, all right, if you keep on."

  Luna had vague ideas of this powerful weapon; but it had never seemed soreal before. He was growing suspicious. He recalled Firmstone's words,"I've told you a good deal, but not all by a good long measure." Theyhad seemed simple and straightforward at the time, but Morrison'sjuggling was hazing them.

  "What's a fellow to do?" he asked, helplessly.

  "Nothing alone, except to take what's given you. You stand alone, andyou'll be cut alone, worked overtime alone, kicked alone, and, when itgets unendurable, starve alone. But, if you've got any sense or sand,don't stand alone to get kicked and cuffed and robbed by a company or bya bunch of companies. Meet union with union, strength with strength,and, if worst comes to worst, fight with fight. Us workingmen havethings in our own hands, if we stand together." Morrison was watchingthe foreman narrowly. "And there's another thing. When a long-toothed,sharp-nosed, glass-eyed company bull-dog puts up a padded deck on aworkingman, he'll have the backing of the union to put him down."

  "The union ain't going to take up no private grievance?" Luna spoke,half questioningly.

  "They ain't, heh? What's it for, then? Bunching us up so they can pickus off one by one, without hunting us out like a flock of sheep. Thatain't the union." Morrison paused, looking keenly at Luna. "There's nouse scattering. There's nothing as skittish as a pocketful of dollars ina dress suit. If there's a grievance, private or common, go to thecompany in a bunch. Remonstrate. If that don't work, strike, fight,boycott! No weapons? The poor man's dollar will buy rifles andcartridges as quick as a rich man's checks. We've got this advantage,too. Rich men have to hire men to fight for them; but, by God, we canfight for ourselves!"

  Luna's thick wits were vibrating betwixt fear and vengeance. He had allthe ignorant man's fear of superior brains, all the coward's sneakingresentment of a fancied imposition. He could see that fear had blindedhis eyes to the real but covert threat of Firmstone's words. Here washis chance to free himself from Firmstone's clutches. Here his chancefor revenge.

  Morrison was watching him closely.

  "Are you with us, or are you going down alone?"

  Luna held out his hand.

  "I'm with you, you bet!"

  "Come up to the Blue Goose some night when you're on day-shift. We'lltalk things over with Pierre."

  Then they parted.