It took Allan some moments to digest this answer.
“The miners don’t seem to have any show at all,” he remarked, at last.
“Well, sir, not much,” agreed Hopkins. “You see, they ain’t organized—they don’t belong to no union—and th’ company takes mighty good care they sha’n’t. My, th’ organizers I’ve bounced out o’ this town—it was right interestin’ till th’ company got wise an’ found a better way.”
“A better way?”
“Sure. You see, as soon as an organizer was fired out, he’d go around th’ country hollerin’ about th’ company, an’ callin’ it bad names. Sometimes this got into th’ papers an’ made things onpleasant, specially since th’ company couldn’t say it wasn’t so. So now, th’ organizer fer this district is on th’ pay-roll. He gits a hundred dollars a month, an’ when he gits up at th’ convention t’ report, he tells how he’s doin’ his best t’ organize our dagoes, but finds ’em so ign’rant an’ cantankerous that they don’t want no union. However, he hopes, before another year rolls around, t’ be able t’ convince ’em—an’ so on. It’s a smooth game—an’ has worked first rate, so far.”
Allan glanced up at Jed to see if he was in earnest, but he appeared entirely so.
“And what happened during the strike?”
“Oh, they tried t’ rush us an’ set fire t’ th’ mine—an’ us in that steel-lined office, armed with Winchesters! They didn’t have no chance.”
“Were any of them hurt?”
“Th’ newspapers said that ten was slightly injured—which was true as fur as it went,” and Jed grinned. “Eight went t’ sleep an’ never woke up, but that was kept quiet. No use makin’ a stir about a few dagoes; besides, th’ law was on our side. Only,” added Jed, “I’d ’a’ liked it better if we’d fought out in th’ open. But th’ manager wouldn’t hear of it.”