Hal raised his arms as a signal for silence.
“Boys,” he cried, “they've kidnapped our committee. They think they'll break our strike that way—but they'll find they've made a mistake!”
“They will! Right you are!” roared a score of voices.
“They forget that we've got a union. Hurrah for our North Valley union!”
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” The cry echoed to the canyon-walls.
“And hurrah for the big union that will back us—the United Mine-Workers of America!”
Again the yell rang out; again and again. “Hurrah for the union! Hurrah for the United Mine-Workers!” A big American miner, Ferris, was in the front of the throng, and his voice beat in Hal's ears like a steam-siren.
“Boys,” Hal resumed, when at last he could be heard, “use your brains a moment. I warned you they would try to provoke you! They would like nothing better than to start a scrap here, and get a chance to smash our union! Don't forget that, boys, if they can make you fight, they'll smash the union, and the union is our only hope!”
Again came the cry: “Hurrah for the union!” Hal let them shout it in twenty languages, until they were satisfied.
“Now, boys,” he went on, at last, “they've shipped out our committee. They may ship me out in the same way—”