“Peterson & Co., in Western City.”
The guard came closer to the gate and studied him through the bars.
“Hey, Bill!” he called, and another man came out from the cabin. “Here's a guy says he worked in a grocery, and he's lookin' for a job.”
“Where's your papers?” demanded Bill.
Every one had told Hal that labour was scarce in the mines, and that the companies were ravenous for men; he had supposed that a workingman would only have to knock, and it would be opened unto him. “They didn't give me no papers,” he said, and added, hastily, “I got drunk and they fired me.” He felt quite sure that getting drunk would not bar one from a coal camp.
But the two made no move to open the gate. The second man studied him deliberately from top to toe, and Hal was uneasily aware of possible sources of suspicion. “I'm all right,” he declared. “Let me in, and I'll show you.”
Still the two made no move. They looked at each other, and then Bill answered, “We don't need no hands.”
“But,” exclaimed Hal, “I saw a sign down the canyon—”
“That's an old sign,” said Bill.
“But I walked all the way up here!”