“My God!” cried Hal, springing to his feet. “And this man Carmichael--would he stand for that?” “He’d tell you they were doing their best,” said “Big Jack.” “And maybe he thinks they are. But you’ll see--something’ll keep happening; they’ll drag on from day to day, and they’ll not start the fan till they’re ready.” “Why, it’s murder!” cried Hal. “It’s business,” said Tom Olson, quietly. Hal looked from one to another of the faces of these working people. Not one but had friends in that trap; not one but might be in the same trap to-morrow! “You have to stand it!” he exclaimed, half to himself. “Don’t you see the guards at the pit-mouth?” answered David. “Don’t you see the guns sticking out of their pockets?” “They bring in more guards this morning,” put in Jerry Minetti. “Rosa, she see them get off.” “They know what they doin’!” said Rosa. “They only fraid we find it out! They told Mrs. Zamboni she keep away or they send her out of camp. And old Mrs. Jonotch--her husband and three sons inside!” “They’re getting rougher and rougher,” declared Mrs. David. “That big fellow they call Pete, that came up from Pedro--the way he’s handling the women is a shame!” “I know him,” put in Olson; “Pete Hanun. They had him in Sheridan when the union first opened headquarters. He smashed one of our organisers in the mouth and broke four of his teeth. They say he has a jail-record.” All through the previous year at college Hal had listened to lectures upon political economy, filled with the praises of a thing called “Private Ownership.” This Private Ownership developed initiative and economy; it kept the wheels of industry a-roll, it kept fat the pay-rolls of college faculties; it accorded itself with the sacred laws of supply and demand, it was the basis of the progress and prosperity wherewith America had been blessed. And here suddenly Hal found himself face to face with the reality of it; he saw its wolfish eyes glaring into his own, he felt its smoking hot breath in his face, he saw its gleaming fangs and claw-like fingers, dripping with the blood of men and women and children. Private Ownership of coal-mines! Private Ownership of sealed-up entrances and non-existent escape-ways! Private Ownership of fans which did not start, of sprinklers which did not sprinkle. Private Ownership of clubs and revolvers, and of thugs and ex-convicts to use them, driving away rescuers and shutting up agonised widows and orphans in their homes! Oh, the serene and well-fed priests of Private Ownership, chanting in academic halls the praises of the bloody Demon! Suddenly Hal stopped still. Something had risen in him, the existence of which he had never suspected. There was a new look upon his face, his voice was deep as a strong man’s when he spoke: “I am going to make them open that mine!” They looked at him. They were all of them close to the border of hysteria, but they caught the strange note in his utterance. “I am going to make them open that mine!”