And so on and on--as long as the moon was a-shinin’ on a college campus. It was a mixture of happy nonsense and that questioning with which modern youth has begun to trouble its elders. As a marching tune, the song was a trifle swift for the grades of a mountain canyon; Warner could stop and shout to the canyon-walls, and listen to their answer, and then march on again. He had youth in his heart, and love and curiosity; also he had some change in his trousers’ pocket, and a ten dollar bill, for extreme emergencies, sewed up in his belt. If a photographer for Peter Harrigan’s General Fuel Company could have got a snap-shot of him that morning, it might have served as a “portrait of a coal-miner” in any “prosperity” publication. But the climb was a stiff one, and before the end the traveller became aware of the weight of his boots, and sang no more. Just as the sun was sinking up the canyon, he came upon his destination--a gate across the road, with a sign upon it: PINE CREEK COAL CO. PRIVATE PROPERTY TRESPASSING FORBIDDEN Hal approached the gate, which was of iron bars, and padlocked. After standing for a moment to get ready his surly voice, he kicked upon the gate and a man came out of a shack inside. “What do you want?” said he. “I want to get in. I’m looking for a job.” “Where do you come from?” “From Pedro.” “Where you been working?” “I never worked in a mine before.” “Where did you work?” “In a grocery-store.” “What grocery-store?” “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!” “You’ll find it easier walkin’ back.” “But--it’s night!” “Scared of the dark, kid?” inquired Bill, facetiously. “Oh, say!” replied Hal. “Give a fellow a chance! Ain’t there some way I can pay for my keep--or at least for a bunk to-night?” “There’s nothin’ for you,” said Bill, and turned and went into the cabin.