“You tell the men of Shaft Fifteen, and of every other shaft in the valley, that if they make a single move that threatens the property of the Paradise Coal Company I will see that they don’t ’starve in their homes.’”

“Then you will not arbitrate?”

“There is nothing to arbitrate.  I have no more work for the men.  That settles it.  The world is big, and if they can find no work in Wilkes-Barre, let them hunt for it elsewhere.”

“Mr. Purdy, I give you ample warning.  The miners will declare a general strike if you persist in locking out half of them now that the winter weather has set in.  The pits and the breakers can stand idle while the demand for coal at an advanced price is created by an artificial coal famine; but the miners have to be fed.  They work like machines; but as yet they have not learned the lesson of living without food.”

“Metz, I have given you my final answer.  The mines and breakers close on the day I stated.”

Carl Metz is the foreman of the largest of the Paradise Company’s Coal shafts, the “Big Horn.”  He is in consultation with Mr. Gorman Purdy, the president of the company.  Their closing remarks as just quoted are uttered as they stand on the steps leading to the street from the offices on the main square of Wilkes-Barre.

The men nod to each other, and separate.

“What did he say?” a man demands of Metz, in a weak voice.  The questioner is a typical miner.  Death has placed its irrevocable stamp upon him; he has served his three years in the pits; has been transferred to the breakers when the signs of failing strength are perceived by the mine overseer.  In another year he will be in the hands of the mortuary vulture; his last week’s earnings will go to pay for the hard earned grave that is grudgingly given “A Miner.”

“He says the mines will close.”

“Yes, and we will starve.  Well, you can tell him that we won’t.”

“I told him that the men were desperate.”

“And he laughed at you.  Why wouldn’t he?  We have threatened to strike for three years.  It’s getting to be an old story.  This time it’s our turn to laugh.”

“What do you mean, Eric?” is the anxious query of Metz.  He detects a hidden significance in the miner’s words.

“Mean!  Why I mean that we are going to strike this time, and that it will be the biggest fight the coal region has ever seen.

“We can’t get the mine owners to arbitrate, but we can get the coal miners to unite.  If one man is shut out to starve we will all go out.”

“And our places will be filled by imported miners,” interjects the foreman.

“Not this time.  We will have our pickets out in all directions, and every train will be boarded.  The men the mine owners bring on will be told to keep away.”

As the men speak they are unconscious of the approach of the Sheriff of Luzerne County.  He has apparently been watching the movements of Metz.  All the morning he has shadowed the mine foreman, now he steals up behind the two and stands within earshot.  He overhears their words.