White linen and cut glass of the dining-saloon shone brilliantly under electric lights, softened to the eye by pink shades. Seated at the tables were half a dozen young men and as many young ladies, all in evening costume; also two or three older ladies. They had begun the first course of their meal, and were laughing and chatting, when suddenly came this unexpected visitor, clad in coal-stained miner's jumpers. He was not disturbing in the manner of his entry; but immediately behind him came a fat man, perspiring, wild of aspect, and wheezing like an old fashioned steam-engine; behind him came the conductor of the train, in a no less evident state of agitation. So, of course, conversation ceased. The young ladies turned in their chairs, while several of the young men sprang to their feet. There followed a silence: until finally one of the young men took a step forward. “What's this?” he demanded, as one who had a right to demand.
Hal advanced towards the speaker, a slender youth, correct in appearance, but not distinguished looking. “Hello, Percy!” said Hal.
A look of amazement came upon the other's face. He stared, but seemed unable to believe what he saw. And then suddenly came a cry from one of the young ladies; the one having hair the colour of molasses taffy when you've pulled it—but all fluffy and wonderful, with stardust in it. Her cheeks were pink and cream, and her brown eyes gazed, wide open, full of wonder. She wore a dinner gown of soft olive green, with a cream white scarf of some filmy material thrown about her bare shoulders.
She had started to her feet. “It's Hal!” she cried.
“Hal Warner!” echoed young Harrigan. “Why, what in the world—?”
He was interrupted by a clamour outside. “Wait a moment,” said Hal, quietly. “I think some one else is coming in.”
The door was pushed violently open. It was pushed so violently that Billy Keating and the conductor were thrust to one side; and Jeff Cotton appeared in the entrance.
The camp-marshal was breathless, his face full of the passion of the hunt. In his right hand he carried a revolver. He glared about him, and saw the two men he was chasing; also he saw the Coal King's son, and the rest of the astonished company. He stood, stricken dumb.
The door was pushed again, forcing him aside, and two more men crowded in, both of them carrying revolvers in their hands. The foremost was Pete Hanun, and he also stood staring. The “breaker of teeth” had two teeth of his own missing, and when his prize-fighter's jaw dropped down, the deficiency became conspicuous. It was probably his first entrance into society, and he was like an overgrown boy caught in the jam-closet.
Percy Harrigan's manner became distinctly imperious. “What does this mean?” he demanded.
It was Hal who answered. “I am seeking a criminal, Percy.”
“What?” There were little cries of alarm from the women.
“Yes, a criminal; the man who sealed up the mine.”
“Sealed up the mine?” echoed the other. “What do you mean?”
“Let me explain. First, I will introduce my friends. Harrigan, this is my friend Keating.”
Billy suddenly realised that he had a hat on his head. He jerked it off; but for the rest, his social instincts failed him. He could only stare. He had not yet got all his breath.
“Billy's a reporter,” said Hal. “But you needn't worry—he's a gentleman, and won't betray a confidence. You understand, Billy.”
“Y—yes,” said Billy, faintly.
“And this,” said Hal, “is Jeff Cotton, camp-marshal at North Valley. I suppose you know, Percy, that the North Valley mines belong to the 'G. F. C.' Cotton, this is Mr. Harrigan.”
Then Cotton remembered his hat; also his ............