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in the United States of America? Not to look at these lousy company towns here abouts—not by a long shot! But last year, mind you, 1919, they took seventy-nine million tons of coal out of these West Virginia fields. They undersold Pennsylvania and they undersold Illinois. Up there, most of the operators pay union wages. Down here—” He flung out his unbandaged hand in disgust. “You had a look at what’s down here.”
    Trying to pin the conversation down to newspaper terms, I said to him, “You were elected president of the International Miners Union two months ago, Mr. Holt. I believe you’re the youngest president they ever had?”
    â€œThat’s right—if you count the years.”
    â€œWhat are your immediate goals?”
    â€œWest Virginia. That’s simple enough, isn’t it? How long will we have a union in the North if the operators down here undersell the Pennsylvania and Illinois operators and put them out of business?”
    â€œThen you think you’ll organize West Virginia?”
    â€œI intend to try,” he grinned. His smile was large and warm and intensely personal, and he had the knack of making you feel that it was elicited by you and directed at you in approbation and flattery.
    â€œWhat would you say your chances are?”
    â€œWorse than they were yesterday.” His smile was gone now.
    â€œIn other words, that gunfight isn’t to your advantage?”
    â€œAl, how could it be?”
    â€œWell, the dead men were your enemies, so to speak, weren’t they?”
    â€œNo, they weren’t my enemies, not one bit. They were cheap, hired thugs, and there’s a thousand more to take their places.”
    â€œThen you would condemn Flecker’s action?”
    â€œOf course I would!” he snorted. “Do you think it can bring us anything but trouble? And let me tell you this—there’s going to be trouble now, more trouble than anyone will know what to do with. But it’s not trouble that the union asked for or that the miners asked for.”
    â€œDon’t you see any way to solve this thing peacefully?”
    He thought about that for a while before he said, “It could be solved peacefully. Any argument can. But one party’s got to give up something. They want us to give up everything and get out of the state, and I guess that would make peace.”
    We talked for another half hour, and then he indicated that the interview was over. I had been making notes, and I told him that I would try to reflect his point of view honestly. He said that was all he asked. We shook hands, and he told me that he would have me driven back to Clinton.

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    The car was a Model T Ford that belonged to the Miners Union. I didn’t know then that Laura asked to drive me back. She did a good deal of driving for them, since she knew every road and cart track in the hill country. She was a good driver too, in her second and graduating year at normal school, and had supported herself through both years driving a school bus near Charleston—the West Virginia Charleston.
    For a little while, coming down from Fenwick Crag, she was silent and attentive to her driving. The sun was low now, and the mountain road, between its walls of trees, was dark and deceptive. On my part, I began a conversation mentally half a dozen times, but whatever I thought to say became banal before I said it. I had slept poorly on the train the night before and been through a long day since then, and I was very tired. I had also been confronted with something totally new to me, met people whose existence I had been unaware of and indifferent to, and witnessed the violent death of twelve men. It added up to a good deal, and on top of that, I was sitting next to a girl I considered both beautiful and desirable. If I had known more about coal miners at that time—particularly coal miners in West Virginia—I might have reflected