"Is that so?" said Hal, with interest. "How do you know?"

"I know. Everybody know."

"He don't look like he had much sense," said Hal--who had got his idea
of detectives from Sherlock Holmes.

"No take much sense. Go pit-boss, say, 'Joe feller talk too much. Say
store rob him.' Any damn fool do that. Hey?"

"To be sure," admitted Hal. "And the company pays him for it?"

"Pit-boss pay him. Maybe give him drink, maybe two bits. Then pit-boss
come to you: 'You shoot your mouth off too much, feller. Git the hell
out of here!' See?"

Hal saw.

"So you go down canyon. Then maybe you go 'nother mine. Boss say, 'Where
you work?' You say 'North Valley.' He say, 'What your name?' You say,
'Joe Smith.' He say, 'Wait.' He go in, look at paper; he come out, say,
'No job!' You say, 'Why not?' He say, 'Shoot off your mouth too much,
feller. Git the hell out of here!' See?"

"You mean a black-list," said Hal.

"Sure, black-list. Maybe telephone, find out all about you. You do
anything bad, like talk union"--Madvik had dropped his voice and
whispered the word "union"--"they send your picture--don't get job
nowhere in state. How you like that?"