Chapter Eleven
Dawn at the Columbine

Captain Scherf works a wad of tobacco in his teeth. His eyes are 
fixed on a point beyond the padlocked gate of the mine camp. The 
perimeter fence is crisscrossed with chains and barbed wire. The 
sky is still deep blue in the pre-dawn. Scherf's men are strapped 
with rifles, shotguns, bayonets, and pistols. The fresh-pressed 
uniforms and mirror-shine boots are gone, replaced with the 
utilitarian clothing of their Prohibition days. Scherf had made it 
clear to his men that you didn't wear your best clothes to take 
out the trash. The uniform deserved better.

A Ranger has been sent up to the top of the mine tipple to man the 
machine gun. The gun's long barrel traces an arc across the dark 
horizon of the Rockies. 

The men are shivering in the cold. Their rigid thumbs are braced 
against their safety catches and trigger guards. 

"Steady, men," says Scherf. "Today, I'm going to teach you how to 
put down an insurrection. There's one man in charge of this Wobbly 
snake-pit. When I find him, I'm sending him on the express train 
to purgatory. These immigrants are always looking for a top dog to 
lead them, like the Philistines to Goliath. Cut the head off..." 
Scherf drags a thumb across his throat, "...and the body dies."

The Ranger's hoots of approval are cut short by a quick whistle 
from the guard on the tipple. Scherf looks up and follows the 
gunner's pointing finger past the gate. 

The picketers crest the hilltop, five hundred men and women 
marching toward the perimeter fence. American flags float like 
islands above the sea of faces, and Scherf can hear them singing 
*Solidarity Forever!* 

They arrive at the locked gate. Elizabeth Beranek steps forward. 

"Sir, let us in," says Mrs. Beranek. "We just want to see our 
friends and families."

Scherf grits his teeth and spits a wad of tobacco juice onto the 
ground. He rests one hand on his holster and yells out to the 
crowd:

"Who is your leader?" *Now I've got them*, thinks Scherf.

"We're all leaders!" shouts Davis.

"We're all leaders!" shouts Spanudakhis. 

"We're all leaders!" shout Jacques and Eastenes. The cry spreads 
in a wave through the crowd. 

Scherf looks down uneasily, and steels his eyes back on the 
picketers. "The mine's closed today. In the name of the law, back 
away and go home."

"Captain Scherf, is it?"

Scherf watches an old man approach and steps forward to meet him. 
Scherf and Bell are kept apart only by the bars and chains of the 
fence. 

Bell takes out his weathered law book. "Captain Scherf, this 
mining camp has a United States Post Office. Under Title IV, 
Chapter 17, Section 481 of the US Postal Laws, we have a legal 
right to access our mail."

Scherf grimaces. "You can get your mail tomorrow."

Bell flips a page without missing a beat. "This camp also has a 
public school. The road to that school cannot be closed to the 
public. Would you like me to cite that law as well, Captain?"

Scherf drums his fingers on the holster. "No, I would not!"

Beranek cries out from the crowd, "Some of our children go to that 
school, I'll have you know. You have no right--"

Scherf draws his billy club from its sheath, holding it erect. 
"I'm getting real sick of you rotten krauts, frogs, spics and 
bohunks talking about your *rights*. You should be on your knees, 
thanking Jesus, that we let you into this country to work. Taking 
our jobs! Taking our food! Robbing us blind!"

Davis steps out of the crowd, his shaking hands tight around his 
American flag. "Oh yeah?" says Davis, "I think we could teach you 
a thing or two about rights: freedom of speech. Freedom to 
assemble. If you ask me, the real Americans are on *this* side of 
the fence!"

The crowd cheers. The leather on Scherf's billy club twists in his 
grip and his eyes contort in their sockets. 

"Come a little closer, boy..." says Scherf, "I didn't catch that."

As Scherf stares down Davis, Bell comes all the way up to the 
fence and rests his hand on the cold metal. "All due respect, 
Captain, enough with the stunts. Let us in."

Scherf seizes Bell's hand, yanking him off-balance. He swings the 
club hard. The blow connects with Bell's face. There's a sickening 
crack, and Bell falls backwards into the dirt. 

The front of the crowd advances a step. In an instant, holsters 
are unstrapped, hammers are cocked, and shotguns are racked. 
Spanudakhis and Davis lift Bell to his feet. 

Scherf steps back from the fence and yells, "Anyone comes over 
that gate, we'll carry you out!"

"Gimme that flag!" shouts a Ranger, and they grab through the 
fence for Davis' flag. A tug-of-war ensues, drawing a crowd on 
either side. As the crowd of picketers surges toward the fence, 
Bell finds himself pushed face-first into the barbed wire, 
stumbling boots crushing his eyeglasses. In self-preservation, he 
begins climbing the fence. As Bell comes over the top, he pricks 
his thumb on a barb. As he stops to look at the cut, he's pulled 
down to the Ranger's side of the fence. The clubs are coming down 
on his back before he even hits the ground. 

There is a mighty heave from the picketers, and they pull Davis' 
American flag back to their side. Beranek grabs the flag. 
Undeterred by her long dress, she scales the fence and drops down 
to the Rangers' side. She covers Bell's unconscious body with the 
flag; surely pride in that flag is something everyone still 
shares. 

"Gentlemen, please," says Beranek, "come to your senses!"

A club strikes Beranek in the face. The Rangers form a circle and 
land heavy kicks on her and Bell. In the storm of blows, the flag 
comes off of Bell, trampled in the cold mud.

The sight of the beating is too much for the picketers. Another 
surge pushes the miners against the gate, barbed wire be damned. 
Soon the half-ton structure is swaying back and forth, creaking 
and groaning in its muddy foundations. 

Scherf and the Rangers look up from Bell and Beranek's bodies, 
watching the gate sway and groan. 

"Orders, Captain!" shouts a Ranger. 

"Fall back!" says Scherf. His eyes scan the surging crowd. "Do you 
see any of them carrying weapons? Come on, give me something to 
work with!"

"Nothing, sir!"

"Dammit!" yells Scherf. "Gas 'em, now! Drive 'em back!"

The Rangers pull gas canisters from their belts. They tug the pins 
out and toss them over the fence. A sickly yellow gas fans out 
among the picketers. Jacques feels his throat close up and eyes 
water.

"Tear gas!" gasps Jacques. "Throw it back!" 

Spanudakhis takes the last gulp of fresh air, dives into the gas, 
and snatches the spewing canister. He hurls it over the fence and 
into the Rangers. Scherf is watching his second canister fall into 
the crowd when the first lands back at his feet. He shields his 
face and staggers away, retching. 

Bell rises back into consciousness. He looks up in terror, grabs 
Beranek, and pulls her out of the way just as the swaying front 
gate topples over. It collapses with a crash of metal into a 
twisted heap. 

Scherf falls to the ground, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve. 
He sees silhouettes through the yellow clouds of tear gas. They 
materialize into the picketers, the chants of Solidarity Forever 
driving them onward. He gets to his feet, backing up. He jumps 
when he feels the wall of the Foreman's office behind him. Scherf 
curses and pounds the door in fury. 

"We've gone back far enough!" screams Scherf. Eyes red and mouth 
drooling from the tear gas, he fumbles with his holster and pulls 
out a Colt 1911. He aims the gun skyward.

"Don't come any closer!" cries the Captain, and he fires two 
rounds into the air. 

"You heard the Captain" shouts a Ranger. Scherf hears the sound of 
sliding bolts and shotguns being pumped. "Ready! Aim!"

Scherf spins around to the Ranger. "No, wait--!"

In the cold dawn, the valleys of the coal field echo with roaring 
thunder. There is a great silence, and then the whistle at the 
Columbine blows three times.