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Kyne + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Valley of the Giants, by Peter B. Kyne + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Valley of the Giants + +Author: Peter B. Kyne + + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5735] +This file was first posted on August 18, 2002 +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS *** + + + + +Text file produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS + </h1> + <h2> + By Peter B. Kyne + </h2> + <h4> + Author of Cappy Ricks, The Long Chance, Etc. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h5> + Illustrated by Dean Cornwell<br /> (Illustrations are not available in this + edition) + </h5> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /> + <hr /> + <br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO MY WIFE + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + In the summer of 1850 a topsail schooner slipped into the cove under + Trinidad Head and dropped anchor at the edge of the kelp-fields. Fifteen + minutes later her small-boat deposited on the beach a man armed with long + squirrel-rifle and an axe, and carrying food and clothing in a brown + canvas pack. From the beach he watched the boat return and saw the + schooner weigh anchor and stand out to sea before the northwest trades. + When she had disappeared from his ken, he swung his pack to his broad and + powerful back and strode resolutely into the timber at the mouth of a + little river. + </p> + <p> + The man was John Cardigan; in that lonely, hostile land he was the first + pioneer. This is the tale of Cardigan and Cardigan's son, for in his + chosen land the pioneer leader in the gigantic task of hewing a path for + civilization was to know the bliss of woman's love and of parenthood, and + the sorrow that comes of the loss of a perfect mate; he was to know the + tremendous joy of accomplishment and worldly success after infinite + labour; and in the sunset of life he was to know the dull despair of + failure and ruin. Because of these things there is a tale to be told, the + tale of Cardigan's son, who, when his sire fell in the fray, took up the + fight to save his heritage—a tale of life with its love and hate, + its battle, victory, defeat, labour, joy, and sorrow, a tale of that + unconquerable spirit of youth which spurred Bryce Cardigan to lead a + forlorn hope for the sake not of wealth but of an ideal. Hark, then, to + this tale of Cardigan's redwoods: + </p> + <p> + Along the coast of California, through the secret valleys and over the + tumbled foothills of the Coast Range, extends a belt of timber of an + average width of thirty miles. In approaching it from the Oregon line the + first tree looms suddenly against the horizon—an outpost, as it + were, of the host of giants whose column stretches south nearly four + hundred miles to where the last of the rear-guard maintains eternal sentry + go on the crest of the mountains overlooking Monterey Bay. Far in the + interior of the State, beyond the fertile San Joaquin Valley, the allies + of this vast army hold a small sector on the west slope of the Sierras. + </p> + <p> + These are the redwood forests of California, the only trees of their kind + in the world and indigenous only to these two areas within the State. The + coast timber is known botanically as sequoia sempervirens, that in the + interior as sequoia gigantea. As the name indicates, the latter is the + larger species of the two, although the fibre of the timber is coarser and + the wood softer and consequently less valuable commercially than the + sequoia sempervirens—which in Santa Cruz, San Mateo, Marin, and + Sonoma counties has been almost wholly logged off, because of its + accessibility. In northern Mendocino, Humboldt, and Del Norte counties, + however, sixty years of logging seems scarcely to have left a scar upon + this vast body of timber. Notwithstanding sixty years of attrition, there + remain in this section of the redwood belt thousands upon thousands of + acres of virgin timber that had already attained a vigorous growth when + Christ was crucified. In their vast, sombre recesses, with the sunlight + filtering through their branches two hundred and fifty feet above, one + hears no sound save the tremendous diapason of the silence of the ages; + here, more forcibly than elsewhere in the universe, is one reminded of the + littleness of man and the glory of his creator. + </p> + <p> + In sizes ranging from five to twenty feet in diameter, the brown trunks + rise perpendicularly to a height of from ninety to a hundred and fifty + feet before putting forth a single limb, which frequently is more massive + than the growth which men call a tree in the forests of Michigan. + Scattered between the giants, like subjects around their king, one finds + noble fir, spruce, or pines, with some Valparaiso live oak, black oak, + pepper-wood, madrone, yew, and cedar. + </p> + <p> + In May and June, when the twisted and cowering madrone trees are putting + forth their clusters of creamy buds, when the white blossoms of the + dogwoods line the banks of little streams, when the azaleas and + rhododendrons, lovely and delicate as orchids, blaze a bed of glory, and + the modest little oxalis has thrust itself up through the brown carpet of + pine-needles and redwood-twigs, these wonderful forests cast upon one a + potent spell. To have seen them once thus in gala dress is to yearn + thereafter to see them again and still again and grieve always in the + knowledge of their inevitable death at the hands of the woodsman. + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan settled in Humboldt County, where the sequoia sempervirens + attains the pinnacle of its glory, and with the lust for conquest hot in + his blood, he filed upon a quarter-section of the timber almost on the + shore of Humboldt Bay—land upon which a city subsequently was to be + built. With his double-bitted axe and crosscut saw John Cardigan brought + the first of the redwood giants crashing to the earth above which it had + towered for twenty centuries, and in the form of split posts, railroad + ties, pickets, and shakes, the fallen giant was hauled to tidewater in + ox-drawn wagons and shipped to San Francisco in the little two-masted + coasting schooners of the period. Here, by the abominable magic of barter + and trade, the dismembered tree was transmuted into dollars and cents and + returned to Humboldt County to assist John Cardigan in his task of hewing + an empire out of a wilderness. + </p> + <p> + At a period in the history of California when the treasures of the + centuries were to be had for the asking or the taking, John Cardigan chose + that which others elected to cast away. For him the fertile wheat and + fruit-lands of California's smiling valleys, the dull placer gold in her + foot-hill streams, and the free grass, knee deep, on her cattle and + sheep-ranges held no lure; for he had been first among the Humboldt + redwoods and had come under the spell of the vastness and antiquity, the + majesty and promise of these epics of a planet. He was a big man with a + great heart and the soul of a dreamer, and in such a land as this it was + fitting he should take his stand. + </p> + <p> + In that wasteful day a timber-claim was not looked upon as valuable. The + price of a quarter-section was a pittance in cash and a brief residence in + a cabin constructed on the claim as evidence of good faith to a government + none too exacting in the restrictions with which it hedged about its + careless dissipation of the heritage of posterity. Hence, because redwood + timber-claims were easy to acquire, many men acquired them; but when the + lure of greener pastures gripped these men and the necessity for ready + money oppressed, they were wont to sell their holdings for a few hundred + dollars. Gradually it became the fashion in Humboldt to “unload” redwood + timber-claims on thrifty, far-seeing, visionary John Cardigan who appeared + to be always in the market for any claim worth while. + </p> + <p> + Cardigan was a shrewd judge of stumpage; with the calm certitude of a + prophet he looked over township after township and cunningly + checkerboarded it with his holdings. Notwithstanding the fact that + hillside timber is the best, John Cardigan in those days preferred to buy + valley timber, for he was looking forward to the day when the timber on + the watersheds should become available. He knew that when such timber + should be cut it would have to be hauled out through the valleys where his + untouched holdings formed an impenetrable barrier to the exit! Before long + the owners of timber on the watersheds would come to realize this and sell + to John Cardigan at a reasonable price. + </p> + <p> + Time passed. John Cardigan no longer swung an axe or dragged a cross-cut + saw through a fallen redwood. He was an employer of labour now, well known + in San Francisco as a manufacturer of split-redwood products, the + purchasers sending their own schooners for the cargo. And presently John + Cardigan mortgaged all of his timber holdings with a San Francisco bank, + made a heap of his winnings, and like a true adventurer staked his all on + a new venture—the first sawmill in Humboldt County. The timbers for + it were hewed out by hand; the boards and planking were whipsawed. + </p> + <p> + It was a tiny mill, judged by present-day standards, for in a + fourteen-hour working day John Cardigan and his men could not cut more + than twenty thousand feet of lumber. Nevertheless, when Cardigan looked at + his mill, his great heart would swell with pride. Built on tidewater and + at the mouth of a large slough in the waters of which he stored the logs + his woods-crew cut and peeled for the bull-whackers to haul with ox-teams + down a mile-long skid-road, vessels could come to Cardigan's mill dock to + load and lie safely in twenty feet of water at low tide. Also this dock + was sufficiently far up the bay to be sheltered from the heavy seas that + rolled in from Humboldt Bar, while the level land that stretched inland to + the timber-line constituted the only logical townsite on the bay. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said John Cardigan to himself exultingly when a long-drawn wail + told him his circular saw was biting into the first redwood log to be + milled since the world began, “I shall build a city and call it Sequoia. + By to-morrow I shall have cut sufficient timber to make a start. First I + shall build for my employees better homes than the rude shacks and + tent-houses they now occupy; then I shall build myself a fine residence + with six rooms, and the room that faces on the bay shall be the parlour. + When I can afford it, I shall build a larger mill, employ more men, and + build more houses. I shall encourage tradesmen to set up in business in + Sequoia, and to my city I shall present a church and a schoolhouse. We + shall have a volunteer fire department, and if God is good, I shall, at a + later date, get out some long-length fir-timber and build a schooner to + freight my lumber to market. And she shall have three masts instead of + two, and carry half a million feet of lumber instead of two hundred + thousand. First, however, I must build a steam tugboat to tow my schooner + in and out over Humboldt Bar. And after that—ah, well! That is + sufficient for the present.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Thus did John Cardigan dream, and as he dreamed he worked. The city of + Sequoia was born with the Argonaut's six-room mansion of rough redwood + boards and a dozen three-room cabins with lean-to kitchens; and the + tradespeople came when John Cardigan, with something of the largeness of + his own redwood trees, gave them ground and lumber in order to encourage + the building of their enterprises. Also the dream of the schoolhouse and + the church came true, as did the steam tugboat and the schooner with three + masts. The mill was enlarged until it could cut forty thousand feet on a + twelve-hour shift, and a planer and machines for making rustic siding and + tongued-and-grooved flooring and ceiling were installed. More ox-teams + appeared upon the skid-road, which was longer now; the cry of + “Timber-r-r!” and the thunderous roar of a falling redwood grew fainter + and fainter as the forest receded from the bay shore, and at last the + whine of the saws silenced these sounds forever in Sequoia. + </p> + <p> + At forty John Cardigan was younger than most men at thirty, albeit he + worked fourteen hours a day, slept eight, and consumed the remaining two + at his meals. But through all those fruitful years of toil he had still + found time to dream, and the spell of the redwoods had lost none of its + potency. He was still checker-boarding the forested townships with his + adverse holdings—the key-positions to the timber in back of beyond + which some day should come to his hand. Also he had competition now: other + sawmills dotted the bay shore; other three-masted schooners carried + Humboldt redwood to the world beyond the bar, over which they were + escorted by other and more powerful steam-tugs. This competition John + Cardigan welcomed and enjoyed, however, for he had been first in Humboldt, + and the townsite and a mile of tidelands fronting on deep water were his; + hence each incoming adventurer merely helped his dream of a city to come + true. + </p> + <p> + At forty-two Cardigan was the first mayor of Sequoia. At forty-four he was + standing on his dock one day, watching his tug kick into her berth the + first square-rigged ship that had ever come to Humboldt Bay to load a + cargo of clear redwood for foreign delivery. She was a big Bath-built + clipper, and her master a lusty down-Easter, a widower with one daughter + who had come with him around the Horn. John Cardigan saw this girl come up + on the quarter-deck and stand by with a heaving-line in her hand; calmly + she fixed her glance upon him, and as the ship was shunted in closer to + the dock, she made the cast to Cardigan. He caught the light heaving-line, + hauled in the heavy Manila stern-line to which it was attached, and + slipped the loop of the mooring-cable over the dolphin at the end of the + dock. + </p> + <p> + “Some men wanted aft here to take up the slack of the stern-line on the + windlass, sir,” he shouted to the skipper, who was walking around on top + of the house. “That girl can't haul her in alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't. I'm short-handed,” the skipper replied. “Jump aboard and help + her.” + </p> + <p> + Cardigan made a long leap from the dock to the ship's rail, balanced there + lightly a moment, and sprang to the deck. He passed the bight of the + stern-line in a triple loop around the drum of the windlass, and without + awaiting his instructions, the girl grasped the slack of the line and + prepared to walk away with it as the rope paid in on the windlass. + Cardigan inserted a belaying-pin in the windlass, paused and looked at the + girl. “Raise a chantey,” he suggested. Instantly she lifted a sweet + contralto in that rollicking old ballad of the sea—“Blow the Men + Down.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For tinkers and tailors and lawyers and all, + Way! Aye! Blow the men down! + They ship for real sailors aboard the Black Ball, + Give me some time to blow the men down. +</pre> + <p> + Round the windlass Cardigan walked, steadily and easily, and the girl's + eyes widened in wonder as he did the work of three powerful men. When the + ship had been warped in and the slack of the line made fast on the bitts, + she said: + </p> + <p> + “Please run for'd and help my father with the bow-lines. You're worth + three foremast hands. Indeed, I didn't expect to see a sailor on this + dock.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to come around the Horn to get here, Miss,” he explained, “and when + a man hasn't money to pay for his passage, he needs must work it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm the second mate,” she explained. “We had a succession of gales from + the Falklands to the Evangelistas, and there the mate got her in irons and + she took three big ones over the taffrail and cost us eight men. Working + short-handed, we couldn't get any canvas on her to speak of—long + voyage, you know, and the rest of the crew got scurvy.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a brave girl,” he told her. + </p> + <p> + “And you're a first-class A. B.,” she replied. “If you're looking for a + berth, my father will be glad to ship you.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, but I can't go,” he called as he turned toward the companion + ladder. “I'm Cardigan, and I own this sawmill and must stay here and look + after it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a light, exultant feeling in his middle-aged heart as he + scampered along the deck. The girl had wonderful dark auburn hair and + brown eyes, with a milk-white skin that sun and wind had sought in vain to + blemish. And for all her girlhood she was a woman—bred from a race + (his own people) to whom danger and despair merely furnished a tonic for + their courage. What a mate for a man! And she had looked at him + pridefully. + </p> + <p> + They were married before the ship was loaded, and on a knoll of the + logged-over lands back of the town and commanding a view of the bay, with + the dark-forested hills in back and the little second-growth redwoods + flourishing in the front yard, he built her the finest home in Sequoia. He + had reserved this building-site in a vague hope that some day he might + utilize it for this very purpose, and here he spent with her three + wonderfully happy years. Here his son Bryce was born, and here, two days + later, the new-made mother made the supreme sacrifice of maternity. + </p> + <p> + For half a day following the destruction of his Eden John Cardigan sat + dumbly beside his wife, his great, hard hand caressing the auburn head + whose every thought for three years had been his happiness and comfort. + Then the doctor came to him and mentioned the matter of funeral + arrangements. + </p> + <p> + Cardigan looked up at him blankly. “Funeral arrangements?” he murmured. + “Funeral arrangements?” He passed his gnarled hand over his leonine head. + “Ah, yes, I suppose so. I shall attend to it.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and left the house, walking with bowed head out of Sequoia, up the + abandoned and decaying skid-road through the second-growth redwoods to the + dark green blur that marked the old timber. It was May, and Nature was + renewing herself, for spring comes late in Humboldt County. From an alder + thicket a pompous cock grouse boomed intermittently; the valley quail, in + pairs, were busy about their household affairs; from a clump of manzanita + a buck watched John Cardigan curiously. On past the landing where the big + bull donkey-engine stood (for with the march of progress, the logging + donkey-engine had replaced the ox-teams, while the logs were hauled out of + the woods to the landing by means of a mile-long steel cable, and there + loaded on the flat-cars of a logging railroad to be hauled to the mill and + dumped in the log-boom) he went, up the skid-road recently swamped from + the landing to the down timber where the crosscut men and barkpeelers were + at work, on into the green timber where the woods-boss and his men were + chopping. + </p> + <p> + “Come with me, McTavish,” he said to his woods-boss. They passed through a + narrow gap between two low hills and emerged in a long narrow valley where + the redwood grew thickly and where the smallest tree was not less than + fifteen feet in diameter and two hundred and fifty feet tall. McTavish + followed at the master's heels as they penetrated this grove, making their + way with difficulty through the underbrush until they came at length to a + little amphitheatre, a clearing perhaps a hundred feet in diameter, + oval-shaped and surrounded by a wall of redwoods of such dimensions that + even McTavish, who was no stranger to these natural marvels, was struck + with wonder. The ground in this little amphitheatre was covered to a depth + of a foot with brown, withered little redwood twigs to which the dead + leaves still clung, while up through this aromatic covering delicate + maidenhair ferns and oxalis had thrust themselves. Between the huge brown + boles of the redwoods woodwardia grew riotously, while through the great + branches of these sentinels of the ages the sunlight filtered. Against the + prevailing twilight of the surrounding forest it descended like a halo, + and where it struck the ground John Cardigan paused. + </p> + <p> + “McTavish,” he said, “she died this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sore distressed for you, sir,” the woods-boss answered. “We'd a + whisper in the camp yesterday that the lass was like to be in a bad way.” + </p> + <p> + Cardigan scuffed with his foot a clear space in the brown litter. “Take + two men from the section-gang, McTavish,” he ordered, “and have them dig + her grave here; then swamp a trail through the underbrush and out to the + donkey-landing, so we can carry her in. The funeral will be private.” + </p> + <p> + McTavish nodded. “Any further orders, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. When you come to that little gap in the hills, cease your logging + and bear off yonder.” He waved his hand. “I'm not going to cut the timber + in this valley. You see, McTavish, what it is. The trees here—ah, + man, I haven't the heart to destroy God's most wonderful handiwork. + Besides, she loved this spot, McTavish, and she called the valley her + Valley of the Giants. I—I gave it to her for a wedding present + because she had a bit of a dream that some day the town I started would + grow up to yonder gap, and when that time came and we could afford it, + 'twas in her mind to give her Valley of the Giants to Sequoia for a city + park, all hidden away here and unsuspected. + </p> + <p> + “She loved it, McTavish. It pleased her to come here with me; she'd make + up a lunch of her own cooking and I would catch trout in the stream by the + dogwoods yonder and fry the fish for her. Sometimes I'd barbecue a venison + steak and—well, 'twas our playhouse, McTavish, and I who am no + longer young—I who never played until I met her—I—I'm a + bit foolish, I fear, but I found rest and comfort here, McTavish, even + before I met her, and I'm thinking I'll have to come here often for the + same. She—she was a very superior woman, McTavish—very + superior. Ah, man, the soul of her! I cannot bear that her body should + rest in Sequoia cemetery, along with the rag tag and bobtail o' the town. + She was like this sunbeam, McTavish. She—she—” + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” murmured McTavish huskily. “I ken. Ye wouldna gie her a common or a + public spot in which to wait for ye. An' ye'll be shuttin' down the mill + an' loggin'-camps an' layin' off the hands in her honour for a bit?” + </p> + <p> + “Until after the funeral, McTavish. And tell your men they'll be paid for + the lost time. That will be all, lad.” + </p> + <p> + When McTavish was gone, John Cardigan sat down on a small sugar-pine + windfall, his head held slightly to one side while he listened to that + which in the redwoods is not sound but rather the absence of it. And as he + listened, he absorbed a subtle comfort from those huge brown trees, so + emblematic of immortality; in the thought he grew closer to his Maker, and + presently found that peace which he sought. Love such as theirs could + never die... The tears came at last. + </p> + <p> + At sundown he walked home bearing an armful of rhododendrons and dogwood + blossoms, which he arranged in the room where she lay. Then he sought the + nurse who had attended her. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to hold my son,” he said gently. “May I?” + </p> + <p> + She brought him the baby and placed it in his great arms that trembled so; + he sat down and gazed long and earnestly at this flesh of his flesh and + blood of his blood. “You'll have her hair and skin and eyes,” he murmured. + “My son, my son, I shall love you so, for now I must love for two. Sorrow + I shall keep from you, please God, and happiness and worldly comfort shall + I leave you when I go to her.” He nuzzled his grizzled cheek against the + baby's face. “Just you and my trees,” he whispered, “just you and my trees + to help me hang on to a plucky finish.” + </p> + <p> + For love and paternity had come to him late in life, and so had his first + great sorrow; wherefore, since he was not accustomed to these heritages of + all flesh, he would have to adjust himself to the change. But his son and + his trees—ah, yes, they would help. And he would gather more + redwoods now! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + A young half-breed Digger woman, who had suffered the loss of the latest + of her numerous progeny two days prior to Mrs. Cardigan's death, was + installed in the house on the knoll as nurse to John Cardigan's son whom + he called Bryce, the family name of his mother's people. A Mrs. Tully, + widow of Cardigan's first engineer in the mill, was engaged as housekeeper + and cook; and with his domestic establishment reorganized along these + simple lines, John Cardigan turned with added eagerness to his business + affairs, hoping between them and his boy to salvage as much as possible + from what seemed to him, in the first pangs of his loneliness and + desolation, the wreckage of his life. + </p> + <p> + While Bryce was in swaddling clothes, he was known only to those females + of Sequoia to whom his half-breed foster mother proudly exhibited him when + taking him abroad for an airing in his perambulator. With his advent into + rompers, however, and the assumption of his American prerogative of free + speech, his father developed the habit of bringing the child down to the + mill office, to which he added a playroom that connected with his private + office. Hence, prior to his second birthday, Bryce divined that his father + was closer to him than motherly Mrs. Tully or the half-breed girl, albeit + the housekeeper sang to him the lullabys that mothers know while the + Digger girl, improvising blank verse paeans of praise and prophecy, + crooned them to her charge in the unmusical monotone of her tribal tongue. + His father, on the contrary, wasted no time in singing, but would toss him + to the ceiling or set him astride his foot and swing him until he screamed + in ecstasy. Moreover, his father took him on wonderful journeys which no + other member of the household had even suggested. Together they were wont + to ride to and from the woods in the cab of the logging locomotive, and + once they both got on the log carriage in the mill with Dan Keyes, the + head sawyer, and had a jolly ride up to the saw and back again, up and + back again until the log had been completely sawed; and because he had + refrained from crying aloud when the greedy saw bit into the log with a + shrill whine, Dan Keyes had given him a nickel to put in his tin bank. + </p> + <p> + Of all their adventures together, however, those which occurred on their + frequent excursions up to the Valley of the Giants impressed themselves + imperishably upon Bryce's memory. How well he remembered their first trip, + when, seated astride his father's shoulders with his sturdy little legs + around Cardigan's neck and his chubby little hands clasping the old man's + ears, they had gone up the abandoned skid-road and into the semi-darkness + of the forest, terminating suddenly in a shower of sunshine that fell in + an open space where a boy could roll and play and never get dirty. Also + there were several dozen gray squirrels there waiting to climb on his + shoulder and search his pockets for pine-nuts, a supply of which his + father always furnished. + </p> + <p> + Bryce always looked forward with eagerness to those frequent trips with + his father “to the place where Mother dear went to heaven.” From his perch + on his father's shoulders he could look vast distances into the underbrush + and catch glimpses of the wild life therein; when the last nut had been + distributed to the squirrels in the clearing, he would follow a flash of + blue that was a jay high up among the evergreen branches, or a flash of + red that was a woodpecker hammering a home in the bark of a sugar-pine. + Eventually, however, the spell of the forest would creep over the child; + intuitively he would become one with the all-pervading silence, climb into + his father's arms as the latter sat dreaming on the old sugar-pine + windfall, and presently drop off to sleep. + </p> + <p> + When Bryce was six years old, his father sent him to the public school in + Sequoia with the children of his loggers and mill-hands, thus laying the + foundation for a democratic education all too infrequent with the sons of + men rated as millionaires. At night old Cardigan (for so men had now + commenced to designate him!) would hear his boy's lessons, taking the + while an immeasurable delight in watching the lad's mind develop. As a + pupil Bryce was not meteoric; he had his father's patient, unexcitable + nature; and, like the old man, he possessed the glorious gift of + imagination. Never mediocre, he was never especially brilliant, but was + seemingly content to maintain a steady, dependable average in all things. + He had his mother's dark auburn hair, brown eyes, and fair white skin, and + quite early in life he gave promise of being as large and powerful a man + as his father. + </p> + <p> + Bryce's boyhood was much the same as that of other lads in Sequoia, save + that in the matter of toys and, later guns, fishing-rods, dogs, and ponies + he was a source of envy to his fellows. After his tenth year his father + placed him on the mill pay-roll, and on payday he was wont to line up with + the mill-crew to receive his modest stipend of ten dollars for carrying in + kindling to the cook in the mill kitchen each day after school. + </p> + <p> + This otherwise needless arrangement was old Cardigan's way of teaching his + boy financial responsibility. All that he possessed he had worked for, and + he wanted his son to grow up with the business to realize that he was a + part of it with definite duties connected with it developing upon him—duties + which he must never shirk if he was to retain the rich redwood heritage + his father had been so eagerly storing up for him. + </p> + <p> + When Bryce Cardigan was about fourteen years old there occurred an + important event in his life. In a commendable effort to increase his + income he had laid out a small vegetable garden in the rear of his + father's house, and here on a Saturday morning, while down on his knees + weeding carrots, he chanced to look up and discovered a young lady gazing + at him through the picket fence. She was a few years his junior, and a + stranger in Sequoia. Ensued the following conversation: “Hello, little + boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Hello yourself! I ain't a little boy.” + </p> + <p> + She ignored the correction. “What are you doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Weedin' carrots. Can't you see?” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, highly incensed at having been designated a little boy by this + superior damsel, saw his opportunity to silence her. “Cat's fur for kitten + breeches,” he retorted—without any evidence of originality, we must + confess. Whereat she stung him to the heart with a sweet smile and + promptly sang for him this ancient ballad of childhood: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “What are little boys made of? + What are little boys made of? + Snakes and snails, + And puppy dog's tails, + And that's what little boys are made of.” + </pre> + <p> + Bryce knew the second verse and shrivelled inwardly in anticipation of + being informed that little girls are made of sugar and spice and + everything nice. Realizing that he had begun something which might not + terminate with credit to himself, he hung his head and for the space of + several minutes gave all his attention to his crop. And presently the + visitor spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “I like your hair, little boy. It's a pretty red.” + </p> + <p> + That settled the issue between them. To be hailed as little boy was bad + enough, but to be reminded of his crowning misfortune was adding insult to + injury. He rose and cautiously approached the fence with the intention of + pinching the impudent stranger, suddenly and surreptitiously, and sending + her away weeping. As his hand crept between the palings on its wicked + mission, the little miss looked at him in friendly fashion and queried: + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce's hand hesitated. “Bryce Cardigan,” he answered gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm Shirley Sumner,” she ventured, “Let's be friends.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you come to live in Sequoia?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I don't live here. I'm just visiting here with my aunt and uncle. We're + staying at the hotel, and there's nobody to play with. My uncle's name is + Pennington. So's my aunt's. He's out here buying timber, and we live in + Michigan. Do you know the capital of Michigan?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do,” he answered. “The capital of Michigan is Chicago.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you big stupid! It isn't. It's Detroit.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tain't neither. It's Chicago.” + </p> + <p> + “I live there—so I guess I ought to know. So there!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was vanquished, and an acute sense of his imperfections in matters + geographical inclined him to end the argument. “Well, maybe you're right,” + he admitted grudgingly. “Anyhow, what difference does it make?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. Evidently she was desirous of avoiding an argument if + possible. Her gaze wandered past Bryce to where his Indian pony stood with + her head out the window of her box-stall contemplating her master. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a dear little horse!” Shirley Sumner exclaimed. “Whose is he?” + </p> + <p> + “'Tain't a he. It's a she. And she belongs to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you ride her?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very often now. I'm getting too heavy for her, so Dad's bought me a + horse that weighs nine hundred pounds. Midget only weighs five hundred.” + He considered her a moment while she gazed in awe upon this man with two + horses. “Can you ride a pony?” he asked, for no reason that he was aware + of. + </p> + <p> + She sighed, shaking her head resignedly. “We haven't any room to keep a + pony at our house in Detroit,” she explained, and added hopefully: “But + I'd love to ride on Midget. I suppose I could learn to ride if somebody + taught me how.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her again. At that period of his existence he was inclined to + regard girls as a necessary evil. For some immutable reason they existed, + and perforce must be borne with, and it was his hope that he would get + through life and see as little as possible of the exasperating sex. + Nevertheless, as Bryce surveyed this winsome miss through the palings, he + was sensible of a sneaking desire to find favour in her eyes—also + equally sensible of the fact that the path to that desirable end lay + between himself and Midget. He swelled with the importance of one who + knows he controls a delicate situation. “Well, I suppose if you want a + ride I'll have to give it to you,” he grumbled, “although I'm mighty busy + this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I think you're so nice,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + A thrill shot through him that was akin to pain; with difficulty did he + restrain an impulse to dash wildly into the stable and saddle Midget in + furious haste. Instead he walked to the barn slowly and with extreme + dignity. When he reappeared, he was leading Midget, a little silverpoint + runt of a Klamath Indian pony, and Moses, a sturdy pinto cayuse from the + cattle ranges over in Trinity County. “I'll have to ride with you,” he + announced. “Can't let a tenderfoot like you go out alone on Midget.” + </p> + <p> + All aflutter with delightful anticipation, the young lady climbed up on + the gate and scrambled into the saddle when Bryce swung the pony broadside + to the gate. Then he adjusted the stirrups to fit her, passed a hair rope + from Midget's little hackamore to the pommel of Moses' saddle, mounted the + pinto, and proceeded with his first adventure as a riding-master. Two + hours of his valuable time did he give that morning before the call of + duty brought him back to the house and his neglected crop of carrots. When + he suggested tactfully, however, that it was now necessary that his guest + and Midget separate, a difficulty arose. Shirley Sumner refused point + blank to leave the premises. She liked Bryce for his hair and because he + had been so kind to her; she was a stranger in Sequoia, and now that she + had found an agreeable companion, it was far from her intention to desert + him. + </p> + <p> + So Miss Sumner stayed and helped Bryce weed his carrots, and since as a + voluntary labourer she was at least worth her board, at noon Bryce brought + her in to Mrs. Tully with a request for luncheon. When he went to the mill + to carry in the kindling for the cook, the young lady returned rather + sorrowfully to the Hotel Sequoia, with a fervent promise to see him the + next day. She did, and Bryce took her for a long ride up into the Valley + of the Giants and showed her his mother's grave. The gray squirrels were + there, and Bryce gave Shirley a bag of pine-nuts to feed them. Then they + put some flowers on the grave, and when they returned to town and Bryce + was unsaddling the ponies, Shirley drew Midget's nose down to her and + kissed it. Then she commenced to weep rather violently. + </p> + <p> + “What are you crying about?” Bryce demanded. Girls were so hard to + understand. + </p> + <p> + “I'm go-going h-h-h-home to-morrow,” she howled. + </p> + <p> + He was stricken with dismay and bade her desist from her vain repinings. + But her heart was broken, and somehow—Bryce appeared to act + automatically—he had his arm around her. “Don't cry, Shirley,” he + pleaded. “It breaks my heart to see you cry. Do you want Midget? I'll give + her to you.” + </p> + <p> + Between sobs Shirley confessed that the prospect of parting with him and + not Midget was provocative of her woe. This staggered Bryce and pleased + him immensely. And at parting she kissed him good-bye, reiterating her + opinion that he was the nicest, kindest boy she had ever met or hoped to + meet. + </p> + <p> + When Shirley and her uncle and aunt boarded the steamer for San Francisco, + Bryce stood disconsolate on the dock and waved to Shirley until he could + no longer discern her on the deck. Then he went home, crawled up into the + haymow and wept, for he had something in his heart and it hurt. He thought + of his elfin companion very frequently for a week, and he lost his + appetite, very much to Mrs. Tully's concern. Then the steelhead trout + began to run in Eel River, and the sweetest event that can occur in any + boy's existence—the sudden awakening to the wonder and beauty of + life so poignantly realized in his first love-affair—was lost sight + of by Bryce. In a month he had forgotten the incident; in six months he + had forgotten Shirley Sumner. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + The succeeding years of Bryce Cardigan's life, until he completed his + high-school studies and went East to Princeton, were those of the ordinary + youth in a small and somewhat primitive country town. He made frequent + trips to San Francisco with his father, taking passage on the steamer that + made bi-weekly trips between Sequoia and the metropolis—as The + Sequoia Sentinel always referred to San Francisco. He was an expert + fisherman, and the best shot with rifle or shot-gun in the county; he + delighted in sports and, greatly to the secret delight of his father + showed a profound interest in the latter's business. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the happy years of Bryce's boyhood his father continued to + enlarge and improve his sawmill, to build more schooners, and to acquire + more redwood timber. Lands, the purchase of which by Cardigan a decade + before had caused his neighbours to impugn his judgment, now developed + strategical importance. As a result those lands necessary to consolidate + his own holdings came to him at his own price, while his adverse holdings + that blocked the logging operations of his competitors went from him—also + at his own price. In fact, all well-laid plans matured satisfactorily with + the exception of one, and since it has a very definite bearing on the + story, the necessity for explaining it is paramount. + </p> + <p> + Contiguous to Cardigan's logging operations to the east and north of + Sequoia, and comparatively close in, lay a block of two thousand acres of + splendid timber, the natural, feasible, and inexpensive outlet for which, + when it should be logged, was the Valley of the Giants. For thirty years + John Cardigan had played a waiting game with the owner of that timber, for + the latter was as fully obsessed with the belief that he was going to sell + it to John Cardigan at a dollar and a half per thousand feet stumpage as + Cardigan was certain he was going to buy it for a dollar a thousand—when + he should be ready to do so and not one second sooner. He calculated, as + did the owner of the timber, that the time to do business would be a year + or two before the last of Cardigan's timber in that section should be + gone. + </p> + <p> + Eventually the time for acquiring more timber arrived. John Cardigan, + meeting his neighbour on the street, accosted him thus: + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Bill: isn't it time we got together on that timber of yours? + You know you've been holding it to block me and force me to buy at your + figure.” + </p> + <p> + “That's why I bought it,” the other admitted smilingly. “Then, before I + realized my position, you checkmated me with that quarter-section in the + valley, and we've been deadlocked ever since.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you a dollar a thousand stumpage for your timber, Bill.” + </p> + <p> + “I want a dollar and a half.” + </p> + <p> + “A dollar is my absolute limit.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll keep my timber.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'll keep my money. When I finish logging in my present holdings, I'm + going to pull out of that country and log twenty miles south of Sequoia. I + have ten thousand acres in the San Hedrin watershed. Remember, Bill, the + man who buys your timber will have to log it through my land—and I'm + not going to log that quarter-section in the valley. Hence there will be + no outlet for your timber in back.” + </p> + <p> + “Not going to log it? Why, what are you going to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm just going to let it stay there until I die. When my will is filed + for probate, your curiosity will be satisfied—but not until then.” + </p> + <p> + The other laughed. “John,” he declared, “you just haven't got the courage + to pull out when your timber adjoining mine is gone, and move twenty miles + south to the San Hedrin watershed. That will be too expensive a move, and + you'll only be biting off your nose to spite your face. Come through with + a dollar and a half, John.” + </p> + <p> + “I never bluff, Bill. Remember, if I pull out for the San Hedrin, I'll not + abandon my logging-camps there to come back and log your timber. One + expensive move is enough for me. Better take a dollar, Bill. It's a good, + fair price, as the market on redwood timber is now, and you'll be making + an even hundred per cent, on your investment. Remember, Bill, if I don't + buy your timber, you'll never log it yourself and neither will anybody + else. You'll be stuck with it for the next forty years—and taxes + aren't getting any lower. Besides, there's a good deal of pine and fir in + there, and you know what a forest fire will do to that.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll hang on a little longer, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “I think so, too,” John Cardigan replied. And that night, as was his wont, + even though he realized that it was not possible for Bryce to gain a + profound understanding of the business problems to which he was heir, John + Cardigan discussed the Squaw Creek timber with his son, relating to him + the details of his conversation with the owner. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he thinks you're bluffing,” Bryce commented. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not, Bryce. I never bluff—that is, I never permit a bluff of + mine to be called, and don't you ever do it, either. Remember that, boy. + Any time you deliver a verdict, be sure you're in such a position you + won't have to reverse yourself. I'm going to finish logging in that + district this fall, so if I'm to keep the mill running, I'll have to + establish my camps on the San Hedrin watershed right away.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce pondered. “But isn't it cheaper to give him his price on Squaw Creek + timber than go logging in the San Hedrin and have to build twenty miles of + logging railroad to get your logs to the mill?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be, son, if I HAD to build the railroad. Fortunately, I do not. + I'll just shoot the logs down the hillside to the San Hedrin River and + drive them down the stream to a log-boom on tidewater.” + </p> + <p> + “But there isn't enough water in the San Hedrin to float a redwood log, + Dad. I've fished there, and I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true—in the summer and fall. But when the winter freshets + come on and the snow begins to melt in the spring up in the Yola Bolas, + where the San Hedrin has its source, we'll have plenty of water for + driving the river. Once we get the logs down to tide-water, we'll raft + them and tow them up to the mill. So you see, Bryce, we won't be bothered + with the expense of maintaining a logging railroad, as at present.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked at his father admiringly. “I guess Dan Keyes is right, Dad,” + he said. “Dan says you're crazy—like a fox. Now I know why you've + been picking up claims in the San Hedrin watershed.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you don't, Bryce. I've never told you, but I'll tell you now the real + reason. Humboldt County has no rail connection with the outside world, so + we are forced to ship our lumber by water. But some day a railroad will be + built in from the south—from San Francisco; and when it comes, the + only route for it to travel is through our timber in the San Hedrin + Valley. I've accumulated that ten thousand acres for you, my son, for the + railroad will never be built in my day. It may come in yours, but I have + grown weary waiting for it, and now that my hand is forced, I'm going to + start logging there. It doesn't matter, son. You will still be logging + there fifty years from now. And when the railroad people come to you for a + right of way, my boy, give it to them. Don't charge them a cent. It has + always been my policy to encourage the development of this county, and I + want you to be a forward-looking, public-spirited citizen. That's why I'm + sending you East to college. You've been born and raised in this town, and + you must see more of the world. You mustn't be narrow or provincial, + because I'm saving up for you, my son, a great many responsibilities, and + I want to educate you to meet them bravely and sensibly.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, regarding the boy gravely and tenderly. “Bryce, lad,” he said + presently, “do you ever wonder why I work so hard and barely manage to + spare the time to go camping with you in vacation time?” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you take it easy, Dad? You do work awfully hard, and I have + wondered about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have to work hard, my son, because I started something a long time ago, + when work was fun. And now I can't let go. I employ too many people who + are dependent on me for their bread and butter. When they plan a marriage + or the building of a home or the purchase of a cottage organ, they have to + figure me in on the proposition. I didn't have a name for the part I + played in these people's lives until the other night when I was helping + you with your algebra. I'm the unknown quantity.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” Bryce protested. “You're the known quantity.” + </p> + <p> + Cardigan smiled. “Well, maybe I am,” he admitted. “I've always tried to + be. And if I have succeeded, then you're the unknown quantity, Bryce, + because some day you'll have to take my place; they will have to depend + upon you when I am gone. Listen to me, son. You're only a boy, and you + can't understand everything I tell you now, but I want you to remember + what I tell you, and some day understanding will come to you. You mustn't + fail the people who work for you—who are dependent upon your + strength and brains and enterprises to furnish them with an opportunity + for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. When you are the boss of + Cardigan's mill, you must keep the wheels turning; you must never shut + down the mill or the logging-camps in dull times just to avoid a loss you + can stand better than your employees.” + </p> + <p> + His hard, trembling old hand closed over the boy's. “I want you to be a + brave and honourable man,” he concluded. + </p> + <p> + True to his word, when John Cardigan finished his logging in his old, + original holdings adjacent to Sequoia and Bill Henderson's Squaw Creek + timber, he quietly moved south with his Squaw Creek woods-gang and joined + the crew already getting out logs in the San Hedrin watershed. Not until + then did Bill Henderson realize that John Cardigan had called his bluff—whereat + he cursed himself for a fool and a poor judge of human nature. He had + tried a hold-up game and had failed; a dollar a thousand feet stumpage was + a fair price; for years he had needed the money; and now, when it was too + late, he realized his error. Luck was with Henderson, however; for shortly + thereafter there came again to Sequoia one Colonel Seth Pennington, a + millionaire white-pine operator from Michigan. The Colonel's Michigan + lands had been logged off, and since he had had one taste of cheap timber, + having seen fifty-cent stumpage go to five dollars, the Colonel, like + Oliver Twist, desired some more of the same. On his previous visit to + Sequoia he had seen his chance awaiting him in the gradually decreasing + market for redwood lumber and the corresponding increase of melancholia in + the redwood operators; hence he had returned to Michigan, closed out his + business interests there, and returned to Sequoia on the alert for an + investment in redwood timber. From a chair-warmer on the porch of the + Hotel Sequoia, the Colonel had heard the tale of how stiff-necked old John + Cardigan had called the bluff of equally stiff-necked old Bill Henderson; + so for the next few weeks the Colonel, under pretense of going hunting or + fishing on Squaw Creek, managed to make a fairly accurate cursory cruise + of the Henderson timber—following which he purchased it from the + delighted Bill for a dollar and a quarter per thousand feet stumpage and + paid for it with a certified check. With his check in his hand, Henderson + queried: + </p> + <p> + “Colonel, how do you purpose logging that timber?” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel smiled. “Oh, I don't intend to log it. When I log timber, it + has to be more accessible. I'm just going to hold on and outgame your + former prospect, John Cardigan. He needs that timber; he has to have it—and + one of these days he'll pay me two dollars for it.” + </p> + <p> + Bill Henderson raised an admonitory finger and shook it under the + Colonel's nose. “Hear me, stranger,” he warned. “When you know John + Cardigan as well as I do, you'll change your tune. He doesn't bluff.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't?” The Colonel laughed derisively. “Why, that move of his over + to the San Hedrin was the most monumental bluff ever pulled off in this + country.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, sir. You wait and see.” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen already. I know.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for one thing, Henderson, I noticed Cardigan has carefully housed + his rolling-stock—and he hasn't scrapped his five miles of logging + railroad and three miles of spurs.” + </p> + <p> + Old Bill Henderson chewed his quid of tobacco reflectively and spat at a + crack in the sidewalk. “No,” he replied, “I'll admit he ain't started + scrappin' it yet, but I happen to know he's sold the rollin'-stock an' + rails to the Freshwater Lumber Company, so I reckon they'll be scrappin' + that railroad for him before long.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel was visibly moved. “If your information is authentic,” he said + slowly, “I suppose I'll have to build a mill on tidewater and log the + timber.” + </p> + <p> + “'Twon't pay you to do that at the present price of redwood lumber.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm in no hurry. I can wait for better times.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, when better times arrive, you'll find that John Cardigan owns the + only water-front property on this side of the bay where the water's deep + enough to let a ship lie at low tide and load in safety.” + </p> + <p> + “There is deep water across the bay and plenty of water-front property for + sale. I'll find a mill-site there and tow my logs across.” + </p> + <p> + “But you've got to dump 'em in the water on this side. Everything north of + Cardigan's mill is tide-flat; he owns all the deep-water frontage for a + mile south of Sequoia, and after that come more tide-flats. If you dump + your logs on these tide-flats, they'll bog down in the mud, and there + isn't water enough at high tide to float 'em off or let a tug go in an' + snake 'em off.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a discouraging sort of person,” the Colonel declared irritably. “I + suppose you'll tell me now that I can't log my timber without permission + from Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + Old Bill spat at another crack; his faded blue eyes twinkled + mischievously. “No, that's where you've got the bulge on John, Colonel. + You can build a logging railroad from the southern fringe of your timber + north and up a ten per cent. grade on the far side of the Squaw Creek + watershed, then west three miles around a spur of low hills, and then + south eleven miles through the level country along the bay shore. If you + want to reduce your Squaw Creek grade to say two per cent., figure on ten + additional miles of railroad and a couple extra locomotives. You + understand, of course, Colonel, that no Locomotive can haul a long + trainload of redwood logs up a long, crooked, two per cent. grade. You + have to have an extry in back to push.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! I'll build my road from Squaw Creek gulch south through that + valley where those whopping big trees grow. That's the natural outlet for + the timber. See here:” [graphic] + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pennington took from his pocket the rough sketch-map of the region + which we have reproduced herewith and pointed to the spot numbered “11.” + </p> + <p> + “But that valley ain't logged yet,” explained Henderson. + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry. Cardigan will sell that valley to me—also a right of + way down his old railroad grade and through his logged-over lands to + tidewater.” + </p> + <p> + “Bet you a chaw o' tobacco he won't. Those big trees in that valley ain't + goin' to be cut for no railroad right o' way. That valley's John + Cardigan's private park; his wife's buried up there. Why, Colonel, that's + the biggest grove of the biggest sequoia sempervirens in the world, an' + many's the time I've heard John say he'd almost as lief cut off his right + hand as fell one o' his giants, as he calls 'em. I tell you, Colonel, John + Cardigan's mighty peculiar about them big trees. Any time he can get a day + off he goes up an' looks 'em over.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my very dear sir,” the Colonel protested, “if the man will not + listen to reason, the courts will make him. I can condemn a right of way, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “We-ll,” said old Bill, wagging his head sagely, “mebbe you can, an' then + again mebbe you can't. It took me a long time to figger out just where I + stood, but mebbe you're quicker at figgers than I am. Anyhow, Colonel, + good luck to you, whichever way the cat jumps.” + </p> + <p> + This illuminating conversation had one effect on Colonel Seth Pennington. + It decided him to make haste slowly; so without taking the trouble to make + the acquaintance of John Cardigan, he returned to Detroit, there to await + the next move in this gigantic game of chess. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + No man is infallible, and in planning his logging operations in the San + Hedrin watershed, John Cardigan presently made the discovery that he had + erred in judgment. That season, from May to November, his woods-crew put + thirty million feet of logs into the San Hedrin River, while the mill + sawed on a reserve supply of logs taken from the last of the old choppings + adjacent to Squaw Creek. That year, however, the rainfall in the San + Hedrin country was fifty per cent. less than normal, and by the first of + May of the following year Cardigan's woods-crew had succeeded in driving + slightly less than half of the cut of the preceding year to the boom on + tidewater at the mouth of the river. + </p> + <p> + “Unless the Lord'll gi' us a lot more water in the river,” the woods-boss + McTavish complained, “I dinna see how I'm to keep the mill runnin'.” He + was taking John Cardigan up the riverbank and explaining the situation. + “The heavy butt-logs hae sunk to the bottom,” he continued. “Wie a normal + head o' water, the lads'll move them, but wi' the wee drappie we have the + noo—” He threw up his hamlike hands despairingly. + </p> + <p> + Three days later a cloud-burst filled the river to the brim; it came at + night and swept the river clean of Cardigan's clear logs, An army of + Juggernauts, they swept down on the boiling torrent to tidewater, reaching + the bay shortly after the tide had commenced to ebb. + </p> + <p> + Now, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and a log-boom is a + chaplet of a small logs, linked end to end by means of short chains; hence + when the vanguard of logs on the lip of that flood reached the log-boom, + the impetus of the charge was too great to be resisted. Straight through + the weakest link in this boom the huge saw-logs crashed and out over + Humboldt Bar to the broad Pacific. With the ebb tide some of them came + back, while others, caught in cross-currents, bobbed about the Bay all + night and finally beached at widely scattered points. Out of the fifteen + million feet of logs less than three million feet were salvaged, and this + task in itself was an expensive operation. + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan received the news calmly. “Thank God we don't have a + cloud-burst more than once in ten years,” he remarked to his manager. + “However, that is often enough, considering the high cost of this one. + Those logs were worth eight dollars a thousand feet, board measure, in the + millpond, and I suppose we've lost a hundred thousand dollars' worth.” + </p> + <p> + He turned from the manager and walked away through the drying yard, up the + main street of Sequoia, and on into the second-growth timber at the edge + of the town. Presently he emerged on the old, decaying skid-road and + continued on through his logged-over lands, across the little divide and + down into the quarter-section of green timber he had told McTavish not to + cut. Once in the Valley of the Giants, he followed a well-worn foot-path + to the little amphitheatre, and where the sunlight filtered through like a + halo and fell on a plain little white marble monument, he paused and sat + down on the now almost decayed sugar-pine windfall. + </p> + <p> + “I've come for a little comfort, sweetheart,” he murmured to her who slept + beneath the stone. Then he leaned back against a redwood tree, removed his + hat, and closed his eyes, holding his great gray head the while a little + to one side in a listening attitude. Long he sat there, a great, + time-bitten devotee at the shrine of his comfort; and presently the + harried look left his strong, kind face and was replaced by a little + prescient smile—the sort of smile worn by one who through bitter + years has sought something very, very precious and has at length + discovered it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + It was on the day that John Cardigan received the telegram from Bryce + saying that, following four years at Princeton and two years of travel + abroad, he was returning to Sequoia to take over his redwood heritage—that + he discovered that a stranger and not the flesh of his flesh and the blood + of his blood was to reap the reward of his fifty years of endeavour. Small + wonder, then, that he laid his leonine head upon his desk and wept, + silently, as the aged and helpless weep. + </p> + <p> + For a long time he sat there lethargic with misery. Eventually he roused + himself, reached for the desk telephone, and pressed a button on the + office exchange-station. His manager, one Thomas Sinclair, answered. + “Thomas,” he said calmly, “you know, of course, that Bryce is coming home. + Tell George to take the big car and go over to Red Bluff for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll attend to it, Mr Cardigan. Anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I'll wait until Bryce gets home.” + </p> + <p> + George Sea Otter, son of Bryce Cardigan's old half-breed nurse, was a + person in whose nature struggled the white man's predilection for + advertisement and civic pride and the red man's instinct for adornment. + For three years he had been old man Cardigan's chauffeur and + man-of-all-work about the latter's old-fashioned home, and in the former + capacity he drove John Cardigan's single evidence of extravagance—a + Napier car, which was very justly regarded by George Sea Otter as the king + of automobiles, since it was the only imported car in the county. Upon + receipt of orders, therefore, from Sinclair, to drive the Napier over to + Red Bluff and meet his future boss and one-time playfellow, George Sea + Otter arrayed himself in a pair of new black corduroy trousers, yellow + button shoes, a blue woollen shirt with a large scarlet silk handkerchief + tied around the neck, a pair of beaded buckskin gloves with fringe + dependent from the gauntlet, and a broad white beaver hat with a + rattlesnake-skin band. Across the windshield of the Napier he fastened an + orange-coloured pennant bearing in bright green letters the legend: MY + CITY—SEQUOIA. As a safety-first precaution against man and beast en + route, he buckled a gun-scabbard to the spare tires on the running-board + and slipped a rifle into the scabbard within quick and easy reach of his + hand; and arrayed thus, George descended upon Red Bluff at the helm of the + king of automobiles. + </p> + <p> + When the overland train coasted into Red Bluff and slid to a grinding + halt, Bryce Cardigan saw that the Highest Living Authority had descended + from the train also. He had elected to designate her thus in the absence + of any information anent her Christian and family names, and for the + further reason that quite obviously she was a very superior person. He had + a vague suspicion that she was the kind of girl in whose presence a man + always feels that he must appear on parade—one of those alert, + highly intelligent young women so extremely apt to reduce an ordinarily + intelligent young man to a state of gibbering idiocy or stupid immobility. + </p> + <p> + Bryce had travelled in the same car with the Highest Living Authority from + Chicago and had made up his mind by observation that with a little + encouragement she could be induced to mount a soap-box and make a speech + about Women's Rights; that when her native State should be granted equal + suffrage she would run for office or manage somebody's political campaign; + that she could drive an automobile and had probably been arrested for + speeding; that she could go around any golf links in the country in ninety + and had read Maeterlinck and enjoyed it. + </p> + <p> + Bryce could see that she was the little daughter of some large rich man. + The sparsity of jewellery and the rich simplicity of her attire proved + that, and moreover she was accompanied by a French maid to whom she spoke + French in a manner which testified that before acquiring the French maid + she had been in the custody of a French nurse. She possessed poise. For + the rest, she had wonderful jet-black hair, violet eyes, and milk-white + skin, a correct nose but a somewhat generous mouth, Bryce guessed she was + twenty or twenty-one years old and that she had a temper susceptible of + being aroused. On the whole, she was rather wonderful but not dazzling—at + least, not to Bryce Cardigan. He told himself she merely interested him as + a type—whatever he meant by that. + </p> + <p> + The fact that this remarkable young woman had also left the train at Red + Bluff further interested him, for he knew Red Bluff and while giving due + credit to the many lovely damsels of that ambitious little city, Bryce had + a suspicion that no former Red Bluff girl would dare to invade the old + home town with a French maid. He noted, as further evidence of the + correctness of his assumption, that the youthful baggage-smasher at the + station failed to recognize her and was evidently dazzled when, followed + by the maid struggling with two suit-cases, she approached him and in pure + though alien English (the Italian A predominated) inquired the name and + location of the best hotel and the hour and point of departure of the + automobile stage for San Hedrin. The youth had answered her first question + and was about to answer the second when George Sea Otter, in all his + barbaric splendour, came pussy-footing around the corner of the station in + old man Cardigan's regal touring-car. + </p> + <p> + The Highest Living Authority, following the gaze of the baggage-smasher, + turned and beheld George Sea Otter. Beyond a doubt he was of the West + westward. She had heard that California stage-drivers were picturesque + fellows, and in all probability the displacing of the old Concord coach of + the movie-thriller in favour of the motor-stage had not disturbed the + idiosyncrasies of the drivers in their choice of raiment. She noted the + rifle-stock projecting from the scabbard, and a vision of a stage hold-up + flashed across her mind. Ah, yes, of course—the express messenger's + weapon, no doubt! And further to clinch her instant assumption that here + was the Sequoia motor-stage, there was the pennant adorning the + wind-shield! + </p> + <p> + Dismissing the baggage-smasher with a gracious smile, the Highest Living + Authority approached George Sea Otter, noting, the while, further evidence + that this car was a public conveyance, for the young man who had been her + fellow-passenger was heading toward the automobile also. She heard him + say: + </p> + <p> + “Hello, George, you radiant red rascal! I'm mighty glad to see you, boy. + Shake!” + </p> + <p> + They shook, George Sea Otter's dark eyes and white teeth flashing + pleasurably. Bryce tossed his bag into the tonneau; the half-breed opened + the front door; and the young master had his foot on the running-board and + was about to enter the car when a soft voice spoke at his elbow: + </p> + <p> + “Driver, this is the stage for Sequoia, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + George Sea Otter could scarcely credit his auditory nerves. “This car?” he + demanded bluntly, “this—the Sequoia stage! Take a look, lady. This + here's a Napier imported English automobile. It's a private car and + belongs to my boss here.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry I slandered your car,” she replied demurely. “I observed the + pennant on the wind-shield, and I thought—” + </p> + <p> + Bryce Cardigan turned and lifted his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Quite naturally, you thought it was the Sequoia stage,” he said to her. + He turned a smoldering glance upon George Sea Otter. “George,” he declared + ominously, but with a sly wink that drew the sting from his words, “if + you're anxious to hold down your job the next time a lady speaks to you + and asks you a simple question, you answer yes or no and refrain from + sarcastic remarks. Don't let your enthusiasm for this car run away with + you.” He faced the girl again. “Was it your intention to go out to Sequoia + on the next trip of the stage?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That means you will have to wait here three days until the stage returns + from Sequoia,” Bryce replied. + </p> + <p> + “I realized, of course, that we would arrive here too late to connect with + the stage if it maintained the customary schedule for its departure,” she + explained, “but it didn't occur to me that the stage-driver wouldn't wait + until our train arrived. I had an idea his schedule was rather elastic.” + </p> + <p> + “Stage-drivers have no imagination, to speak of,” Bryce assured her. To + himself he remarked: “She's used to having people wait on her.” + </p> + <p> + A shade of annoyance passed over the classic features of the Highest + Living Authority. “Oh, dear,” she complained, “how fearfully awkward! Now + I shall have to take the next train to San Francisco and book passage on + the steamer to Sequoia—and Marcelle is such a poor sailor. Oh, + dear!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had an inspiration and hastened to reveal it. + </p> + <p> + “We are about to start for Sequoia now, although the lateness of our start + will compel us to put up tonight at the rest-house on the south fork of + Trinity River and continue the journey in the morning. However, this + rest-house is eminently respectable and the food and accommodations are + extraordinarily good for mountains; so, if an invitation to occupy the + tonneau of my car will not be construed as an impertinence, coming as it + does from a total stranger, you are at liberty to regard this car as to + all intents and purposes the public conveyance which so scandalously + declined to wait for you this morning.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him searchingly for a brief instant: then with a peculiarly + winning smile and a graceful inclination of her head she thanked him and + accepted his hospitality—thus: + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly not! You are very kind, and I shall be eternally + grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for that vote of confidence. It makes me feel that I have your + permission to introduce myself. My name is Bryce Cardigan, and I live in + Sequoia when I'm at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Of Cardigan's Redwoods?” she questioned. He nodded. “I've heard of you, I + think,” she continued. “I am Shirley Sumner.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not live in Sequoia.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I'm going to hereafter. I was there about ten years ago.” + </p> + <p> + He grinned and thrust out a great hand which she surveyed gravely for a + minute before inserting hers in it. “I wonder,” he said, “if it is to be + my duty to give you a ride every time you come to Sequoia? The last time + you were there you wheedled me into giving you a ride on my pony, an + animal known as Midget. Do you, by any chance, recall that incident?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him wonderingly. “Why—why you're the boy with the + beautiful auburn hair,” she declared. He lifted his hat and revealed his + thick thatch in all its glory. “I'm not so sensitive about it now,” he + explained. “When we first met, reference to my hair was apt to rile me.” + He shook her little hand with cordial good-nature. “What a pity it wasn't + possible for us to renew acquaintance on the train, Miss Sumner!” + </p> + <p> + “Better late than never, Mr. Cardigan, considering the predicament in + which you found me. What became of Midget?” + </p> + <p> + “Midget, I regret to state, made a little pig of herself one day and died + of acute indigestion. She ate half a sack of carrots, and knowing full + well that she was eating forbidden fruit, she bolted them, and for her + failure to Fletcherize—but speaking of Fletcherizing, did you dine + aboard the train?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “So did I, Miss Sumner; hence I take it that you are quite + ready to start.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite, Mr. Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll drift. George, suppose you pile Miss Sumner's hand-baggage in + the tonneau and then pile in there yourself and keep Marcelle company. + I'll drive; and you can sit up in front with me, Miss Sumner, snug behind + the wind-shield where you'll not be blown about.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure this is going to be a far pleasanter journey than the stage + could possibly have afforded,” she said graciously as Bryce slipped in + beside her and took the wheel. + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind to share the pleasure with me, Miss Sumner.” He went + through his gears, and the car glided away on its journey. “By the way,” + he said suddenly as he turned west toward the distant blue mountains of + Trinity County, “how did you happen to connect me with Cardigan's + redwoods?” + </p> + <p> + “I've heard my uncle, Colonel Seth Pennington, speak of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Seth Pennington means nothing in my young life. I never heard of + him before; so I dare say he's a newcomer in our country. I've been away + six years,” he added in explanation. + </p> + <p> + “We're from Michigan. Uncle was formerly in the lumber business there, but + he's logged out now.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. So he came West, I suppose, and bought a lot of redwood timber + cheap from some old croaker who never could see any future to the redwood + lumber industry. Personally, I don't think he could have made a better + investment. I hope I shall have the pleasure of making his acquaintance + when I deliver you to him. Perhaps you may be a neighbour of mine. Hope + so.” + </p> + <p> + At this juncture George Sea Otter, who had been an interested listener to + the conversation, essayed a grunt from the rear seat. Instantly, to + Shirley Sumner's vast surprise, her host grunted also; whereupon George + Sea Otter broke into a series of grunts and guttural exclamations which + evidently appeared quite intelligible to her host, for he slowed down to + five miles an hour and cocked one ear to the rear; apparently he was + profoundly interested in whatever information his henchman had to impart. + When George Sea Otter finished his harangue, Bryce nodded and once more + gave his attention to tossing the miles behind him. + </p> + <p> + “What language was that?” Shirley Sumner inquired, consumed with + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Digger Indian,” he replied. “George's mother was my nurse, and he and I + grew up together. So I can't very well help speaking the language of the + tribe.” + </p> + <p> + They chattered volubly on many subjects for the first twenty miles; then + the road narrowed and commenced to climb steadily, and thereafter Bryce + gave all of his attention to the car, for a deviation of a foot from the + wheel-rut on the outside of the road would have sent them hurtling over + the grade into the deep-timbered canons below. Their course led through a + rugged wilderness, widely diversified and transcendently beautiful, and + the girl was rather glad of the opportunity to enjoy it in silence. Also + by reason of the fact that Bryce's gaze never wavered from the road + immediately in front of the car, she had a chance to appraise him + critically while pretending to look past him to the tumbled, snow-covered + ranges to their right. + </p> + <p> + She saw a big, supple, powerful man of twenty-five or six, with the + bearing and general demeanour of one many years his elder. His rich, dark + auburn hair was wavy, and a curling lock of it had escaped from the band + of his cap at the temple; his eyes were brown to match his hair and were + the striking feature of a strong, rugged countenance, for they were spaced + at that eminently proper interval which proclaims an honest man. His nose + was high, of medium thickness and just a trifle long—the nose of a + thinker. His ears were large, with full lobes—the ears of a generous + man. The mouth, full-lipped but firm, the heavy jaw and square chin, the + great hands (most amazingly free from freckles) denoted the man who would + not avoid a fight worth while. Indeed, while the girl was looking covertly + at him, she saw his jaw set and a sudden, fierce light leap up in his + eyes, which at first sight had seemed to her rather quizzical. + Subconsciously he lifted one hand from the wheel and clenched it; he + wagged his head a very little bit; consequently she knew his thoughts were + far away, and for some reason, not quite clear to her, she would have + preferred that they weren't. As a usual thing, young men did not go + wool-gathering in her presence; so she sought to divert his thoughts to + present company. + </p> + <p> + “What a perfectly glorious country!” she exclaimed. “Can't we stop for + just a minute to appreciate it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied abstractedly as he descended from the car and sat at her + feet while she drank in the beauty of the scene, “it's a he country; I + love it, and I'm glad to get back to it.” + </p> + <p> + Upon their arrival at the rest-house, however, Bryce cheered up, and + during dinner was very attentive and mildly amusing, although Shirley's + keen wits assured her that this was merely a clever pose and sustained + with difficulty. She was confirmed in this assumption when, after sitting + with him a little on the porch after dinner, she complained of being weary + and bade him good-night. She had scarcely left him when he called: + </p> + <p> + “George!” + </p> + <p> + The half-breed slid out of the darkness and sat down beside him. A moment + later, through the open window of her room just above the porch where + Bryce and George Sea Otter sat, Shirley heard the former say: + </p> + <p> + “George, when did you first notice that my father's sight was beginning to + fail?” + </p> + <p> + “About two years ago, Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “What made you notice it?” + </p> + <p> + “He began to walk with his hands held out in front of him, and sometimes + he lifted his feet too high.” + </p> + <p> + “Can he see at all now, George?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, a little bit—enough to make his way to the office and + back.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor old governor! George, until you told me this afternoon, I hadn't + heard a word about it. If I had, I never would have taken that two-year + jaunt around the world.” + </p> + <p> + George Sea Otter grunted. “That's what your father said, too. So he + wouldn't tell you, and he ordered everybody else to keep quiet about it. + Myself—well, I didn't want you to go home and not know it until you + met him.” + </p> + <p> + “That was mighty kind and considerate of you, George. And you say this man + Colonel Pennington and my father have been having trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—” Here George Sea Otter gracefully unburdened himself of a + fervent curse directed at Shirley's avuncular relative; whereupon that + young lady promptly left the window and heard no more. + </p> + <p> + They were on the road again by eight o'clock next morning, and just as + Cardigan's mill was blowing the six o'clock whistle, Bryce stopped the car + at the head of the street leading down to the water-front. “I'll let you + drive now, George,” he informed the silent Sea Otter. He turned to Shirley + Sumner. “I'm going to leave you now,” he said. “Thank you for riding over + from Red Bluff with me. My father never leaves the office until the + whistle blows, and so I'm going to hurry down to that little building you + see at the end of the street and surprise him.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped out on the running-board, stood there a moment, and extended + his hand. Shirley had commenced a due and formal expression of her + gratitude for having been delivered safely in Sequoia, when George Sea + Otter spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Here comes John Cardigan,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Drive Miss Sumner around to Colonel Pennington's house,” Bryce ordered, + and even while he held Shirley's hand, he turned to catch the first + glimpse of his father. Shirley followed his glance and saw a tall, + powerfully built old man coming down the street with his hands thrust a + little in front of him, as if for protection from some invisible + assailant. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my poor old father!” she heard Bryce Cardigan murmur. “My dear old + pal! And I've let him grope in the dark for two years!” + </p> + <p> + He released her hand and leaped from the car. “Dad!” he called. “It is I—Bryce. + I've come home to you at last.” + </p> + <p> + The slightly bent figure of John Cardigan straightened with a jerk; he + held out his arms, trembling with eagerness, and as the car continued on + to the Pennington house Shirley looked back and saw Bryce folded in his + father's embrace. She did not, however, hear the heart-cry with which the + beaten old man welcomed his boy. + </p> + <p> + “Sonny, sonny—oh, I'm so glad you're back. I've missed you. Bryce, + I'm whipped—I've lost your heritage. Oh, son! I'm old—I can't + fight any more. I'm blind—I can't see my enemies. I've lost your + redwood trees—even your mother's Valley of the Giants.” + </p> + <p> + And he commenced to weep for the third time in fifty years. And when the + aged and helpless weep, nothing is more terrible. Bryce Cardigan said no + word, but held his father close to his great heart and laid his cheek + gently against the old man's, tenderly as a woman might. And presently, + from that silent communion of spirit, each drew strength and comfort. As + the shadows fell in John Cardigan's town, they went home to the house on + the hill. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Shirley Sumner's eyes were still moist when George Sea Otter, in obedience + to the instructions of his youthful master, set her, the French maid, and + their hand-baggage down on the sidewalk in front of Colonel Seth + Pennington's house. The half-breed hesitated a moment, undecided whether + he would carry the hand-baggage up to the door or leave that task for a + Pennington retainer; then he noted the tear-stains on the cheeks of his + fair passenger. Instantly he took up the hand-baggage, kicked open the + iron gate, and preceded Shirley up the cement walk to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Just wait a moment, if you please, George,” Shirley said as he set the + baggage down and started back for the car. He turned and beheld her + extracting a five-dollar bill from her purse. “For you, George,” she + continued. “Thank you so much.” + </p> + <p> + In all his life George Sea Otter had never had such an experience—he, + happily, having been raised in a country where, with the exception of + waiters, only a pronounced vagrant expects or accepts a gratuity from a + woman. He took the bill and fingered it curiously; then his white blood + asserted itself and he handed the bill back to Shirley. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said respectfully. “If you are a man—all right. But + from a lady—no. I am like my boss. I work for you for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Shirley did not understand his refusal, but her instinctive tact warned + her not to insist. She returned the bill to her purse, thanked him again, + and turned quickly to hide the slight flush of annoyance. George Sea Otter + noted it. + </p> + <p> + “Lady,” he said with great dignity, “at first I did not want to carry your + baggage. I did not want to walk on this land.” And with a sweeping gesture + he indicated the Pennington grounds. “Then you cry a little because my + boss is feeling bad about his old man. So I like you better. The old man—well, + he has been like father to me and my mother—and we are Indians. My + brothers, too—they work for him. So if you like my boss and his old + man, George Sea Otter would go to hell for you pretty damn' quick. You bet + you my life!” + </p> + <p> + “You're a very good boy, George,” she replied, with difficulty repressing + a smile at his blunt but earnest avowal. “I am glad the Cardigans have + such an honest, loyal servant.” + </p> + <p> + George Sea Otter's dark face lighted with a quick smile. “Now you pay me,” + he replied and returned to the car. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and a Swedish maid stood in the entrance regarding her + stolidly. “I'm Miss Sumner,” Shirley informed her. “This is my maid + Marcelle. Help her in with the hand-baggage.” She stepped into the hall + and called: “Ooh-hooh! Nunky-dunk!” + </p> + <p> + “Ship ahoy!” An answering call came to her from the dining room, across + the entrance-hall, and an instant later Colonel Seth Pennington stood in + the doorway, “Bless my whiskers! Is that you, my dear?” he cried, and + advanced to greet her. “Why, how did you get here, Shirley? I thought + you'd missed the stage.” + </p> + <p> + She presented her cheek for his kiss. “So I did, Uncle, but a nice + red-haired young man named Bryce Cardigan found me in distress at Red + Bluff, picked me up in his car, and brought me here.” She sniffed + adorably. “I'm so hungry,” she declared, “and here I am, just in time for + dinner. Is my name in the pot?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't, Shirley, but it soon will be. How perfectly bully to have you + with me again, my dear! And what a charming young lady you've grown to be + since I saw you last! You're—why, you've been crying! By Jove, I had + no idea you'd be so glad to see me again.” + </p> + <p> + She could not forego a sly little smile at his egoism. + </p> + <p> + “You're looking perfectly splendid, Uncle Seth,” she parried. + </p> + <p> + “And I'm feeling perfectly splendid. This is a wonderful country, Shirley, + and everything is going nicely with me here. By the way, who did you say + picked you up in his car?” + </p> + <p> + “Bryce Cardigan. Do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, we haven't met. Son of old John Cardigan, I dare say. I've heard of + him. He's been away from Sequoia for quite a while, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he was abroad for two years after he was graduated from Princeton.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum-m-m! Well, it's about time he came home to take care of that + stiff-necked old father of his.” He stepped to the bell and pressed it, + and the butler answered. “Set a place at dinner for Miss Shirley, James,” + he ordered. “Thelma will show you your rooms, Shirley. I was just about to + sit down to dinner. I'll wait for you.” + </p> + <p> + While Shirley was in the living room Colonel Pennington's features wore an + expression almost pontifical, but when she had gone, the atmosphere of + paternalism and affection which he radiated faded instantly. The Colonel's + face was in repose now—cold, calculating, vaguely repellent. He + scowled slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Now, isn't that the devil's luck?” he soliloquized. “Young Cardigan is + probably the only man in Sequoia—dashed awkward if they should + become interested in each other—at this time. Everybody in town, + from lumberjacks to bankers, has told me what a fine fellow Bryce Cardigan + is. They say he's good-looking; certainly he is educated and has acquired + some worldly polish—just the kind of young fellow Shirley will find + interesting and welcome company in a town like this. Many things can + happen in a year—and it will be a year before I can smash the + Cardigans. Damn it!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Along the well-remembered streets of Sequoia Bryce Cardigan and his father + walked arm in arm, their progress continuously interrupted by well-meaning + but impulsive Sequoians who insisted upon halting the pair to shake hands + with Bryce and bid him welcome home. In the presence of those third + parties the old man quickly conquered the agitation he had felt at this + long-deferred meeting with his son, and when presently they left the + business section of the town and turned into a less-frequented street, his + emotion assumed the character of a quiet joy, evidenced in a more erect + bearing and a firmer tread, as if he strove, despite his seventy-six + years, not to appear incongruous as he walked beside his splendid son. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could see you more clearly,” he said presently. His voice as + well as his words expressed profound regret, but there was no hint of + despair or heartbreak now. + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who up to this moment had refrained from discussing his father's + misfortunes, drew the old man a little closer to his side. + </p> + <p> + “What's wrong with your eyes, pal?” he queried. He did not often address + his parent, after the fashion of most sons, as “Father,” “Dad” or “Pop.” + They were closer to each other than that, and a rare sense of perfect + comradeship found expression, on Bryce's part, in such salutations as + “pal,” “partner” and, infrequently, “old sport.” When arguing with his + father, protesting with him or affectionately scolding him, Bryce, with + mock seriousness, sometimes called the old man John Cardigan. + </p> + <p> + “Cataracts, son,” his father answered. “Merely the penalty of old age.” + </p> + <p> + “But can't something be done about it?” demanded Bryce. “Can't they be + cured somehow or other?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly they can. But I shall have to wait until they are completely + matured and I have become completely blind; then a specialist will perform + an operation on my eyes, and in all probability my sight will be restored + for a few years. However, I haven't given the matter a great deal of + consideration. At my age one doesn't find very much difficulty in making + the best of everything. And I am about ready to quit now. I'd like to, in + fact; I'm tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you can't quit until you've seen your redwoods again,” Bryce + reminded him. “I suppose it's been a long time since you've visited the + Valley of the Giants; your long exile from the wood-goblins has made you a + trifle gloomy, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan nodded. “I haven't seen them in a year and a half, Bryce. + Last time I was up, I slipped between the logs on the old skid-road and + like to broke my old fool neck. But even that wasn't warning enough for + me. I cracked right on into the timber and got lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Lost? Poor old partner! And what did you do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “The sensible thing, my boy. I just sat down under a tree and waited for + George Sea Otter to trail me and bring me home.” + </p> + <p> + “And did he find you? Or did you have to spend the night in the woods?” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan smiled humorously. “I did not. Along about sunset George + found me. Seems he'd been following me all the time, and when I sat down + he waited to make certain whether I was lost or just taking a rest where I + could be quiet and think.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been leaving to an Indian the fulfillment of my duty,” Bryce + murmured bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, son. You have never been deficient in that,” the old man + protested. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you have the old skid-road planked with refuse lumber so you + wouldn't fall through? And you might have had the woods-boss swamp a new + trail into the timber and fence it on both sides, in order that you might + feel your way along.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, quite true,” admitted the old man. “But then, I don't spend money + quite as freely as I used to, Bryce. I consider carefully now before I + part with a dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “Pal, it wasn't fair of you to make me stay away so long. If I had only + known—if I had remotely suspected—” + </p> + <p> + “You'd have spoiled everything—of course. Don't scold me, son. + You're all I have now, and I couldn't bear to send for you until you'd had + your fling.” His trembling old hand crept over and closed upon his boy's + hand, so firm but free from signs of toil. “It was my pleasure, Bryce,” he + continued, “and you wouldn't deny me my choice of sport, would you? + Remember, lad, I never had a boyhood; I never had a college education, and + the only real travel I have ever had was when I worked my way around Cape + Horn as a foremast hand, and all I saw then was water and hardships; all + I've seen since is my little world here in Sequoia and in San Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + “You've sacrificed enough—too much—for me, Dad.” + </p> + <p> + “It pleased me to give you all the advantages I wanted and couldn't afford + until I was too old and too busy to consider them. Besides, it was your + mother's wish. We made plans for you before you were born, and I promised + her—ah, well, why be a cry-baby? I knew I could manage until you + were ready to settle down to business. And you HAVE enjoyed your little + run, haven't you?” he concluded wistfully. + </p> + <p> + “I have, Dad.” Bryce's great hand closed over the back of his father's + neck; he shook the old man with mock ferocity. “Stubborn old lumberjack!” + he chided. + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan shook with an inward chuckle, for the loving abuse his boy + had formed a habit of heaping on him never failed to thrill him. + Instinctively Bryce had realized that to-night obvious sympathy copiously + expressed was not the medicine for his father's bruised spirit; hence he + elected to regard the latter's blindness as a mere temporary annoyance, + something to be considered lightly, if at all; and it was typical of him + now that the subject had been discussed briefly, to resolve never to refer + to it again. He released his hold on the old man's neck and tapped the + latter's gray head lightly, while with his tongue he made hollow-sounding + noises against the roof of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! I thought so,” he declared. “After your fifty-odd years in the lumber + business your head has become packed with sawdust—” + </p> + <p> + “Be serious and talk to me, Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to send you to bed without your supper. Talk to you? You bet I'll + talk to you, John Cardigan; and I'll tell you things, too, you scandalous + bunko-steerer. To-morrow morning I'm going to put a pair of overalls on + you, arm you with a tin can and a swab, and set you to greasing the + skidways. Partner, you've deceived me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nonsense. If I had whimpered, that would only have spoiled + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, you were forced to cable me to hurry home.” + </p> + <p> + “I summoned you the instant I realized I was going to need you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you didn't, John Cardigan. You summoned me because, for the first + time in your life, you were panicky and let yourself get out of hand.” + </p> + <p> + His father nodded slowly. “And you aren't over it yet,” Bryee continued, + his voice no longer bantering but lowered affectionately. “What's the + trouble, Dad? Trot out your old panic and let me inspect it. Trouble must + be very real when it gets my father on the run.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, Bryce, very real indeed. As I remarked before, I've lost your + heritage for you.” He sighed. “I waited till you would be able to come + home and settle down to business; now you're home, and there isn't any + business to settle down to.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce chuckled, for he was indeed far from being worried over business + matters, his consideration now being entirely for his father's peace of + mind. “All right,” he retorted, “Father has lost his money and we'll have + to let the servants go and give up the old home. That part of it is + settled; and weak, anemic, tenderly nurtured little Bryce Cardigan must + put his turkey on his back and go into the woods looking for a job as + lumberjack ... Busted, eh? Did I or did I not hear the six o'clock whistle + blow at the mill? Bet you a dollar I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I have title to everything—yet.” + </p> + <p> + “How I do have to dig for good news! Then it appears we still have a + business; indeed, we may always have a business, for the very fact that it + is going but not quite gone implies a doubt as to its ultimate departure, + and perhaps we may yet scheme a way to retain it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my boy, when I think of my years of toil and scheming, of the big + dreams I dreamed—” + </p> + <p> + “Belay all! If we can save enough out of the wreck to insure you your + customary home comforts, I shan't cry, partner. I have a profession to + fall back on. Yes, sirree. I own a sheep-skin, and it says I'm an + electrical and civil engineer.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “I said it. An electrical and civil engineer. Slipped one over on you at + college, John Cardigan, when all the time you thought I was having a good + time. Thought I'd come home and surprise you.” + </p> + <p> + “Bu-bu-but—” + </p> + <p> + “It drives me wild to have a man sputter at me. I'm an electrical and + civil engineer, I tell you, and my two years of travel have been spent + studying the installation and construction of big plants abroad.” He + commenced to chuckle softly. “I've known for years that our sawmill was a + debilitated old coffee-grinder and would have to be rebuilt, so I wanted + to know how to rebuild it. And I've known for years that some day I might + have to build a logging railroad—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy! And you've got your degree?” + </p> + <p> + “Partner, I have a string of letters after my name like the tail of a + comet.” + </p> + <p> + “You comfort me,” the old man answered simply. “I have reproached myself + with the thought that I reared you with the sole thought of making a + lumberman out of you—and when I saw your lumber business slipping + through my fingers—” + </p> + <p> + “You were sorry I didn't have a profession to fall back on, eh? Or were + you fearful lest you had raised the usual rich man's son? If the latter, + you did not compliment me, pal. I've never forgotten how hard you always + strove to impress me with a sense of the exact weight of my responsibility + as your successor.” + </p> + <p> + “How big are you now?” his father queried suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” Bryce answered, for his father's pleasure putting aside his + normal modesty, “I'm six feet two inches tall, and I weigh two hundred + pounds in the pink of condition. I have a forty-eight-inch chest, with + five and a half inches chest-expansion, and a reach as long as a + gorilla's. My underpinning is good, too; I'm not one of these fellows with + spidery legs and a barrel-chest. I can do a hundred yards in ten seconds; + I'm no slouch of a swimmer; and at Princeton they say I made football + history. And in spite of it all, I haven't an athletic heart.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very encouraging, my boy—very. Ever do any boxing?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite a little. I'm fairly up in the manly art of self-defence.” + </p> + <p> + “That's good. And I suppose you did some wrestling at your college + gymnasium, did you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally. I went in for everything my big carcass could stand.” + </p> + <p> + The old man wagged his head approvingly, and they had reached the gate of + the Cardigan home before he spoke again. “There's a big buck woods-boss up + in Pennington's camp,” he remarked irrelevantly. “He's a French Canadian + imported from northern Michigan by Colonel Pennington. I dare say he's the + only man in this country who measures up to you physically. He can fight + with his fists and wrestle right cleverly, I'm told. His name is Jules + Rondeau, and he's top dog among the lumberjacks. They say he's the + strongest man in the county.” He unlatched the gate. “Folks used to say + that about me once,” he continued wistfully. “Ah, if I could have my eyes + to see you meet Jules Rondeau!” + </p> + <p> + The front portal of the quaint old Cardigan residence opened, and a + silver-haired lady came out on the porch and hailed Bryce. She was Mrs. + Tully, John Cardigan's old housekeeper, and almost a mother to Bryce. “Oh, + here's my boy!” she cried, and a moment later found herself encircled by + Bryce's arms and saluted with a hearty kiss. + </p> + <p> + As he stepped into the familiar entrance-hall, Bryce paused, raised his + head and sniffed suspiciously, like a bird-dog. Mrs. Tully, arms akimbo, + watched him pleasurably. “I smell something,” he declared, and advanced a + step down the hall for another sniff; then, in exact imitation of a + foxhound, he gave tongue and started for the kitchen. Mrs. Tully, waddling + after, found him “pointing” two hot blackberry pies which had but a few + minutes previous been taken from the oven. He was baying lugubriously. + </p> + <p> + “They're wild blackberries, too,” Mrs. Tully announced pridefully. “I + remembered how fond you used to be of wild-blackberry pie—so I + phoned up to the logging-camp and had the woods-boss send a man out to + pick them.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm still a pie-hound, Mrs. Tully, and you're still the same dear, + thoughtful soul. I'm so glad now that I had sense enough to think of you + before I turned my footsteps toward the setting sun.” He patted her gray + head. “Mrs. T.,” he declared, “I've brought you a nice big collar of Irish + lace—bought it in Belfast, b'gosh. It comes down around your neck + and buckles right here with an old ivory cameo I picked up in Burma and + which formerly was the property of a Hindu queen.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tully simpered with pleasure and protested that her boy was too kind. + “You haven't changed a single speck,” she concluded proudly. + </p> + <p> + “Has the pie?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say not.” + </p> + <p> + “How many did you make?” + </p> + <p> + “Two.” + </p> + <p> + “May I have one all for myself, Mrs. Tully?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed you may, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, but I do not want it for myself. Mrs. Tully, will you please + wrap one of those wonderful pies in a napkin and the instant George Sea + Otter comes in with the car, tell him to take the pie over to Colonel + Pennington's house and deliver it to Miss Sumner? There's a girl who + doubtless thinks she has tasted pie in her day, and I want to prove to her + that she hasn't.” He selected a card from his card-case, sat down, and + wrote: + </p> + <p> + Dear Miss Sumner: + </p> + <p> + Here is a priceless hot wild-blackberry pie, especially manufactured in my + honour. It is so good I wanted you to have some. In all your life you have + never tasted anything like it. + </p> + <p> + Sincerely, BRYCE CARDIGAN. + </p> + <p> + He handed the card to Mrs. Tully and repaired to his old room to remove + the stains of travel before joining his father at dinner. + </p> + <p> + Some twenty minutes later his unusual votive offering was delivered by + George Sea Otter to Colonel Pennington's Swedish maid, who promptly + brought it in to the Colonel and Shirley Sumner, who were even then at + dinner in the Colonel's fine burl-redwood-panelled dining room. Miss + Sumner's amazement was so profound that for fully a minute she was mute, + contenting herself with scrutinizing alternately the pie and the card that + accompanied it. Presently she handed the card to her uncle, who affixed + his pince-nez and read the epistle with deliberation. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't this young Cardigan a truly remarkable young man, Shirley?” he + declared. “Why, I have never heard of anything like his astounding action. + If he had sent you over an armful of American Beauty roses from his + father's old-fashioned garden, I could understand it, but an infernal + blackberry pie! Good heavens!” + </p> + <p> + “I told you he was different,” she replied. To the Colonel's amazement she + did not appear at all amused. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pennington poked a fork through the delicate brown crust. “I + wonder if it is really as good as he says it is, Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. If it wasn't, he wouldn't have sent it.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “By intuition,” she replied. And she cut into the pie and helped the + Colonel to a quadrant of it. + </p> + <p> + “That was a genuine hayseed faux-pas,” announced the Colonel a few moments + later as Shirley was pouring coffee from a samovar-shaped percolator in + the library. “The idea of anybody who has enjoyed the advantages that + fellow has, sending a hot blackberry pie to a girl he has just met!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the idea!” she echoed. “I find it rather charming.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean amusing.” + </p> + <p> + “I said 'charming.' Bryce Cardigan is a man with the heart and soul of a + boy, and I think it was mighty sweet of him to share his pie with me. If + he had sent roses, I should have suspected him of trying to 'rush' me, but + the fact that he sent a blackberry pie proves that he's just a natural, + simple, sane, original citizen—just the kind of person a girl can + have for a dear friend without incurring the risk of having to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat that this is most extraordinary.” + </p> + <p> + “Only because it is an unusual thing for a young man to do, although, + after all, why shouldn't he send me a blackberry pie if he thought a + blackberry pie would please me more than an armful of roses? Besides, he + may send the roses to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Most extraordinary!” the Colonel reiterated. + </p> + <p> + “What should one expect from such an extraordinary creature? He's an + extraordinary fine-looking young man, with an extraordinary scowl and an + extraordinary crinkly smile that is friendly and generous and free from + masculine guile. Why, I think he's just the kind of man who WOULD send a + girl a blackberry pie.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel noticed a calm little smile fringing her generous mouth. He + wished he could tell, by intuition, what she was thinking about—and + what effect a hot wild-blackberry pie was ultimately to have upon the + value of his minority holding in the Laguna Grande Lumber Company. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Not until dinner was finished and father and son had repaired to the + library for their coffee and cigars did Bryce Cardigan advert to the + subject of his father's business affairs. + </p> + <p> + “Well, John Cardigan,” he declared comfortably, “to-day is Friday. I'll + spend Saturday and Sunday in sinful sloth and the renewal of old + acquaintance, and on Monday I'll sit in at your desk and give you a + long-deferred vacation. How about that programme, pard?” + </p> + <p> + “Our affairs are in such shape that they could not possibly be hurt or + bettered, no matter who takes charge of them now,” Cardigan replied + bitterly. “We're about through. I waited too long and trusted too far; and + now—well, in a year we'll be out of business.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you start at the beginning and tell me everything right to the + end. George Sea Otter informed me that you've been having trouble with + this Johnny-come-lately, Colonel Pennington. Is he the man who has us + where the hair is short?” + </p> + <p> + The old man nodded. + </p> + <p> + “The Squaw Creek timber deal, eh?” Bryce suggested. + </p> + <p> + Again the old man nodded. “You wrote me all about that,” Bryce continued. + “You had him blocked whichever way he turned—so effectually blocked, + in fact, that the only pleasure he has derived from his investment since + is the knowledge that he owns two thousand acres of timber with the + exclusive right to pay taxes on it, walk in it, look at it and admire it—in + fact, do everything except log it, mill it, and realize on his investment. + It must make him feel like a bally jackass.” + </p> + <p> + “On the other hand,” his father reminded him, “no matter what the + Colonel's feeling on that score may be, misery loves company, and not + until I had pulled out of the Squaw Creek country and started logging in + the San Hedrin watershed, did I realize that I had been considerable of a + jackass myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Bryce admitted, “there can be no doubt but that you cut off your + nose to spite your face.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence between them for several minutes. Bryce's thoughts + harked back to that first season of logging in the San Hedrin, when the + cloud-burst had caught the river filled with Cardigan logs and whirled + them down to the bay, to crash through the log-boom at tidewater and + continue out to the open sea. In his mind's eye he could still see the + red-ink figures on the profit-and-loss statement Sinclair, his father's + manager, had presented at the end of that year. + </p> + <p> + The old man appeared to divine the trend of his son's thoughts. “Yes, + Bryce, that was a disastrous year,” he declared. “The mere loss of the + logs was a severe blow, but in addition I had to pay out quite a little + money to settle with my customers. I was loaded up with low-priced orders + that year, although I didn't expect to make any money. The orders were + merely taken to keep the men employed. You understand, Bryce! I had a good + crew, the finest in the country; and if I had shut down, my men would have + scattered and—well, you know how hard it is to get that kind of a + crew together again. Besides, I had never failed my boys before, and I + couldn't bear the thought of failing them then. Half the mills in the + country were shut down at the time, and there was a lot of distress among + the unemployed. I couldn't do it, Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded. “And when you lost the logs, you couldn't fill those + low-priced orders. Then the market commenced to jump and advanced three + dollars in three months—” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, my son. And my customers began to crowd me to fill those old + orders. Praise be, my regular customers knew I wasn't the kind of + lumberman who tries to crawl out of filling low-priced orders after the + market has gone up. Nevertheless I couldn't expect them to suffer with me; + my failure to perform my contracts, while unavoidable, nevertheless would + have caused them a severe loss, and when they were forced to buy + elsewhere, I paid them the difference between the price they paid my + competitors and the price at which they originally placed their orders + with me. And the delay in delivery caused them further loss.” + </p> + <p> + “How much?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly a hundred thousand—to settle for losses to my local + customers alone. Among my orders I had three million feet of clear lumber + for shipment to the United Kingdom, and these foreign customers, thinking + I was trying to crawfish on my contracts, sued me and got judgment for + actual and exemplary damages for my failure to perform, while the + demurrage on the ships they sent to freight the lumber sent me hustling to + the bank to borrow money.” + </p> + <p> + He smoked meditatively for a minute. “I've always been land-poor,” he + explained apologetically. “Never kept much of a reserve working-capital + for emergencies, you know. Whenever I had idle money, I put it into timber + in the San Hedrin watershed, because I realized that some day the railroad + would build in from the south, tap that timber, and double its value. I've + not as yet found reason to doubt the wisdom of my course; but”—he + sighed—“the railroad is a long time coming!” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan here spoke of a most important factor in the situation. The + crying need of the country was a feeder to some transcontinental railroad. + By reason of natural barriers, Humboldt County was not easily accessible + to the outside world except from the sea, and even this avenue of ingress + and egress would be closed for days at a stretch when the harbour bar was + on a rampage. With the exception of a strip of level, fertile land, + perhaps five miles wide and thirty miles long and contiguous to the + seacoast, the heavily timbered mountains to the north, east, and south + rendered the building of a railroad that would connect Humboldt County + with the outside world a profoundly difficult and expensive task. The + Northwestern Pacific, indeed, had been slowly building from San Francisco + Bay up through Marin and Sonoma counties to Willits in Mendocino County. + But there it had stuck to await that indefinite day when its finances and + the courage of its board of directors should prove equal to the colossal + task of continuing the road two hundred miles through the mountains to + Sequoia on Humboldt Bay. For twenty years the Humboldt pioneers had lived + in hope of this; but eventually they had died in despair or were in + process of doing so. + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry, Dad. It will come,” Bryce assured his father. “It's bound + to.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but not in my day. And when it comes, a stranger may own your San + Hedrin timber and reap the reward of my lifetime of labour.” + </p> + <p> + Again a silence fell between them, broken presently by the old man. “That + was a mistake—logging in the San Hedrin,” he observed. “I had my + lesson that first year, but I didn't heed it. If I had abandoned my camps + there, pocketed my pride, paid Colonel Pennington two dollars for his + Squaw Creek timber, and rebuilt my old logging-road, I would have been + safe to-day. But I was stubborn; I'd played the game so long, you know—I + didn't want to let that man Pennington outgame me. So I tackled the San + Hedrin again. We put thirty million feet of logs into the river that year, + and when the freshet came, McTavish managed to make a fairly successful + drive. But he was all winter on the job, and when spring came and the men + went into the woods again, they had to leave nearly a million feet of + heavy butt logs permanently stranded in the slack water along the banks, + while perhaps another million feet of lighter logs had been lifted out of + the channel by the overflow and left high and dry when the water receded. + There they were, Bryce, scattered up and down the river, far from the + cables and logging-donkeys, the only power we could use to get those + monsters back into the river again, and I was forced to decide whether + they should be abandoned or split during the summer into railroad ties, + posts, pickets, and shakes—commodities for which there was very + little call at the time and in which, even when sold, there could be no + profit after deducting the cost of the twenty-mile wagon haul to Sequoia, + and the water freight from Sequoia to market. So I abandoned them.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember that phase of it, partner.” + </p> + <p> + “To log it the third year only meant that more of those heavy logs would + jam and spell more loss. Besides, there was always danger of another + cloud-burst which would put me out of business completely, and I couldn't + afford the risk.” + </p> + <p> + “That was the time you should have offered Colonel Pennington a handsome + profit on his Squaw Creek timber, pal.” + </p> + <p> + “If my hindsight was as good as my foresight, and I had my eyesight, I + wouldn't be in this dilemma at all,” the old man retorted briskly. “It's + hard to teach an old dog new tricks, and besides, I was obsessed with the + need of protecting your heritage from attack in any direction.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan straightened up in his chair and laid the tip of his right + index finger in the centre of the palm of his left hand. “Here was the + situation, Bryce: The centre of my palm represents Sequoia; the end of my + fingers represents the San Hedrin timber twenty miles south. Now, if the + railroad built in from the south, you would win. But if it built in from + Grant's Pass, Oregon, on the north from the base of my hand, the terminus + of the line would be Sequoia, twenty miles from your timber in the San + Hedrin watershed!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded. “In which event,” he replied, “we, would be in much the same + position with our San Hedrin timber as Colonel Pennington is with his + Squaw Creek timber. We would have the comforting knowledge that we owned + it and paid taxes on it but couldn't do a dad-burned thing with it!” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are! The thing to do, then, as I viewed the situation, Bryce, + was to acquire a body of timber NORTH of Sequoia and be prepared for + either eventuality. And this I did.” + </p> + <p> + Silence again descended upon them; and Bryce, gazing into the open + fireplace, recalled an event in that period of his father's activities: + Old Bill Henderson had come up to their house to dinner one night, and + quite suddenly, in the midst of his soup, the old fox had glared across at + his host and bellowed: + </p> + <p> + “John, I hear you've bought six thousand acres up in Township Nine.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan had merely nodded, and Henderson had continued: + </p> + <p> + “Going to log it or hold it for investment?” + </p> + <p> + “It was a good buy,” Cardigan had replied enigmatically; “so I thought I'd + better take it at the price. I suppose Bryce will log it some day.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I wish Bryce wasn't such a boy, John. See here, now, neighbour. I'll + 'fess up. I took that money Pennington gave me for my Squaw Creek timber + and put it back into redwood in Township Nine, slam-bang up against your + holdings there. John, I'd build a mill on tidewater if you'd sell me a + site, and I'd log my timber if—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll sell you a mill-site, Bill, and I won't stab you to the heart, + either. Consider that settled.” + </p> + <p> + “That's bully, John; but still, you only dispose of part of my troubles. + There's twelve miles of logging-road to build to get my logs to the mill, + and I haven't enough ready money to make the grade. Better throw in with + me, John, and we'll build the road and operate it for our joint interest.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not throw in with you, Bill, at my time of life, I don't want to + have the worry of building, maintaining, and operating twelve miles of + private railroad. But I'll loan you, without security—” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to take an unsecured note, John. Everything I've got is + hocked.” + </p> + <p> + “—the money you need to build and equip the road,” finished + Cardigan. “In return you are to shoulder all the grief and worry of the + road and give me a ten-year contract at a dollar and a half per thousand + feet, to haul my logs down to tidewater with your own. My minimum haul + will be twenty-five million feet annually, and my maximum fifty million—” + </p> + <p> + “Sold!” cried Henderson. And it was even so. + </p> + <p> + Bryce came out of his reverie. “And now?” he queried of his father. + </p> + <p> + “I mortgaged the San Hedrin timber in the south to buy the timber in the + north, my son; then after I commenced logging in my new holdings, came + several long, lean years of famine. I stuck it out, hoping for a change + for the better; I couldn't bear to close down my mill and logging-camps, + for the reason that I could stand the loss far more readily than the men + who worked for me and depended upon me. But the market dragged in the + doldrums, and Bill Henderson died, and his boys got discouraged, and—” + </p> + <p> + A sudden flash of inspiration illumined Bryce Cardigan's brain. “And they + sold out to Colonel Pennington,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. The Colonel took over my contract with Henderson's company, + along with the other assets, and it was incumbent upon him, as assignee, + to fulfill the contract. For the past two years the market for redwood has + been most gratifying, and if I could only have gotten a maximum supply of + logs over Pennington's road, I'd have worked out of the hole, but—” + </p> + <p> + “He manages to hold you to a minimum annual haul of twenty-five million + feet, eh?” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan nodded. “He claims he's short of rolling-stock—that + wrecks and fires have embarrassed the road. He can always find excuses for + failing to spot in logging-trucks for Cardigan's logs. Bill Henderson + never played the game that way. He gave me what I wanted and never held me + to the minimum haulage when I was prepared to give him the maximum.” + </p> + <p> + “What does Colonel Pennington want, pard?” + </p> + <p> + “He wants,” said John Cardigan slowly, “my Valley of the Giants and a + right of way through my land from the valley to a log-dump on deep water.” + </p> + <p> + “And you refused him?” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally. You know my ideas on that big timber.” His old head sank low + on his breast. “Folks call them Cardigan's Redwoods now,” he murmured. + “Cardigan's Redwoods—and Pennington would cut them! Oh, Bryce, the + man hasn't a soul!” + </p> + <p> + “But I fail to see what the loss of Cardigan's Redwoods has to do with the + impending ruin of the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company,” his son reminded + him. “We have all the timber we want.” + </p> + <p> + “My ten-year contract has but one more year to run, and recently I tried + to get Pennington to renew it. He was very nice and sociable, but—he + named me a freight-rate, for a renewal of the contract for five years, of + three dollars per thousand feet. That rate is prohibitive and puts us out + of business.” + </p> + <p> + “Not necessarily,” Bryce returned evenly. “How about the State railroad + commission? Hasn't it got something to say about rates?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—on common carriers. But Pennington's load is a private + logging-road; my contract will expire next year, and it is not incumbent + upon Pennington to renew it. And one can't operate a sawmill without logs, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Bryce calmly, “we'll shut the mill down when the log-hauling + contract expires, hold our timber as an investment, and live the simple + life until we can sell it or a transcontinental road builds into Humboldt + County and enables us to start up the mill again.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan shook his head. “I'm mortgaged to the last penny,” he + confessed, “and Pennington has been buying Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company + first-mortgage bonds until he is in control of the issue. He'll buy in the + San Hedrin timber at the foreclosure sale, and in order to get it back and + save something for you out of the wreckage, I'll have to make an + unprofitable trade with him. I'll have to give him my timber adjoining his + north of Sequoia, together with my Valley of the Giants, in return for the + San Hedrin timber, to which he'll have a sheriff's deed. But the mill, all + my old employees, with their numerous dependents—gone, with you left + land-poor and without a dollar to pay your taxes. Smashed—like + that!” And he drove his fist into the palm of his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—but not without a fight,” Bryce answered, although he knew + their plight was well-nigh hopeless. “I'll give that man Pennington a run + for his money, or I'll know the reason.” + </p> + <p> + The telephone on the table beside him tinkled, and he took down the + receiver and said “Hello!” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy!” came the clear, sweet voice of Shirley Sumner over the wire. “Do + you feel as savage as all that, Mr. Cardigan?” + </p> + <p> + For the second time in his life the thrill that was akin to pain came to + Bryce Cardigan. He laughed. “If I had known you were calling, Miss + Sumner,” he said, “I shouldn't have growled so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you're forgiven—for several reasons, but principally for + sending me that delicious blackberry pie. Of course, it discoloured my + teeth temporarily, but I don't care. The pie was worth it, and you were + awfully dear to think of sending it. Thank you so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad you liked it, Miss Sumner. I dare to hope that I may have the + privilege of seeing you soon again.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. One good pie deserves another. Some evening next week, when + that dear old daddy of yours can spare his boy, you might be interested to + see our burl-redwood-panelled dining room Uncle Seth is so proud of. I'm + too recent an arrival to know the hour at which Uncle Seth dines, but I'll + let you know later and name a definite date. Would Thursday night be + convenient?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly. Thank you a thousand times.” + </p> + <p> + She bade him good-night. As he turned from the telephone, his father + looked up. “What are you going to do to-morrow, lad?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “I have to do some thinking to-morrow,” Bryce answered. “So I'm going up + into Cardigan's Redwoods to do it. Up there a fellow can get set, as it + were, to put over a thought with a punch in it.” + </p> + <p> + “The dogwoods and rhododendron are blooming now,” the old man murmured + wistfully. Bryce knew what he was thinking of. “I'll attend to the flowers + for Mother,” he assured Cardigan, and he added fiercely: “And I'll attend + to the battle for Father. We may lose, but that man Pennington will know + he's been in a fight before we fin—-” + </p> + <p> + He broke off abruptly, for he had just remembered that he was to dine at + the Pennington house the following Thursday—and he was not the sort + of man who smilingly breaks bread with his enemy. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + For many years there had been installed in Cardigan's mill a clock set to + United States observatory time and corrected hourly by the telegraph + company. It was the only clock of its kind in Sequoia; hence folk set + their watches by it, or rather by the whistle on Cardigan's mill. With a + due appreciation of the important function of this clock toward his + fellow-citizens, old Zeb Curry, the chief engineer and a stickler for + being on time, was most meticulous in his whistle-blowing. With a sage and + prophetic eye fixed upon the face of the clock, and a particularly greasy + hand grasping the whistle-cord, Zeb would wait until the clock registered + exactly six-fifty-nine and a half—whereupon the seven o'clock + whistle would commence blowing, to cease instantly upon the stroke of the + hour. It was old Zeb's pride and boast that with a single exception, + during the sixteen years the clock had been in service, no man could say + that Zeb had been more than a second late or early with his + whistle-blowing. That exception occurred when Bryce Cardigan, invading the + engine room while Zeb was at luncheon, looped the whistle-cord until the + end dangled seven feet above ground. As a consequence Zeb, who was a + short, fat little man, was forced to leap at it several times before + success crowned his efforts and the whistle blew. Thereafter for the + remainder of the day his reason tottered on its throne, due to the fact + that Bryce induced every mill employee to call upon the engineer and + remind him that he must be growing old, since he was no longer dependable! + </p> + <p> + On the morning following Bryce Cardigan's return to Sequoia, Zeb Curry, as + per custom, started his engine at six-fifty-eight. That gave the huge + bandsaws two minutes in which to attain their proper speed and afforded + Dan Kenyon, the head sawyer, ample time to run his steam log-carriage out + to the end of the track; for Daniel, too, was a reliable man in the matter + of starting his daily uproar on time. + </p> + <p> + At precisely six fifty-nine and a half, therefore, the engineer's hand + closed over the handle of the whistle-cord, and Dan Kenyon, standing on + the steam-carriage with his hand on the lever, took a thirty-second squint + through a rather grimy window that gave upon the drying-yard and the + mill-office at the head of it. + </p> + <p> + The whistle ceased blowing, but still Dan Kenyon stood at his post, + oblivious of the hungry saws. Ten seconds passed; then Zeb Curry, + immeasurably scandalized at Daniel's tardiness, tooted the whistle sharply + twice; whereupon Dan woke up, threw over the lever, and walked his log up + to the saw. + </p> + <p> + For the next five hours Zeb Curry had no opportunity to discuss the matter + with the head sawyer. After blowing the twelve o'clock whistle, however, + he hurried over to the dining-hall, where the mill hands already lined the + benches, shovelling food into their mouths as only a lumberman or a miner + can. Dan Kenyon sat at the head of the table in the place of honour sacred + to the head sawyer, and when his mouth would permit of some activity other + than mastication, Zeb Curry caught his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, you, Dan Kenyon,” he shouted across the table, “what happened to you + this mornin'? It was sixteen seconds between the tail end o' my whistle + an' the front end o' your whinin'. First thing you know, you'll be gettin' + so slack an' careless-like some other man'll be ridin' that log-carriage + o' yourn.” + </p> + <p> + “I was struck dumb,” Dan Kenyon replied. “I just stood there like one o' + these here graven images. Last night on my way home from work I heerd the + young feller was back—he got in just as we was knockin' off for the + day; an' this mornin' just as you cut loose, Zeb, I'll be danged if he + didn't show up in front o' the office door, fumblin' for the keyhole. Yes, + sirree! That boy gets in at six o'clock last night an' turns to on his + paw's job when the whistle blows this mornin' at seven.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean young Bryce Cardigan?” Zeb queried incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “I shore do.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tain't possible,” Zeb declared. “You seen a new bookkeeper, mebbe, but + you didn't see Bryce. He aint no such hog for labour as his daddy before + him, I'm tellin' you. Not that there's a lazy bone in his body, for there + ain't, but because that there boy's got too much sense to come bollin' + down to work at seven o'clock the very first mornin' he's back from + Yurrup.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm layin' you ten to one I seen him,” Dan replied defiantly, “an' what's + more, I'll bet a good cigar—a ten-center straight—the boy + don't leave till six o'clock to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “You're on,” answered the chief engineer. “Them's lumberjack hours, man. + From seven till six means work—an' only fools an' hosses keeps them + hours.” + </p> + <p> + The head sawyer leaned across the table and pounded with the handle of his + knife until he had the attention of all present. “I'm a-goin' to tell you + young fellers somethin',” he announced. “Ever since the old boss got so he + couldn't look after his business with his own eyes, things has been goin' + to blazes round this sawmill, but they ain't a-goin' no more. How do I + know? Well, I'll tell you. All this forenoon I kept my eye on the office + door—I can see it through a mill winder; an' I'm tellin' you the old + boss didn't show up till ten o'clock, which the old man ain't never been a + ten o'clock business man at no time. Don't that prove the boy's took his + place?” + </p> + <p> + Confused murmurs of affirmation and negation ran up and down the long + table. Dan tapped with his knife again. “You hear me,” he warned. “Thirty + year I've been ridin' John Cardigan's log-carriages; thirty year I've been + gettin' everythin' out of a log it's possible to git out, which is more'n + you fellers at the trimmers can git out of a board after I've sawed it off + the cant. There's a lot o' you young fellers that've been takin' John + Cardigan's money under false pretenses, so if I was you I'd keep both eyes + on my job hereafter. For a year I've been claimin' that good No. 2 stock + has been chucked into the slab-fire as refuge lumber.” (Dan meant refuse + lumber.) “But it won't be done no more. The raftsman tells me he seen + Bryce down at the end o' the conveyin' belt givin' that refuge the + once-over—so step easy.” + </p> + <p> + “What does young Cardigan know about runnin' a sawmill?” a planer-man + demanded bluntly. “They tell me he's been away to college an' travellin' + the past six years.” + </p> + <p> + “Wa-ll,” drawled the head sawyer, “you git to talkin' with him some day + an' see how much he knows about runnin' a sawmill. What he knows will + surprise you. Yes, indeed, you'll find he knows considerable. He's picked + up loose shingles around the yard an' bundled 'em in vacation times, an' I + want to see the shingle-weaver that can teach him some tricks. Also, I've + had him come up on the steam carriage more'n once an' saw up logs, while + at times I've seen him put in a week or two on the sortin' table. In a + pinch, with a lot o' vessels loadin' here at the dock an' the skippers + raisin' Cain because they wasn't gettin' their cargo fast enough, I've + seen him work nights an' Sundays tallyin' with the best o' them. Believe + me that boy can grade lumber.” + </p> + <p> + “An' I'll tell you somethin' else,” Zeb Curry cut in. “If the new boss + ever tells you to do a thing his way, you do it an' don't argue none as to + whether he knows more about it than you do or not.” + </p> + <p> + “A whole lot o' dagos an' bohunks that's come into the woods since the + blue-noses an' canucks an' wild Irish went out had better keep your eyes + open,” Dan Kenyon warned sagely. “There ain't none o' you any better'n you + ought to be, an' things have been pretty durned slack around Cardigan's + mill since the old man went blind, but—you watch out. There's a + change due. Bryce Cardigan is his father's son. He'll do things.” + </p> + <p> + “Which he's big enough to throw a bear uphill by the tail,” Zeb Curry + added, “an' you fellers all know how much tail a bear has.” + </p> + <p> + “Every mornin' for thirty years, 'ceptin' when we was shut down for + repairs,” Dan continued, “I've looked through that winder, when John + Cardigan wasn't away from Sequoia, to watch him git to his office on time. + He's there when the whistle blows, clear up to the time his eyes go back + on him, an' then he arrives late once or twice on account o' havin' to go + careful. This mornin', for the first time in fifty year, he stays in bed; + but—his son has the key in the office door when the whistle blows, + an'—” + </p> + <p> + Dan Kenyon paused abruptly; the hum of conversation ceased, and silence + fell upon the room as Bryce Cardigan strolled in the door, nodded to the + men, and slid in on the bench to a seat beside the head sawyer. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Dan—hello, Zeb,” he said and shook hands with each. “I'm + mighty glad to see you both again. Hello, everybody. I'm the new boss, so + I suppose I'd better introduce myself—there are so many new faces + here. I'm Bryce Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Zeb Curry volunteered, “an' he's like his daddy. He ain't ashamed + to work with his men, an' he ain't ashamed to eat with his men, nuther. + Glad you're back with us again, boy—mighty glad. Dan, here, he's + gittin' slacker'n an old squaw with his work an' needs somebody to jerk + him up, while the rest o' these here—” + </p> + <p> + “I noticed that about Dan,” Bryce interrupted craftily. “He's slowing up, + Zeb. He must have been fifteen seconds late this morning—or + perhaps,” he added “you were fifteen seconds earlier than the clock.” + </p> + <p> + Dan grinned, and Bryce went on seriously: “I'm afraid you're getting too + old to ride the log-carriage, Dan. You've been at it a long time; so, with + the utmost good will in the world toward you, you're fired. I might as + well tell you now. You know me, Dan. I always did dislike beating about + the bush.” + </p> + <p> + “Fired!” Dan Kenyon's eyes popped with amazement and horror. “Fired—after + thirty years!” he croaked. + </p> + <p> + “Fired!” There was unmistakable finality in Bryce's tones. “You're hired + again, however, at a higher salary, as mill-superintendent. You can get + away with that job, can't you, Dan? In fact,” he added without waiting for + the overjoyed Dan to answer him, “you've got to get away with it, because + I discharged the mill-superintendent I found on the job when I got down + here this morning. He's been letting too many profits go into the + slab-fire. In fact, the entire plant has gone to glory. Fire-hose old and + rotten—couldn't stand a hundred-pound pressure; fire-buckets and + water-barrels empty, axes not in their proper places, fire-extinguishers + filled with stale chemical—why, the smallest kind of a fire here + would get beyond our control with that man on the job. Besides, he's + changed the grading-rules. I found the men putting clear boards with + hard-grained streaks in them in with the No. 1 clear. The customer may not + kick at a small percentage of No. 2 in his No. 1 but it's only fair to + give it to him at two dollars a thousand less.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” purred Zeb Curry, “they don't grade lumber as strict nowadays as + they used to before you went away. Colonel Pennington says we're a lot o' + back numbers out this way an' too generous with our grades. First thing he + did was to call a meetin' of all the Humboldt lumber manufacturers an' + organize 'em into an association. Then he had the gradin'-rules changed. + The retailers hollered for a while, but bimeby they got used to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Did my father join that association?” Bryce demanded quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He told Pennington he wasn't goin' to be no obstructionist in the + trade, but he did kick like a bay steer on them new gradin'-rules an' + refused to conform to 'em. Said he was too old an' had been too long in + business to start gougin' his customers at his time o' life. So he got out + o' the association.” + </p> + <p> + “Bully for John Cardigan!” Bryce declared. “I suppose we could make a + little more money by cheapening our grade, but the quality of our lumber + is so well known that it sells itself and saves us the expense of + maintaining a corps of salesmen.” + </p> + <p> + “From what I hear tell o' the Colonel,” Dan observed sagely, “the least he + ever wants is a hundred and fifty per cent. the best of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” old Zeb observed gravely, “an' so fur as I can see, he ain't none + too perticular how he gets it.” He helped himself to a toothpick, and + followed by the head sawyer, abruptly left the room—after the + fashion of sawmill men and woodsmen, who eat as much as they can as + quickly as they can and eventually die of old age rather than indigestion. + Bryce ate his noonday meal in more leisurely fashion and at its conclusion + stepped into the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you live, cook?” he demanded of that functionary; and upon being + informed, he retired to the office and called up the Sequoia meat-market. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce Cardigan speaking,” he informed the butcher. “Do you ever buy any + pigs from our mill cook?” + </p> + <p> + “Not any more,” the butcher answered. “He stung me once with a dozen fine + shoats. They looked great, but after I had slaughtered them and had them + dressed, they turned out to be swill-fed hogs—swill and alfalfa.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” Bryce hung up. “I knew that cook was wasteful,” he declared, + turning to his father's old manager, one Thomas Sinclair. “He wastes food + in order to take the swill home to his hogs—and nobody watches him. + Things have certainly gone to the devil,” he continued. + </p> + <p> + “No fault of mine,” Sinclair protested. “I've never paid any attention to + matters outside the office. Your father looked after everything else.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked at Sinclair. The latter was a thin, spare, nervous man in the + late fifties, and though generally credited with being John Cardigan's + manager, Bryce knew that Sinclair was in reality little more than a + glorified bookkeeper—and a very excellent bookkeeper indeed. Bryce + realized that in the colossal task that confronted him he could expect no + real help from Sinclair. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied, “my father looked after everything else—while he + could.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll soon get the business straightened out and running smoothly + again,” Sinclair declared confidently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm glad I started on the job to-day, rather than next Monday, as I + planned to do last night.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped to the window and looked out. At the mill-dock a big steam + schooner and a wind-jammer lay; in the lee of the piles of lumber, sailors + and long-shoremen, tallymen and timekeeper lounged, enjoying the brief + period of the noon hour still theirs before the driving mates of the + lumber-vessels should turn them to on the job once more. To his right and + left stretched the drying yard, gangway on gangway formed by the serried + rows of lumber-piles, the hoop-horses placidly feeding from their nosebags + while the strong-armed fellows who piled the lumber sat about in little + groups conversing with the mill-hands. + </p> + <p> + As Bryce looked, a puff of white steam appeared over the roof of the old + sawmill, and the one o'clock whistle blew. Instantly that scene of + indolence and ease turned to one of activity. The mill-hands lounging in + the gangways scurried for their stations in the mill; men climbed to the + tops of the lumber-piles, while other men passed boards and scantlings up + to them; the donkey-engines aboard the vessels rattled; the cargo-gaffs of + the steam schooner swung outward, and a moment later two great sling-loads + of newly sawed lumber rose in the air, swung inward, and descended to the + steamer's decks. + </p> + <p> + All about Bryce were scenes of activity, of human endeavour; and to him in + that moment came the thought: “My father brought all this to pass—and + now the task of continuing it is mine! All those men who earn a living in + Cardigan's mill and on Cardigan's dock—those sailors who sail the + ships that carry Cardigan's lumber into the distant marts of men—are + dependent upon me; and my father used to tell me not to fail them. Must my + father have wrought all this in vain? And must I stand by and see all this + go to satisfy the overwhelming ambition of a stranger?” His big hands + clenched. “No!” he growled savagely. + </p> + <p> + “If I stick around this office a minute longer, I'll go crazy,” Bryce + snarled then. “Give me your last five annual statements, Mr. Sinclair, + please.” + </p> + <p> + The old servitor brought forth the documents in question. Bryce stuffed + them into his pocket and left the office. Three quarters of an hour later + he entered the little amphitheatre in the Valley of the Giants and paused + with an expression of dismay. One of the giants had fallen and lay + stretched across the little clearing. In its descent it had demolished the + little white stone over his mother's grave and had driven the fragments of + the stone deep into the earth. + </p> + <p> + The tremendous brown butt quite ruined the appearance of the amphitheatre + by reason of the fact that it constituted a barrier some fifteen feet high + and of equal thickness athwart the centre of the clearing, with fully + three quarters of the length of the tree lost to sight where the fallen + monarch had wedged between its more fortunate fellows. The fact that the + tree was down, however, was secondary to the fact that neither wind nor + lightning had brought it low, but rather the impious hand of man; for the + great jagged stump showed all too plainly the marks of cross-cut saw and + axe; a pile of chips four feet deep littered the ground. + </p> + <p> + For fully a minute Bryce stood dumbly gazing upon the sacrilege before his + rage and horror found vent in words. “An enemy has done this thing,” he + cried aloud to the wood-goblins. “And over her grave!” + </p> + <p> + Presently, smothering his emotion, he walked the length of the dead giant, + and where the top tapered off to a size that would permit of his stepping + across it, he retraced his steps on the other side of the tree until he + had reached a point some fifty feet from the butt—when the vandal's + reason for felling the monster became apparent. + </p> + <p> + It was a burl tree. At the point where Bryce paused a malignant growth had + developed on the trunk of the tree, for all the world like a tremendous + wart. This was the burl, so prized for table-tops and panelling because of + the fact that the twisted, wavy, helter-skelter grain lends to the wood an + extraordinary beauty when polished. Bryee noted that the work of removing + this excrescence had been accomplished very neatly. With a cross-cut saw + the growth, perhaps ten feet in diameter, had been neatly sliced off much + as a housewife cuts slice after slice from a loaf of bread. He guessed + that these slices, practically circular in shape, had been rolled out of + the woods to some conveyance waiting to receive them. + </p> + <p> + What Bryce could not understand, however, was the stupid brutality of the + raiders in felling the tree merely for that section of burl. By permitting + the tree to stand and merely building a staging up to the burl, the latter + could have been removed without vital injury to the tree—whereas by + destroying the tree the wretches had evidenced all too clearly to Bryce a + wanton desire to add insult to injury. + </p> + <p> + Bryce inspected the scars on the stump carefully. They were + weather-stained to such an extent that to his experienced eye it was + evident the outrage had been committed more than a year previously; and + the winter rains, not to mention the spring growth of grasses and + underbrush, had effectually destroyed all trace of the trail taken by the + vandals with their booty. + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Dad!” he murmured. “I'm glad now he has been unable to get up + here and see this. It would have broken his heart. I'll have this tree + made into fence-posts and the stump dynamited and removed this summer. + After he is operated on and gets back his sight, he will come up here—and + he must never know. Perhaps he will have forgotten how many trees stood in + this circle. And I'll fill in the hole left by the stump and plant some + manzanita there to hide the—” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Peeping out from under a chip among the litter at his feet was + the moldy corner of a white envelope. In an instant Bryce had it in his + hand. The envelope was dirty and weather-beaten, but to a certain extent + the redwood chips under which it had lain hidden had served to protect it, + and the writing on the face was still legible. The envelope was empty and + addressed to Jules Rondeau, care of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, + Sequoia, California. + </p> + <p> + Bryce read and reread that address. “Rondeau!” he muttered. “Jules + Rondeau! I've heard that name before—ah, yes! Dad spoke of him last + night. He's Pennington's woods-boss—” + </p> + <p> + He paused. An enemy had done this thing—and in all the world John + Cardigan had but one enemy—Colonel Seth Pennington. Had Pennington + sent his woods-boss to do this dirty work out of sheer spite? Hardly. The + section of burl was gone, and this argued that the question of spite had + been purely a matter of secondary consideration. + </p> + <p> + Evidently, Bryce reasoned, someone had desired that burl redwood greatly, + and that someone had not been Jules Rondeau, since a woods-boss would not + be likely to spend five minutes of his leisure time in consideration of + the beauties of a burl table-top or panel. Hence, if Rondeau had + superintended the task of felling the tree, it must have been at the + behest of a superior; and since a woods-boss acknowledges no superior save + the creator of the pay-roll, the recipient of that stolen burl must have + been Colonel Pennington. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he thrilled. If Jules Rondeau had stolen that burl to present it + to Colonel Pennington, his employer, then the finished article must be in + Pennington's home! And Bryce had been invited to that home for dinner the + following Thursday by the Colonel's niece. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go, after all,” he told himself. “I'll go—and I'll see what I + shall see.” + </p> + <p> + He was too wrought up now to sit calmly down in the peace and quietude of + the giants, and digest the annual reports Sinclair had given him. He + hastened back to the mill-office and sought Sinclair. + </p> + <p> + “At what hour does the logging-train leave the Laguna Grande Lumber + Company's yard for our log-landing in Township Nine?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Eight a.m. and one p.m. daily, Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any maps of the holdings of Pennington and ourselves in that + district?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me have them, please. I know the topography of that district + perfectly, but I am not familiar with the holdings in and around ours.” + </p> + <p> + Sinclair gave him the maps, and Bryce retired to his father's private + office and gave himself up to a study of them. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + When Shirley Sumner descended to the breakfast room on the morning + following her arrival in Sequoia, the first glance at her uncle's stately + countenance informed her that during the night something had occurred to + irritate Colonel Seth Pennington and startle him out of his customary + bland composure. He greeted her politely but coldly, and without even the + perfunctory formality of inquiring how she had passed the night, he came + directly to the issue, + </p> + <p> + “Shirley,” he began, “did I hear you calling young Cardigan on the + telephone after dinner last night or did my ears deceive me?” + </p> + <p> + “Your ears are all right, Uncle Seth. I called Mr. Cardigan up to thank + him for the pie he sent over, and incidentally to invite him over here to + dinner on Thursday night.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I heard you asking somebody to dinner, and as you don't know a + soul in Sequoia except young Cardigan, naturally I opined that he was to + be the object of our hospitality.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel coughed slightly. From the manner in which he approached the + task of buttering his hot cakes Shirley knew he had something more to say + and was merely formulating a polite set of phrases in which to express + himself. She resolved to help him along. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say it's quite all right to have invited him; isn't it, Uncle + Seth?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly, my dear. Quite all right, but er—ah, slightly + inconvenient.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm so sorry. If I had known—Perhaps some other night—” + </p> + <p> + “I am expecting other company Thursday night—unfortunately, Brayton, + the president of the Bank of Sequoia, is coming up to dine and discuss + some business affairs with me afterward; so if you don't mind, my dear, + suppose you call young Cardigan up and ask him to defer his visit until + some later date.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, Uncle. There is no particular reason why I should have Mr. + Cardigan on Thursday if his presence would mean the slightest interference + with your plans. What perfectly marvellous roses! How did you succeed in + growing them, Uncle Seth?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled sourly. “I didn't raise them,” he replied. “That half-breed + Indian that drives John Cardigan's car brought them around about an hour + ago, along with a card. There it is, beside your plate.” + </p> + <p> + She blushed ever so slightly. “I suppose Bryce Cardigan is vindicating + himself,” she murmured as she withdrew the card from the envelope. As she + had surmised, it was Bryce Cardigan's. Colonel Pennington was the + proprietor of a similar surmise. + </p> + <p> + “Fast work, Shirley,” he murmured banteringly. “I wonder what he'll send + you for luncheon. Some dill pickles, probably.” + </p> + <p> + She pretended to be very busy with the roses, and not to have heard him. + Her uncle's sneer was not lost on her, however; she resented it but chose + to ignore it for the present; and when at length she had finished + arranging the flowers, she changed the conversation adroitly by + questioning her relative anent the opportunities for shopping in Sequoia. + The Colonel, who could assimilate a hint quicker than most ordinary + mortals, saw that he had annoyed her, and he promptly hastened to make + amends by permitting himself to be led readily into this new + conversational channel. As soon as he could do so, however, he excused + himself on the plea of urgent business at the office, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + Shirley, left alone at the breakfast-table, picked idly at the preserved + figs the owlish butler set before her. Vaguely she wondered at her uncle's + apparent hostility to the Cardigans; she was as vaguely troubled in the + knowledge that until she should succeed in eradicating this hostility, it + must inevitably act as a bar to the further progress of her friendship + with Bryce Cardigan. And she told herself she did not want to lose that + friendship. She wasn't the least bit in love with him albeit she realized + he was rather lovable. The delight which she had experienced in his + society lay in the fact that he was absolutely different from any other + man she had met. His simplicity, his utter lack of “swank,” his + directness, his good nature, and dry sense of humour made him shine + luminously in comparison with the worldly, rather artificial young men she + had previously met—young men who said and did only those things + which time, tradition, and hallowed memory assured them were done by the + right sort of people. Shirley had a suspicion that Bryce Cardigan could—and + would—swear like a pirate should his temper be aroused and the + circumstances appear to warrant letting off steam. Also she liked him + because he was imaginative—because he saw and sensed and properly + understood without a diagram or a blueprint. And lastly, he was a good, + devoted son and was susceptible of development into a congenial and wholly + acceptable comrade to a young lady absolutely lacking in other means of + amusement. + </p> + <p> + She finished her breakfast in thoughtful silence; then she went to the + telephone and called up Bryce at his home. Mrs. Tully, all aflutter with + curiosity, was quite insistent that Shirley should leave her name and + telephone number, but failing to carry her point, consented to inform the + latter that Mr. Bryce was at the office. She gave Shirley the telephone + number. + </p> + <p> + When the girl called the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company, Bryce answered. + He recognized her voice instantly and called her name before she had + opportunity to announce her identity. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much for the beautiful roses, Mr. Cardigan,” she began. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you liked them. Nobody picks flowers out of our garden, you + know. I used to, but I'll be too busy hereafter to bother with the + garden.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Then I am not to expect any more roses?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a stupid clodhopper. Of course you may. By the way, Miss Sumner, does + your uncle own a car?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he does—a little old rattletrap which he drives himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll send George over with the Napier this afternoon. You might care + to take a spin out into the surrounding country. By the way, Miss Sumner, + you are to consider George and that car as your personal property. I fear + you're going to find Sequoia a dull place; so whenever you wish to go for + a ride, just call me up, and I'll have George report to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But think of all the expensive gasoline and tires!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you mustn't look at things from that angle after you cross the + Rocky Mountains on your way west. Moreover, mine is the only real car in + the country, and I know you like it. What are you going to do this + afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “For some real sport I would suggest that you motor up to Laguna Grande. + That's Spanish for Big Lagoon, you know. Take a rod with you. There are + some land-locked salmon in the lagoon—that is, there used to be; and + if you hook one you'll get a thrill.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven't any rod.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll send you over a good one.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have nobody to teach me how to use it,” she hinted daringly. + </p> + <p> + “I appreciate that compliment,” he flashed back at her, “but unfortunately + my holidays are over for a long, long time. I took my father's place in + the business this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “So soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Things have been happening while I was away. However, speaking of + fishing, George Sea Otter will prove an invaluable instructor. He is a + good boy and you may trust him implicitly. On Thursday evening you can + tell me what success you had with the salmon.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that reminds me, Mr. Cardigan. You can't come Thursday evening, after + all.” And she explained the reason. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove,” he replied, “I'm mighty glad you tipped me off about that. I + couldn't possibly remain at ease in the presence of a banker-particularly + one who will not lend me money.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you come Wednesday night instead.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll call that a bet. Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + She chuckled at his frank good humour. “Thank YOU, Mr Cardigan, for all + your kindness and thoughtfulness; and if you WILL persist in being nice to + me, you might send George Sea Otter and the car at one-thirty. I'll be + glad to avail myself of both until I can get a car of my own sent up from + San Francisco. Till Wednesday night, then. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + As Bryce Cardigan hung up, he heaved a slight sigh, and a parody on a + quatrain from “Lalla Rookh” ran through his mind: + </p> + <p> + I never loved a dear gazelle, To glad me with its limpid eye, But when I + learned to love it well, The gol-darned thing was sure to die! + </p> + <p> + It was difficult to get out of the habit of playing; he found himself the + possessor of a very great desire to close down the desk, call on Shirley + Sumner, and spend the remainder of the day basking in the sunlight of her + presence. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + The days passed swiftly, as they have a habit of passing after one has + discovered one's allotted task in life and has proceeded to perform it. + Following his discovery of the outrage committed on his father's + sanctuary, Bryce wasted considerable valuable time and effort in a futile + endeavour to gather some further hint of the identity of the vandals; but + despairing at last, he dismissed the matter from his mind, resolving only + that on Thursday he would go up into Pennington's woods and interview the + redoubtable Jules Rondeau. Bryce's natural inclination was to wait upon M. + Rondeau immediately, if not sooner, but the recollection of his dinner + engagement at the Pennington home warned him to proceed cautiously; for + while harbouring no apprehensions as to the outcome of a possible clash + with Rondeau, Bryce was not so optimistic as to believe he would escape + unscathed from an encounter. Experience had impressed upon him the fact + that in a rough-and-tumble battle nobody is quite so thoroughly at home as + a lumberjack; once in a clinch with such a man, even a champion gladiator + of the prize ring may well feel apprehensive of the outcome. + </p> + <p> + Wednesday evening at five o'clock Mr. Sinclair, the manager, came into + Bryce's office with a handful of folded papers. “I have here,” he + announced in his clerky voice with a touch of solemnity to it, “a trial + balance. I have not had time to make an exact inventory; but in order to + give you some idea of the condition of your father's affairs, I have used + approximate figures and prepared a profit-and-loss account.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce reached for the papers. + </p> + <p> + “You will note the amount charged off to profit and loss under the head of + 'Pensions,'” Sinclair continued. “It amounts approximately to two thousand + dollars a month, and this sum represents payments to crippled employees + and the dependent families of men killed in the employ of the Company.” + </p> + <p> + “In addition to these payments, your father owns thirty-two thirty-acre + farms which he has cleared from his logged-over lands. These little farms + are equipped with bungalows and outbuildings built by your father and + represent a considerable investment. As you know, these farms are + wonderfully rich, and are planted in apples and berries. Other lands + contiguous to them sell readily at two hundred dollars an acre, and so you + will see that your father has approximately two hundred thousand dollars + tied up in these little farms.” + </p> + <p> + “But he has given a life-lease at nothing a year for each farm to former + employees who have been smashed beyond the possibility of doing the hard + work of the mill and woods,” Bryce reminded the manager. “Hence you must + not figure those farms among our assets.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” Sinclair replied evenly. “Formal leases have never been + executed, and the tenants occupy the property at your father's pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “I think that will be about as far as the discussion on that point need + proceed,” Bryce replied smilingly. “My father's word has always been + considered sufficient in this country; his verbal promise to pay has + always been collateral enough for those who know him.” + </p> + <p> + “But my dear boy,” Sinclair protested, “while that sort of philanthropy is + very delightful when one can afford the luxury, it is scarcely practical + when one is teetering on the verge of financial ruin. After all, Bryce, + self-preservation is the first law of human nature, and the sale of those + farms would go a long way toward helping the Cardigan Redwood Lumber + Company out of the hole it is in at present.” + </p> + <p> + “And we're really teetering on the edge of financial ruin, eh?” Bryce + queried calmly. + </p> + <p> + “That is expressing your condition mildly. The semi-annual payment of + interest on the bonded indebtedness falls due on July first—and + we're going to default on it, sure as death and taxes. Colonel Pennington + holds a majority of our bonds, and that means prompt suit for + foreclosure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Sinclair,” Bryce retorted, carefully pigeon-holing the + documents the manager had handed him, “I'll tell you what we'll do. For + fifty years my father has played the game in this community like a sport + and a gentleman, and I'll be damned if his son will dog it now, at the + finish. I gather from your remarks that we could find ready sale for those + thirty-two little farms?” + </p> + <p> + “I am continually receiving offers for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they were not included in the list of properties covered by our + bonded indebtedness?” + </p> + <p> + “No, your father refused to include them. He said he would take a chance + on the financial future of himself and his boy, but not on his helpless + dependents.” + </p> + <p> + “Good old John Cardigan! Well, Sinclair, I'll not take a chance on them + either; so to-morrow morning you will instruct our attorney to draw up + formal life-leases on those farms, and to make certain they are absolutely + unassailable. Colonel Pennington may have the lands sold to satisfy a + deficiency judgment against us, but while those life-leases from the + former owner are in force, my father's proteges cannot be dispossessed. + After they are dead, of course, Pennington may take the farms—and be + damned to him.” + </p> + <p> + Sinclair stared in frank amazement at his youthful superior. “You are + throwing away two hundred thousand dollars,” he said distinctly. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't thrown it away—yet. You forget, Sinclair, that we're + going to fight first—and fight like fiends; then if we lose—well, + the tail goes with the hide, By the way, Sinclair, are any of those farms + untenanted at the present time?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Old Bill Tarpey, who lost his three boys in a forest fire over on + the San Hedrin, passed out last week. The Tarpey boys died in the Cardigan + employ, and so your father gave Bill the use of a farm out near + Freshwater.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you'd better be his successor, Sinclair. You're no longer a young + man, and you've been thirty years in this office. Play safe, Sinclair, and + include yourself in one of those life-leases.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! United we stand, divided we fall, Sinclair; and let there be no + moaning of the bar when a Cardigan puts out to sea.” + </p> + <p> + Smiling, he rose from his desk, patted the bewildered Sinclair on the + latter's grizzled head, and then reached for his hat. “I'm dining out + to-night, Sinclair, and I wouldn't be a kill-joy at the feast, for a ripe + peach. Your confounded figures might make me gloomy; so we'll just reserve + discussion of them till to-morrow morning. Be a sport, Sinclair, and for + once in your life beat the six o'clock whistle. In other words, I suggest + that you go home and rest for once.” + </p> + <p> + He left Sinclair staring at him rather stupidly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + Colonel Pennington's imported British butler showed Bryce into the + Pennington living room at six-thirty, announcing him with due ceremony. + Shirley rose from the piano where she had been idly fingering the keys and + greeted him with every appearance of pleasure—following which, she + turned to present her visitor to Colonel Pennington, who was standing in + his favourite position with his back to the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Seth, this is Mr. Cardigan, who was so very nice to me the day I + landed in Red Bluff.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel bowed. “I have to thank you, sir, for your courtesy to my + niece.” He had assumed an air of reserve, of distinct aloofness, despite + his studied politeness. Bryce stepped forward with extended hand, which + the Colonel grasped in a manner vaguely suggestive of that clammy-palmed + creation of Charles Dickens—Uriah Heep. Bryce was tempted to squeeze + the lax fingers until the Colonel should bellow with pain; but resisting + the ungenerous impulse, he replied instead: + </p> + <p> + “Your niece, Colonel, is one of those fortunate beings the world will + always clamour to serve.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true, Mr. Cardigan. When she was quite a little girl I came under + her spell myself.” + </p> + <p> + “So did I, Colonel. Miss Sumner has doubtless told you of our first + meeting some twelve years ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. May I offer you a cocktail, Mr. Cardigan?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, certainly. Dad and I have been pinning one on about this time + every night since my return.” + </p> + <p> + “Shirley belongs to the Band of Hope,” the Colonel explained. “She's ready + at any time to break a lance with the Demon Rum. Back in Michigan, where + we used to live, she saw too many woodsmen around after the spring drive. + So we'll have to drink her share, Mr. Cardigan. Pray be seated.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce seated himself. “Well, we lumbermen are a low lot and naturally fond + of dissipation,” he agreed. “I fear Miss Sumner's Prohibition tendencies + will be still further strengthened after she has seen the mad-train.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” Shirley queried. + </p> + <p> + “The mad-train runs over your uncle's logging railroad up into Township + Nine, where his timber and ours is located. It is the only train operated + on Sunday, and it leaves Sequoia at five p.m. to carry the Pennington and + Cardigan crews back to the woods after their Saturday-night celebration in + town. As a usual thing, all hands, with the exception of the brakeman, + engineers, and fireman, are singing, weeping or fighting drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you provide transportation for them to come to town Saturday + nights?” Shirley protested. + </p> + <p> + “They ride in on the last trainload of logs, and if we didn't let them do + it, they'd ask for their time. It's the way of the gentle lumberjack. And + of course, once they get in, we have to round them up on Sunday afternoon + and get them back on the job. Hence the mad-train.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they fight, Mr. Cardigan?” + </p> + <p> + “Frequently. I might say usually. It's quite an inspiring sight to see a + couple of lumberjacks going to it on a flat-car travelling thirty miles an + hour.” + </p> + <p> + “But aren't they liable to fall off and get killed?” + </p> + <p> + “No. You see, they're used to fighting that way. Moreover, the engineer + looks back, and if he sees any signs of Donnybrook Fair, he slows down.” + </p> + <p> + “How horrible!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed. The right of way is lined with empty whiskey bottles.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pennington spoke up. “We don't have any fighting on the mad-train + any more,” he said blandly. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! How do you prevent it?” Bryce asked. + </p> + <p> + “My woods-boss, Jules Rondeau, makes them keep the peace,” Pennington + replied with a small smile. “If there's any fighting to be done, he does + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean among his own crew, of course,” Bryce suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No, he's in charge of the mad-train, and whether a fight starts among + your men or ours, he takes a hand. He's had them all behaving mildly for + quite a while, because he can whip any man in the country, and everybody + realizes it. I don't know what I'd do without Rondeau. He certainly makes + those bohunks of mine step lively.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh-h-h! Do you employ bohunks, Colonel?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. They cost less; they are far less independent than most men + and more readily handled. And you don't have to pamper them—particularly + in the matter of food. Why, Mr Cardigan, with all due respect to your + father, the way he feeds his men is simply ridiculous! Cake and pie and + doughnuts at the same meal!” The Colonel snorted virtuously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Dad started in to feed his men the same food he fed himself, and I + suppose the habits one forms in youth are not readily changed in old age, + Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “But that makes it hard for other manufacturers,” the Colonel protested. + “I feed my men good plain food and plenty of it—quite better food + than they were used to before they came to this country; but I cannot seem + to satisfy them. I am continuously being reminded, when I do a thing thus + and so, that John Cardigan does it otherwise. Your respected parent is the + basis for comparison in this country, Cardigan, and I find it devilish + inconvenient.” He laughed indulgently and passed his cigarette-case to + Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Seth always grows restless when some other man is the leader,” + Shirley volunteered with a mischievous glance at Pennington. “He was the + Great Pooh-Bah of the lumber-trade back in Michigan, but out here he has + to play second fiddle. Don't you, Nunky-dunk?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I do, my dear,” the Colonel admitted with his best air of + hearty expansiveness. “I'm afraid I do. However, Mr. Cardigan, now that + you have—at least, I have been so informed—taken over your + father's business, I am hoping we will be enabled to get together on many + little details and work them out on a common basis to our mutual + advantage. We lumbermen should stand together and not make it hard for + each other. For instance, your scale of wages is totally disproportionate + to the present high cost of manufacture and the mediocre market; yet just + because you pay it, you set a precedent which we are all forced to follow. + However,” he concluded, “let's not talk shop. I imagine we have enough of + that during the day. Besides, here are the cocktails.” + </p> + <p> + With the disposal of the cocktails, the conversation drifted into a + discussion of Shirley's adventures with a salmon in Big Lagoon. The + Colonel discoursed learnedly on the superior sport of muskellunge-fishing, + which prompted Bryce to enter into a description of going after swordfish + among the islands of the Santa Barbara channel. “Trout-fishing when the + fish gets into white water is good sport; salmon-fishing is fine, and the + steel-head in Eel River are hard to beat; muskellunge are a delight, and + tarpon are not so bad if you're looking for thrills; but for genuine + inspiration give me a sixteen-foot swordfish that will leap out of the + water from three to six feet, and do it three or four hundred times—all + on a line and rod so light one dares not state the exact weight if he + values his reputation for veracity. Once I was fishing at San—” + </p> + <p> + The butler appeared in the doorway and bowed to Shirley, at the time + announcing that dinner was served. The girl rose and gave her arm to + Bryce; with her other arm linked through her uncle's she turned toward the + dining room. + </p> + <p> + Just inside the entrance Bryce paused. The soft glow of the candles in the + old-fashioned silver candlesticks upon the table was reflected in the + polished walls of the room-walls formed of panels of the most exquisitely + patterned redwood burl Bryce Cardigan had ever seen. Also the panels were + unusually large. + </p> + <p> + Shirley Sumner's alert glance followed Bryce's as it swept around the + room. “This dining room is Uncle Seth's particular delight, Mr. Cardigan,” + she explained. + </p> + <p> + “It is very beautiful, Miss Sumner. And your uncle has worked wonders in + the matter of having it polished. Those panels are positively the largest + and most beautiful specimens of redwood burl ever turned out in this + country. The grain is not merely wavy; it is not merely curly; it is + actually so contrary that you have here, Colonel Pennington, a room + absolutely unique, in that it is formed of bird's-eye burl. Mark the deep + shadows in it. And how it does reflect those candles!” + </p> + <p> + “It is beautiful,” the Colonel declared. “And I must confess to a + pardonable pride in it, although the task of keeping these walls from + being marred by the furniture knocking against them requires the utmost + care.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned and his brown eyes blazed into the Colonel's. “Where DID you + succeed in finding such a marvellous tree?” he queried pointedly. “I know + of but one tree in Humboldt County that could have produced such beautiful + burl.” + </p> + <p> + For about a second Colonel Pennington met Bryce's glance unwaveringly; + then he read something in his guest's eyes, and his glance shifted, while + over his benign countenance a flush spread quickly. Bryce noted it, and + his quickly roused suspicions were as quickly kindled into certainty. + “Where did you find that tree?” he repeated innocently. + </p> + <p> + “Rondeau, my woods-boss, knew I was on the lookout for something special—something + nobody else could get; so he kept his eyes open.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” There was just a trace of irony in Bryce's tones as he drew + Shirley's chair and held it for her. “As you say, Colonel, it is difficult + to keep such soft wood from being marred by contact with the furniture. + And you are fortunate to have such a woods-boss in your employ. Such loyal + fellows are usually too good to be true, and quite frequently they put + their blankets on their backs and get out of the country when you least + expect it. I dare say it would be a shock to you if Rondeau did that.” + </p> + <p> + There was no mistaking the veiled threat behind that apparently innocent + observation, and the Colonel, being a man of more than ordinary + astuteness, realized that at last he must place his cards on the table. + His glance, as he rested it on Bryce now, was baleful, ophidian. “Yes,” he + said, “I would be rather disappointed. However, I pay Rondeau rather more + than it is customary to pay woods-bosses; so I imagine he'll stay—unless, + of course, somebody takes a notion to run him out of the county. And when + that happens, I want to be on hand to view the spectacle.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce sprinkled a modicum of salt in his soup. “I'm going up into Township + Nine to-morrow afternoon,” he remarked casually. “I think I shall go over + to your camp and pay the incomparable Jules a brief visit. Really, I have + heard so much about that woods-boss of yours, Colonel, that I ache to take + him apart and see what makes him go.” + </p> + <p> + Again the Colonel assimilated the hint, but preferred to dissemble. “Oh, + you can't steal him from me, Cardigan,” he laughed. “I warn you in advance—so + spare yourself the effort.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll try anything once,” Bryce retorted with equal good nature. “However, + I don't want to steal him from you. I want to ascertain from him where he + procured this burl. There may be more of the same in the neighbourhood + where he got this.” + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn't tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “He might. I'm a persuasive little cuss when I choose to exert myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Rondeau is not communicative. He requires lots of persuading.” + </p> + <p> + “What delicious soup!” Bryce murmured blandly. “Miss Sumner, may I have a + cracker?” + </p> + <p> + The dinner passed pleasantly; the challenge and defiance between guest and + host had been so skillfully and gracefully exchanged that Shirley hadn't + the slightest suspicion that these two well-groomed men had, under her + very nose, as it were, agreed to be enemies and then, for the time being, + turned their attention to other and more trifling matters. Coffee was + served in the living room, and through the fragrant smoke of Pennington's + fifty-cent perfectos a sprightly three-cornered conversation continued for + an hour. Then the Colonel, secretly enraged at the calm, mocking, + contemplative glances which Bryce ever and anon bestowed upon him, and + unable longer to convince himself that he was too apprehensive—that + this cool young man knew nothing and would do nothing even if he knew + something—rose, pleaded the necessity for looking over some papers, + and bade Bryce good-night. Foolishly he proffered Bryce a limp hand; and a + demon of deviltry taking possession of the latter, this time he squeezed + with a simple, hearty earnestness, the while he said: + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Pennington, I hope I do not have to assure you that my visit here + this evening has not only been delightful but—er—instructive. + Good-night, sir, and pleasant dreams.” + </p> + <p> + With difficulty the Colonel suppressed a groan. However, he was not the + sort of man who suffers in silence; for a minute later the butler, leaning + over the banisters as his master climbed the stairs to his library, heard + the latter curse with an eloquence that was singularly appealing. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Colonel Seth Pennington looked up sourly as a clerk entered his private + office. “Well?” he demanded brusquely. When addressing his employees, the + Colonel seldom bothered to assume his pontifical manner. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bryce Cardigan is waiting to see you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Show him in.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce entered. “Good morning, Colonel,” he said pleasantly and brazenly + thrust out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Not for me, my boy,” the Colonel assured him. “I had enough of that last + night. We'll just consider the hand-shaking all attended to, if you + please. Have a chair; sit down and tell me what I can do to make you + happy.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm delighted to find you in such a generous frame of mind, Colonel. You + can make me genuinely happy by renewing, for ten years on the same terms + as the original contract, your arrangement to freight the logs of the + Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company from the woods to tidewater.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pennington cleared his throat with a propitiatory “Ahem-m-m!” Then + he removed his gold spectacles and carefully wiped them with a silk + handkerchief, as carefully replaced them upon his aristocratic nose, and + then gazed curiously at Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my soul!” he breathed. + </p> + <p> + “I realized, of course, that this is reopening an issue which you have + been pleased to regard as having been settled in the last letter my father + had from you, and wherein you named terms that were absolutely + prohibitive.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear young friend! My very dear young friend! I must protest at being + asked to discuss this matter. Your father and I have been over it in + detail; we failed to agree, and that settles it. As a matter of fact, I am + not in position to handle your logs with my limited rolling-stock, and + that old hauling contract which I took over when I bought the mills, + timber-lands, and logging railroad from the late Mr. Henderson and + incorporated into the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, has been an + embarrassment I have longed to rid myself of. Under those circumstances + you could scarcely expect me to saddle myself with it again, at your mere + request and solely to oblige you.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not expect you to agree to my request. I am not quite that + optimistic,” Bryce replied evenly. + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you ask me?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought that possibly, if I reopened negotiations, you might have a + reasonable counter-proposition to suggest.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't thought of any.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose if I agreed to sell you that quarter-section of timber in the + little valley over yonder” (he pointed to the east) “and the natural + outlet for your Squaw Creek timber, you'd quickly think of one,” Bryce + suggested pointedly. + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not in the market for that Valley of the Giants, as your + idealistic father prefers to call it. Once I would have purchased it for + double its value, but at present I am not interested.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless it would be an advantage for you to possess it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy, the possession of that big timber is an advantage I expect + to enjoy before I acquire many more gray hairs. But I do not expect to pay + for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you expect me to offer it to you as a bonus for renewing our hauling + contract?” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel snapped his fingers. “By George,” he declared, “that's a + bright idea, and a few months ago I would have been inclined to consider + it very seriously. But now—” + </p> + <p> + “You figure you've got us winging, eh?” Bryce was smiling pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “I am making no admissions,” Pennington responded enigmatically “—nor + any hauling contracts for my neighbour's logs,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “You may change your mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I'll have to abandon logging in Township Nine and go back to + the San Hedrin,” Bryce sighed resignedly. + </p> + <p> + “If you do, you'll go broke. You can't afford it. You're on the verge of + insolvency this minute.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, since you decline to haul our logs, after the expiration of + our present contract, and in view of the fact that we are not financially + able to build our own logging railroad, that the wisest course my father + and I could pursue would be to sell our timber in Township Nine to you. It + adjoins your holdings in the same township” + </p> + <p> + “I had a notion the situation would begin to dawn upon you.” The Colonel + was smiling now; his handsome face was gradually assuming the expression + pontifical. “I'll give you a dollar a thousand feet stumpage for it.” + </p> + <p> + “On whose cruise?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my own cruisers will estimate it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I can't accept that offer. We paid a dollar and a half for it, + you know, and if we sold it to you at a dollar, the sale would not bring + us sufficient money to take up our bonded indebtedness; we'd only have the + San Hedrin timber and the Valley of the Giants left, and since we cannot + log either of these at present, naturally we'd be out of business.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the way I figured it, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—we're not going out of business.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me for disagreeing with you. I think you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Not much! We can't afford it.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel smiled benignantly. “My dear boy, my very dear young friend, + listen to me. Your paternal ancestor is the only human being who has ever + succeeded in making a perfect monkey of me. When I wanted to purchase from + him a right of way through his absurd Valley of the Giants, in order that + I might log my Squaw Creek timber, he refused me. And to add insult to + injury, he spouted a lot of rot about his big trees, how much they meant + to him, and the utter artistic horror of running a logging-train through + the grove—particularly since he planned to bequeath it to Sequoia as + a public park. He expects the city to grow up to it during the next twenty + years. + </p> + <p> + “My boy, that was the first bad break your father made. His second break + was his refusal to sell me a mill-site. He was the first man in this + county, and he had been shrewd enough to hog all the water-front real + estate and hold onto it. I remember he called himself a progressive + citizen, and when I asked him why he was so assiduously blocking the + wheels of progress, he replied that the railroad would build in from the + south some day, but that when it did, its builders would have to be + assured of terminal facilities on Humboldt Bay. 'By holding intact the + spot where rail and water are bound to meet,' he told me, 'I insure the + terminal on tidewater which the railroad must have before consenting to + build. But if I sell it to Tom, Dick, and Harry, they will be certain to + gouge the railroad when the latter tries to buy it from them. They may + scare the railroad away.'” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally!” Bryce replied. “The average human being is a hog, and + merciless when he has the upper hand. He figures that a bird in the hand + is worth two in the bush. My father, on the contrary, has always planned + for the future. He didn't want that railroad blocked by land-speculators + and its building delayed. The country needed rail connection with the + outside world, and moreover his San Hedrin timber isn't worth a hoot until + that feeder to a transcontinental road shall be built to tap it.” + </p> + <p> + “But he sold Bill Henderson the mill-site on tidewater that he refused to + sell me, and later I had to pay Henderson's heirs a whooping price for it. + And I haven't half the land I need.” + </p> + <p> + “But he needed Henderson then. They had a deal on together. You must + remember, Colonel, that while Bill Henderson held that Squaw Creek timber + he later sold you, my father would never sell him a mill-site. Can't you + see the sporting point of view involved? My father and Bill Henderson were + good-natured rivals; for thirty years they had tried to outgame each other + on that Squaw Creek timber. Henderson thought he could force my father to + buy at a certain price, and my father thought he could force Henderson to + sell at a lesser price; they were perfectly frank about it with each other + and held no grudges. Of course, after you bought Henderson out, you + foolishly took over his job of trying to outgame my father. That's why you + bought Henderson out, isn't it? You had a vision of my father's paying you + a nice profit on your investment, but he fooled you, and now you're peeved + and won't play.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce hitched his chair farther toward the Colonel. “Why shouldn't my dad + be nice to Bill Henderson after the feud ended?” he continued. “They could + play the game together then, and they did. Colonel, why can't you be as + sporty as Henderson and my father? They fought each other, but they fought + fairly and in the open, and they never lost the respect and liking each + had for the other.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not renew your logging contract. That is final, young man. No man + can ride me with spurs and get away with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knew that yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why have you called on me to-day, taking up my time on a dead + issue?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to give you one final chance to repent. I know your plan. You + have it in your power to smash the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company, + acquire it at fifty per cent. of its value, and merge its assets with your + Laguna Grande Lumber Company. You are an ambitious man. You want to be the + greatest redwood manufacturer in California, and in order to achieve your + ambitions, you are willing to ruin a competitor: you decline to play the + game like a thoroughbred.” + </p> + <p> + “I play the game of business according to the rules of the game; I do + nothing illegal, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And nothing generous or chivalrous. Colonel, you know your plea of a + shortage of rolling-stock is that the contract for hauling our logs has + been very profitable and will be more profitable in the future if you will + accept a fifty-cent-per-thousand increase on the freight-rate and renew + the contract for ten years.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing doing, young man. Remember, you are not in a position to ask + favours.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose we'll have to go down fighting?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not anticipate much of a fight.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get as much as I can give you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not at all apprehensive.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'll begin by running your woods-boss out of the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah-h!” + </p> + <p> + “You know why, of course—those burl panels in your dining room. + Rondeau felled a tree in our Valley of the Giants to get that burl for + you, Colonel Pennington.” + </p> + <p> + Pennington flushed. “I defy you to prove that,” he almost shouted. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I'll make Rondeau confess; perhaps he'll even tell me who sent + him after the burl. Upon my word, I think you inspired that dastardly + raid. At any rate, I know Rondeau is guilty, and you, as his employer and + the beneficiary of his crime, must accept the odium.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel's face went white. “I do not admit anything except that you + appear to have lost your head, young man. However, for the sake of + argument: granting that Rondeau felled that tree, he did it under the + apprehension that your Valley of the Giants is a part of my Squaw Creek + timber adjoining.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe that. There was malice in the act—brutality even; + for my mother's grave identified the land as ours, and Rondeau felled the + tree on her tombstone.” + </p> + <p> + “If that is so, and Rondeau felled that tree—I do not believe he did—I + am sincerely sorry, Cardigan, Name your price and I will pay you for the + tree. I do not desire any trouble to develop over this affair.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't pay for that tree,” Bryce burst forth. “No pitiful human being + can pay in dollars and cents for the wanton destruction of God's + handiwork. You wanted that burl and when my father was blind and could no + longer make his Sunday pilgrimage up to that grove, your woods-boss went + up and stole that which you knew you could not buy.” + </p> + <p> + “That will be about all from you, young man. Get out of my office. And by + the way, forget that you have met my niece.” + </p> + <p> + “It's your office—so I'll get out. As for your second command”—he + snapped his fingers in Pennington's face—“fooey!” + </p> + <p> + When Bryce had gone, the Colonel hurriedly called his logging-camp on the + telephone and asked for Jules Rondeau, only to be informed, by the + timekeeper who answered the telephone, that Rondeau was up in the green + timber with the choppers and could not be gotten to the telephone in less + than two hours. + </p> + <p> + “Do not send for him, then,” Pennington commanded. “I'm coming up on the + eleven-fifteen train and will talk to him when he comes in for his lunch.” + </p> + <p> + At eleven o'clock, and just as the Colonel was leaving to board the + eleven-fifteen logging-train bound empty for the woods, Shirley Sumner + made her appearance in his office. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Seth,” she complained, “I'm lonesome. The bookkeeper tells me + you're going up to the logging-camp. May I go with you?” + </p> + <p> + “By all means. Usually I ride in the cab with the engineer and fireman; + but if you're coming, I'll have them hook on the caboose. Step lively, my + dear, or they'll be holding the train for us and upsetting our schedule.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + By virtue of their logging-contract with Pennington, the Cardigans and + their employees were transported free over Pennington's logging railroad; + hence, when Bryce Cardigan resolved to wait upon Jules Rondeau in the + matter of that murdered Giant, it was characteristic of him to choose the + shortest and most direct route to his quarry, and as the long string of + empty logging-trucks came crawling off the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's + log-dump, he swung over the side, quite ignorant of the fact that Shirley + and her precious relative were riding in the little caboose in the rear. + </p> + <p> + At twelve-ten the train slid in on the log landing of the Laguna Grande + Lumber Company's main camp, and Bryce dropped off and approached the + engineer of the little donkey-engine used for loading the logs. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Rondeau?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The engineer pointed to a huge, swarthy man approaching across the + clearing in which the camp was situated. “That's him,” he replied. And + without further ado, Bryce strode to meet his man. + </p> + <p> + “Are you Jules Rondeau?” he demanded as he came up to the woods-boss. The + latter nodded. “I'm Bryce Cardigan,” his interrogator announced, “and I'm + here to thrash you for chopping that big redwood tree over in that little + valley where my mother is buried.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Rondeau smiled. “Wiz pleasure, M'sieur.” And without a moment's + hesitation he rushed. Bryce backed away from him warily, and they circled. + </p> + <p> + “When I get through with you, Rondeau,” Bryce said distinctly, “it'll take + a good man to lead you to your meals. This country isn't big enough for + both of us, and since you came here last, you've got to go first.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce stepped in, feinted for Rondeau's jaw with his right, and when the + woods-boss quickly covered, ripped a sizzling left into the latter's + midriff. Rondeau grunted and dropped his guard, with the result that + Bryce's great fists played a devil's tattoo on his countenance before he + could crouch and cover. + </p> + <p> + “This is a tough one,” thought Bryce. His blows had not, apparently, had + the slightest effect on the woods-boss. Crouched low and with his arms + wrapped around his head, Rondeau still came on unfalteringly, and Bryce + was forced to give way before him; to save his hands, he avoided the risk + of battering Rondeau's hard head and sinewy arms. + </p> + <p> + Already word that the woods-boss was battling with a stranger had been + shouted into the camp dining room, and the entire crew of that camp, + abandoning their half-finished meal, came pouring forth to view the + contest. Out of the tail of his eye Bryce saw them coming, but he was not + apprehensive, for he knew the code of the woodsman: “Let every man roll + his own hoop.” It would be a fight to a finish, for no man would + interfere; striking, kicking, gouging, biting, or choking would not be + looked upon as unsportsmanlike; and as Bryce backed cautiously away from + the huge, lithe, active, and powerful man before him, he realized that + Jules Rondeau was, as his father had stated, “top dog among the + lumberjacks.” + </p> + <p> + Rondeau, it was apparent, had no stomach for Bryce's style of combat. He + wanted a rough-and-tumble fight and kept rushing, hoping to clinch; if he + could but get his great hands on Bryce, he would wrestle him down, climb + him, and finish the fight in jig-time. But a rough-and-tumble was exactly + what Bryce was striving to avoid; hence when Rondeau rushed, Bryce + side-stepped and peppered the woodsman's ribs. But the woods-crew, which + by now was ringed around them, began to voice disapproval of this style of + battle. + </p> + <p> + “Clinch with him, dancing-master,” a voice roared. + </p> + <p> + “Tie into him, Rondeau,” another shouted. + </p> + <p> + “It's a fair match,” cried another, “and the red one picked on the main + push. He was looking for a fight, an' he ought to get it; but these fancy + fights don't suit me. Flop him, stranger, flop him.” + </p> + <p> + “Rondeau can't catch him,” a fourth man jeered. “He's a foot-racer, not a + fighter.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly two powerful hands were placed between Bryce's shoulders, + effectually halting his backward progress; then he was propelled violently + forward until he collided with Rondeau. With a bellow of triumph, the + woods-boss's gorilla-like arms were around Bryce, swinging him until he + faced the man who had forced him into that terrible grip. This was no less + a personage than Colonel Seth Pennington, and it was obvious he had taken + charge of what he considered the obsequies. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back, you men, and give them room,” he shouted. “Rondeau will take + care of him now. Stand back, I say. I'll discharge the man that + interferes.” + </p> + <p> + With a heave and a grunt Rondeau lifted his antagonist, and the pair went + crashing to the earth together, Bryce underneath. And then something + happened. With a howl of pain, Rondeau rolled over on his back and lay + clasping his left wrist in his right hand, while Bryce scrambled to his + feet. + </p> + <p> + “The good old wrist-lock does the trick,” he announced; and stooping, he + grasped the woods-boss by the collar with his left hand, lifted him, and + struck him a terrible blow in the face with his right. But for the arm + that upheld him, Rondeau would have fallen. To have him fall, however, was + not part of Bryce's plan. Jerking the fellow toward him, he passed his arm + around Rondeau's neck, holding the latter's head as in a vise with the + crook of his elbow. And then the battering started. When it was finished, + Bryce let his man go, and Rondeau, bloody, sobbing, and semi-conscious, + sprawled on the ground. + </p> + <p> + Bryce bent over him. “Now, damn you,” he roared, “who felled that tree in + Cardigan's Redwoods?” + </p> + <p> + “I did, M'sieur. Enough—I confess!” The words were a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Did Colonel Pennington suggest it to you?” + </p> + <p> + “He want ze burl. By gar, I do not want to fell zat tree—” + </p> + <p> + “That's all I want to know.” Stooping, Bryce seized Rondeau by the nape of + the neck and the slack of his overalls, lifted him shoulder-high and threw + him, as one throws a sack of meal, full at Colonel Pennington. + </p> + <p> + “You threw me at him. Now I throw him at you. You damned, thieving, + greedy, hypocritical scoundrel, if it weren't for your years and your gray + hair, I'd kill you.” + </p> + <p> + The helpless hulk of the woods-boss descended upon the Colonel's expansive + chest and sent him crashing earthward. Then Bryce, war-mad, turned to face + the ring of Laguna Grande employees about him. + </p> + <p> + “Next!” he roared. “Singly, in pairs, or the whole damned pack!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cardigan!” + </p> + <p> + He turned. Colonel Pennington's breath had been knocked out of his body by + the impact of his semi-conscious woods-boss, and he lay inert, gasping + like a hooked fish. Beside him Shirley Sumner was kneeling, her hands + clasping her uncle's, but with her violet eyes blazing fiercely on Bryce + Cardigan. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you?” she cried. “You coward! To hurt my uncle!” + </p> + <p> + He gazed at her a moment, fiercely, defiantly, his chest rising and + falling from his recent exertions, his knotted fists gory with the blood + of his enemy. Then the light of battle died, and he hung his head. “I'm + sorry,” he murmured, “not for his sake, but yours. I didn't know you were + here. I forgot—myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll never speak to you again so long as I live,” she burst out + passionately. + </p> + <p> + He advanced a step and stood gazing down upon her. Her angry glance met + his unflinchingly; and presently for him the light went out of the world. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he murmured. “Good-bye.” And with bowed head he turned and + made off through the green timber toward his own logging-camp five miles + distant. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + With the descent upon his breast of the limp body of his big woods-bully, + Colonel Pennington had been struck to earth as effectively as if a + fair-sized tree had fallen on him. Indeed, with such force did his proud + head collide with terra firma that had it not been for the soft cushion of + ferns and tiny redwood twigs, his neck must have been broken by the shock. + To complete his withdrawal from active service, the last whiff of breath + had been driven from his lungs; and for the space of a minute, during + which Jules Rondeau lay heavily across his midriff, the Colonel was quite + unable to get it back. Pale, gasping, and jarred from soul to suspenders, + he was merely aware that something unexpected and disconcerting had + occurred. + </p> + <p> + While the Colonel fought for his breath, his woodsmen remained in the + offing, paralyzed into inactivity by reason of the swiftness and + thoroughness of Bryce Cardigan's work; then Shirley motioned to them to + remove the wreckage, and they hastened to obey. + </p> + <p> + Freed from the weight on the geometric centre of his being, Colonel + Pennington stretched his legs, rolled his head from side to side, and + snorted violently several times like a buck. After the sixth snort he felt + so much better that a clear understanding of the exact nature of the + catastrophe came to him; he struggled and sat up, looking around a little + wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Where—did—Cardigan—go?” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + One of his men pointed to the timber into which the enemy had just + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Surround him—take him,” Pennington ordered. “I'll give—a + month's pay—to each of—the six men that bring—that + scoundrel to me. Get him—quickly! Understand?” + </p> + <p> + Not a man moved. Pennington shook with fury. “Get him,” he croaked. “There + are enough of you to do—the job. Close in on him—everybody. + I'll give a month's pay to—everybody.” + </p> + <p> + A man of that indiscriminate mixture of Spaniard and Indian known in + California as cholo swept the circle of men with an alert and knowing + glance. His name was Flavio Artelan, but his straight black hair, dark + russet complexion, beady eyes, and hawk nose gave him such a resemblance + to a fowl that he was known among his fellows as the Black Minorca, + regardless of the fact that this sobriquet was scarcely fair to a very + excellent breed of chicken. “That offer's good enough for me,” he remarked + in businesslike tones. “Come on—everybody. A month's pay for five + minutes' work. I wouldn't tackle the job with six men, but there are + twenty of us here.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurry,” the Colonel urged them. + </p> + <p> + Shirley Sumner's flashing glance rested upon the Black Minorca. “Don't you + dare!” she cried. “Twenty to one! For shame!” + </p> + <p> + “For a month's pay,” he replied impudently, and grinned evilly. “And I'm + takin' orders from my boss.” He started on a dog-trot for the timber, and + a dozen men trailed after him. + </p> + <p> + Shirley turned helplessly on her uncle, seized his arm and shook it + frantically. “Call them back! Call them back!” she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + Her uncle got uncertainly to his feet. “Not on your life!” he growled, and + in his cold gray eyes there danced the lights of a thousand devils. “I + told you the fellow was a ruffian. Now, perhaps, you'll believe me. We'll + hold him until Rondeau revives, and then—” + </p> + <p> + Shirley guessed the rest, and she realized that it was useless to plead—that + she was only wasting time. “Bryce! Bryce!” she called. “Run! They're after + you. Twenty of them! Run, run—for my sake!” + </p> + <p> + His voice answered her from the timber: “Run? From those cattle? Not from + man or devil.” A silence. Then: “So you've changed your mind, have you? + You've spoken to me again!” There was triumph, exultation in his voice. + “The timber's too thick, Shirley. I couldn't get away anyhow—so I'm + coming back.” + </p> + <p> + She saw him burst through a thicket of alder saplings into the clearing, + saw half a dozen of her uncle's men close in around him like wolves around + a sick steer; and at the shock of their contact, she moaned and hid her + face in her trembling hands. + </p> + <p> + Half man and half tiger that he was, the Black Minorca, as self-appointed + leader, reached Bryce first. The cholo was a squat, powerful little man, + with more bounce to him than a rubber ball; leading his men by a dozen + yards, he hesitated not an instant but dodged under the blow Bryce lashed + out at him and came up inside the latter's guard, feeling for Bryce's + throat. Instead he met Bryce's knee in his abdomen, and forthwith he + folded up like an accordion. + </p> + <p> + The next instant Bryce had stooped, caught him by the slack of the + trousers and the scruff of the neck and thrown him, as he had thrown + Rondeau, into the midst of the men advancing to his aid. Three of them + went down backward; and Bryce, charging over them, stretched two more with + well-placed blows from left and right, and continued on across the + clearing, running at top speed, for he realized that for all the + desperation of his fight and the losses already inflicted on his + assailants, the odds against him were insurmountable. + </p> + <p> + Seeing him running away, the Laguna Grande woods-men took heart and hope + and pursued him. Straight for the loading donkey at the log-landing Bryce + ran. Beside the donkey stood a neat tier of firewood; in the chopping + block, where the donkey-fireman had driven it prior to abandoning his post + to view the contest between Bryce and Jules Rondeau, was a double-bitted + axe. Bryce jerked it loose, swung it, whirled on his pursuers, and rushed + them. Like turkeys scattering before the raid of a coyote they fled in + divers directions and from a safe distance turned to gaze apprehensively + upon this demon they had been ordered to bring in. + </p> + <p> + Bryce lowered the axe, removed his hat, and mopped his moist brow. From + the centre of the clearing men were crawling or staggering to safety—with + the exception of the Black Minorca, who lay moaning softly. Colonel + Pennington, seeing his fondest hopes expire, lost his head completely. + </p> + <p> + “Get off my property, you savage,” he shrilled. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a nut, Colonel,” Bryce returned soothingly. “I'll get off—when + I get good and ready, and not a second sooner. In fact, I was trying to + get off as rapidly as I could when you sent your men to bring me back. + Prithee why, old thing? Didst crave more conversation with me, or didst + want thy camp cleaned out?” + </p> + <p> + He started toward Pennington, who backed hastily away. Shirley stood her + ground, bending upon Bryce, as he approached her, a cold and disapproving + glance. “I'll get you yet,” the Colonel declared from the shelter of an + old stump behind which he had taken refuge. + </p> + <p> + “Barking dogs never bite, Colonel. And that reminds me: I've heard enough + from you. One more cheep out of you, my friend, and I'll go up to my own + logging-camp, return here with a crew of bluenoses and wild Irish and run + your wops, bohunks, and cholos out of the county. I don't fancy the class + of labour you're importing into this county, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, evidently deciding that discretion was the better part of + valour, promptly subsided, although Bryce could see that he was mumbling + threats to himself, though not in an audible voice. + </p> + <p> + The demon Cardigan halted beside Shirley and stood gazing down at her. He + was smiling at her whimsically. She met his glance for a few seconds; then + her lids were lowered and she bit her lip with vexation. + </p> + <p> + “Shirley,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You are presumptuous,” she quavered. + </p> + <p> + “You set me an example in presumption,” he retorted good humouredly. “Did + you not call ME by MY first name a minute ago?” He glanced toward Colonel + Pennington and observed the latter with his neck craned across his + protecting stump. He was all ears. Bryce pointed sternly across the + clearing, and the Colonel promptly abandoned his refuge and retreated + hastily in the direction indicated. + </p> + <p> + The heir to Cardigan's Redwoods bent over the girl. “You spoke to me—after + your promise not to, Shirley,” he said gently. “You will always speak to + me.” + </p> + <p> + She commenced to cry softly. “I loathe you,” she sobbed. + </p> + <p> + “For you I have the utmost respect and admiration,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “No, you haven't. If you had, you wouldn't hurt my uncle—the only + human being in all this world who is dear to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Gosh!” he murmured plaintively. “I'm jealous of that man. However, I'm + sorry I hurt him. He is no longer young, while I—well, I forgot the + chivalry my daddy taught me. I give you my word I came here to fight + fairly—” + </p> + <p> + “He merely tried to stop you from fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he didn't, Shirley. He interfered and fouled me. Still, despite that, + if I had known you were a spectator I think I should have controlled + myself and refrained from pulling off my vengeance in your presence. I + shall never cease to regret that I subjected you to such a distressing + spectacle. I do hope, however, that you will believe me when I tell you I + am not a bully, although when there is a fight worth while, I never dodge + it. And this time I fought for the honour of the House of Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “If you want me to believe that, you will beg my uncle's pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't do that. He is my enemy and I shall hate him forever; I shall + fight him and his way of doing business until he reforms or I am + exhausted.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him, showing a face in which resentment, outrage, and + wistfulness were mirrored. + </p> + <p> + “You realize, of course, what your insistence on that plan means, Mr. + Cardigan?” + </p> + <p> + “Call me Bryce,” he pleaded. “You're going to call me that some day + anyhow, so why not start now?” + </p> + <p> + “You are altogether insufferable, sir. Please go away and never presume to + address me again. You are quite impossible.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. “I do not give up that readily, Shirley. I didn't know + how dear—what your friendship meant to me, until you sent me away; I + didn't think there was any hope until you warned me those dogs were + hunting me—and called me Bryce.” He held out his hand. “'God gave us + our relations,'” he quoted, “'but thank God, we can choose our friends.' + And I'll be a good friend to you, Shirley Sumner, until I have earned the + right to be something more. Won't you shake hands with me? Remember, this + fight to-day is only the first skirmish in a war to the finish—and I + am leading a forlorn hope. If I lose—well, this will be good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate you,” she answered drearily. “All our fine friendship—smashed—and + you growing stupidly sentimental. I didn't think it of you. Please go + away. You are distressing me.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled at her tenderly, forgivingly, wistfully, but she did not see it. + “Then it is really good-by,” he murmured with mock dolorousness. + </p> + <p> + She nodded her bowed head. “Yes,” she whispered. “After all, I have some + pride, you know. You mustn't presume to be the butterfly preaching + contentment to the toad in the dust.” + </p> + <p> + “As you will it, Shirley.” He turned away. “I'll send your axe back with + the first trainload of logs from my camp, Colonel,” he called to + Pennington. + </p> + <p> + Once more he strode away into the timber. Shirley watched him pass out of + her life, and gloried in what she conceived to be his agony, for she had + both temper and spirit, and Bryce Cardigan calmly, blunderingly, rather + stupidly (she thought) had presumed flagrantly on brief acquaintance. Her + uncle was right. He was not of their kind of people, and it was well she + had discovered this before permitting herself to develop a livelier + feeling of friendship for him. It was true he possessed certain manly + virtues, but his crudities by far outweighed these. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel's voice broke in upon her bitter reflections. “That fellow + Cardigan is a hard nut to crack—I'll say that for him.” He had + crossed the clearing to her side and was addressing her with his customary + air of expansiveness. “I think, my dear, you had better go back into the + caboose, away from the prying eyes of these rough fellows. I'm sorry you + came, Shirley. I'll never forgive myself for bringing you. If I had + thought—but how could I know that scoundrel was coming here to raise + a disturbance? And only last night he was at our house for dinner!” + </p> + <p> + “That's just what makes it so terrible, Uncle Seth,” she quavered. + </p> + <p> + “It IS hard to believe that a man of young Cardigan's evident intelligence + and advantages could be such a boor, Shirley. However, I, for one, am not + surprised. You will recall that I warned you he might be his father's son. + The best course to pursue now is to forget that you have ever met the + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what could have occurred to make such a madman of him?” the girl + queried wonderingly. “He acted more like a demon than a human being.” + </p> + <p> + “Just like his old father,” the Colonel purred benevolently. “When he + can't get what he wants, he sulks. I'll tell you what got on his + confounded nerves. I've been freighting logs for the senior Cardigan over + my railroad; the contract for hauling them was a heritage from old Bill + Henderson, from whom I bought the mill and timber-lands; and of course as + his assignee it was incumbent upon me to fulfill Henderson's contract with + Cardigan, even though the freight-rate was ruinous. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this morning young Cardigan came to my office, reminded me that the + contract would expire by limitation next year and asked me to renew it, + and at the same freight-rate. I offered to renew the contract but at a + higher freight-rate, and explained to him that I could not possibly + continue to haul his logs at a loss. Well, right away he flew into a rage + and called me a robber; whereupon I informed him that since he thought me + a robber, perhaps we had better not attempt to have any business dealings + with each other—that I really didn't want his contract at any price, + having scarcely sufficient rolling-stock to handle my own logs. That made + him calm down, but in a little while he lost his head again and grew + snarly and abusive—to such an extent, indeed, that finally I was + forced to ask him to leave my office.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, Uncle Seth, I cannot understand why he should make such a + furious attack upon your employee.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel laughed with a fair imitation of sincerity and tolerant + amusement. “My dear, that is no mystery to me. There are men who, finding + it impossible or inadvisable to make a physical attack upon their enemy, + find ample satisfaction in poisoning his favourite dog, burning his house, + or beating up one of his faithful employees. Cardigan picked on Rondeau + for the reason that a few days ago he tried to hire Rondeau away from me—offered + him twenty-five dollars a month more than I was paying him, by George! Of + course when Rondeau came to me with Cardigan's proposition, I promptly met + Cardigan's bid and retained Rondeau; consequently Cardigan hates us both + and took the earliest opportunity to vent his spite on us.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel sighed and brushed the dirt and leaves from his tweeds. + “Thunder,” he continued philosophically, “it's all in the game, so why + worry over it? And why continue to discuss an unpleasant topic, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + A groan from the Black Minorca challenged her attention. “I think that man + is badly hurt, Uncle,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Serves him right,” he returned coldly. “He tackled that cyclone full + twenty feet in advance of the others; if they'd all closed in together, + they would have pulled him down. I'll have that cholo and Rondeau sent + down with the next trainload of logs to the company hospital. They're a + poor lot and deserve manhandling—” + </p> + <p> + They paused, facing toward the timber, from which came a voice, powerful, + sweetly resonant, raised in song. Shirley knew that half-trained baritone, + for she had heard it the night before when Bryce Cardigan, faking his own + accompaniment at the piano, had sung for her a number of carefully + expurgated lumberjack ballads, the lunatic humour of which had delighted + her exceedingly. She marvelled now at his choice of minstrelsy, for the + melody was hauntingly plaintive—the words Eugene Field's poem of + childhood, “Little Boy Blue.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The little toy dog is covered with dust, + But sturdy and stanch he stands; + And the little toy soldier is red with rust, + And his musket molds in his hands. + Time was when the little toy dog was new, + And the soldier was passing fair; + And that was the time when our little boy blue, + Kissed them and put them there.” + </pre> + <p> + “Light-hearted devil, isn't he?” the Colonel commented approvingly. “And + his voice isn't half bad. Just singing to be defiant, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + Shirley did not answer. But a few minutes previously she had seen the + singer a raging fury, brandishing an axe and driving men before him. She + could not understand. And presently the song grew faint among the timber + and died away entirely. + </p> + <p> + Her uncle took her gently by the arm and steered her toward the caboose. + “Well, what do you think of your company now?” he demanded gayly. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” she answered soberly, “that you have gained an enemy worth + while and that it behooves you not to underestimate him.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + Through the green timber Bryce Cardigan strode, and there was a lilt in + his heart now. Already he had forgotten the desperate situation from which + he had just escaped; he thought only of Shirley Sumner's face, + tear-stained with terror; and because he knew that at least some of those + tears had been inspired by the gravest apprehensions as to his physical + well-being, because in his ears there still resounded her frantic warning, + he realized that however stern her decree of banishment had been, she was + nevertheless not indifferent to him. And it was this knowledge that had + thrilled him into song and which when his song was done had brought to his + firm mouth a mobility that presaged his old whimsical smile—to his + brown eyes a beaming light of confidence and pride. + </p> + <p> + The climax had been reached—and passed; and the result had been far + from the disaster he had painted in his mind's eye ever since the + knowledge had come to him that he was doomed to battle to a knockout with + Colonel Pennington, and that one of the earliest fruits of hostilities + would doubtless be the loss of Shirley Sumner's prized friendship. Well, + he had lost her friendship, but a still small voice whispered to him that + the loss was not irreparable—whereat he swung his axe as a + bandmaster swings his baton; he was glad that he had started the war and + was now free to fight it out unhampered. + </p> + <p> + Up hill and down dale he went. Because of the tremendous trees he could + not see the sun; yet with the instinct of the woodsman, an instinct as + infallible as that of a homing pigeon, he was not puzzled as to direction. + Within two hours his long, tireless stride brought him out into a clearing + in the valley where his own logging-camp stood. He went directly to the + log-landing, where in a listless and half-hearted manner the loading crew + were piling logs on Pennington's logging-trucks. + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked at his watch. It was two o'clock; at two-fifteen Pennington's + locomotive would appear, to back in and couple to the long line of trucks. + And the train was only half loaded. + </p> + <p> + “Where's McTavish?” Bryce demanded of the donkey-driver. + </p> + <p> + The man mouthed his quid, spat copiously, wiped his mouth with the back of + his hand, and pointed. “Up at his shanty,” he made answer, and grinned at + Bryce knowingly. + </p> + <p> + Up through the camp's single short street, flanked on each side with the + woodsmen's shanties, Bryce went. Dogs barked at him, for he was a stranger + in his own camp; children, playing in the dust, gazed upon him owlishly. + At the most pretentious shanty on the street Bryce turned in. He had never + seen it before, but he knew it to be the woods-boss's home, for unlike its + neighbours the house was painted with the coarse red paint that is used on + box-cars, while a fence, made of fancy pointed pickets painted white, + inclosed a tiny garden in front of the house. As Bryce came through the + gate, a young girl rose from where she knelt in a bed of freshly + transplanted pansies. + </p> + <p> + Bryce lifted his hat. “Is Mr. McTavish at home?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “He cannot see anybody,” she hastened to add. “He's sick.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he'll see me. And I wonder if you're Moira McTavish.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm Moira.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm Bryce Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + A look of fright crept into the girl's eyes. “Are you—Bryce + Cardigan?” she faltered, and looked at him more closely. “Yes, you're Mr. + Bryce. You've changed—but then it's been six years since we saw you + last, Mr. Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + He came toward her with outstretched hand. “And you were a little girl + when I saw you last. Now—you're a woman.” She grasped his hand with + the frank heartiness of a man. “I'm mighty glad to meet you again, Moira. + I just guessed who you were, for of course I should never have recognized + you. When I saw you last, you wore your hair in a braid down your back.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm twenty years old,” she informed him. + </p> + <p> + “Stand right where you are until I have looked at you,” he commanded, and + backed off a few feet, the better to contemplate her. + </p> + <p> + He saw a girl slightly above medium height, tanned, robust, simply gowned + in a gingham dress. Her hands were soiled from her recent labours in the + pansy-bed, and her shoes were heavy and coarse; yet neither hands nor feet + were large or ungraceful. Her head was well formed; her hair, jet black + and of unusual lustre and abundance, was parted in the middle and held in + an old-fashioned coil at the nape of a neck the beauty of which was + revealed by the low cut of her simple frock. Moira was a decided brunette, + with that wonderful quality of skin to be seen only among brunettes who + have roses in their cheeks; her brow was broad and spiritual; in her eyes, + large, black, and listrous, there was a brooding tenderness not untouched + with sorrow—some such expression, indeed, as da Vinci put in the + eyes of his Mona Lisa. Her nose was patrician, her face oval; her lips, + full and red, were slightly parted in the adorable Cupid's bow which is + the inevitable heritage of a short upper lip; her teeth were white as + Parian marble; and her full breast was rising and falling swiftly, as if + she laboured under suppressed excitement. + </p> + <p> + So delightful a picture did Moira McTavish make that Bryce forgot all his + troubles in her sweet presence. “By the gods, Moira,” he declared + earnestly, “you're a peach! When I saw you last, you were awkward and + leggy, like a colt. I'm sure you weren't a bit good-looking. And now + you're the most ravishing young lady in seventeen counties. By jingo, + Moira, you're a stunner and no mistake. Are you married?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, blushing pleasurably at his unpolished but sincere + compliments. + </p> + <p> + “What? Not married. Why, what the deuce can be the matter with the + eligible young fellows hereabouts?” + </p> + <p> + “There aren't any eligible young fellows hereabouts, Mr. Bryce. And I've + lived in these woods all my life.” + </p> + <p> + “That's why you haven't been discovered.” + </p> + <p> + “And I don't intend to marry a lumberjack and continue to live in these + woods,” she went on earnestly, as if she found pleasure in this + opportunity to announce her rebellion. Despite her defiance, however, + there was a note of sad resignation in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know a thing about it, Moira. Some bright day your Prince + Charming will come by, riding the log-train, and after that it will always + be autumn in the woods for you. Everything will just naturally turn to + crimson and gold.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know, Mr Bryce?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “I read about it in a book.” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer spring in the woods, I think. It seems—It's so foolish of + me, I know; I ought to be contented, but it's hard to be contented when it + is always winter in one's heart. That frieze of timber on the skyline + limits my world, Mr Bryce. Hills and timber, timber and hills, and the + thunder of falling redwoods. And when the trees have been logged off so we + can see the world, we move back into green timber again.” She sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Are you lonely, Moira?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Moira!” he murmured absently. + </p> + <p> + The thought that he so readily understood touched her; a glint of tears + was in her sad eyes. He saw them and placed his arm fraternally around her + shoulders. “Tut-tut, Moira! Don't cry,” he soothed her. “I understand + perfectly, and of course we'll have to do something about it. You're too + fine for this.” With a sweep of his hand he indicated the camp. He had led + her to the low stoop in front of the shanty. “Sit down on the steps, + Moira, and we'll talk it over. I really called to see your father, but I + guess I don't want to see him after all—if he's sick.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him bravely. “I didn't know you at first, Mr. Bryce. I + fibbed. Father isn't sick. He's drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so when I saw the loading-crew taking it easy at the + log-landing. I'm terribly sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “I loathe it—and I cannot leave it,” she burst out vehemently. “I'm + chained to my degradation. I dream dreams, and they'll never come true. I—I—oh + Mr. Bryce, Mr. Bryce, I'm so unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” he retorted. “We all get our dose of it, you know, and just at + present I'm having an extra helping, it seems. You're cursed with too much + imagination, Moira. I'm sorry about your father. He's been with us a long + time, and my father has borne a lot from him for old sake's sake; he told + me the other night that he has discharged Mac fourteen times during the + past ten years, but to date he hasn't been able to make it stick. For all + his sixty years, Moira, your confounded parent can still manhandle any man + on the pay-roll, and as fast as Dad put in a new woods-boss old Mac drove + him off the job. He simply declines to be fired, and Dad's worn out and + too tired to bother about his old woods-boss any more. He's been waiting + until I should get back.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Moira wearily. “Nobody wants to be Cardigan's woods-boss + and have to fight my father to hold his job. I realize what a nuisance he + has become.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce chuckled. “I asked Father why he didn't stand pat and let Mac work + for nothing; having discharged him, my father was under no obligation to + give him his salary just because he insisted on being woods-boss. Dad + might have starved your father out of these woods, but the trouble was + that old Mac would always come and promise reform and end up by borrowing + a couple of hundred dollars, and then Dad had to hire him again to get it + back! Of course the matter simmers down to this: Dad is so fond of your + father that he just hasn't got the moral courage to work him over—and + now that job is up to me. Moira, I'm not going to beat about the bush with + you. They tell me your father is a hopeless inebriate.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid he is, Mr. Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “How long has he been drinking to excess?” + </p> + <p> + “About ten years, I think. Of course, he would always take a few drinks + with the men around pay-day, but after Mother died, he began taking his + drinks between pay-days. Then he took to going down to Sequoia on Saturday + nights and coming back on the mad-train, the maddest of the lot. I suppose + he was lonely, too. He didn't get real bad, however, till about two years + ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Just about the time my father's eyes began to fail him and he ceased + coming up into the woods to jack Mac up? So he let the brakes go and + started to coast, and now he's reached the bottom! I couldn't get him on + the telephone to-day or yesterday. I suppose he was down in Arcata, + liquoring up.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded miserably. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we have to get logs to the mill, and we can't get them with old + John Barleycorn for a woods-boss, Moira. So we're going to change + woods-bosses, and the new woods-boss will not be driven off the job, + because I'm going to stay up here a couple of weeks and break him in + myself. By the way, is Mac ugly in his cups?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, no,” she answered fervently. “Drunk or sober, he has never + said an unkind word to me.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you manage to get money to clothe yourself? Sinclair tells me + Mac needs every cent of his two hundred and fifty dollars a month to enjoy + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I used to steal from him,” the girl admitted. “Then I grew ashamed of + that, and for the past six months I've been earning my own living. Mr. + Sinclair was very kind. He gave me a job waiting on table in the camp + dining room. You see, I had to have something here. I couldn't leave my + father. He had to have somebody to take care of him. Don't you see, Mr. + Bryce?” + </p> + <p> + “Sinclair is a fuzzy old fool,” Bryce declared with emphasis. “The idea of + our woods-boss's daughter slinging hash to lumberjacks. Poor Moira!” + </p> + <p> + He took one of her hands in his, noting the callous spots on the plump + palm, the thick finger-joints that hinted so of toil, the nails that had + never been manicured save by Moira herself. “Do you remember when I was a + boy, Moira, how I used to come up to the logging-camps to hunt and fish? I + always lived with the McTavishes then. And in September, when the + huckleberries were ripe, we used to go out and pick them together. Poor + Moira! Why, we're old pals, and I'll be shot if I'm going to see you + suffer.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him shyly, with beaming eyes. “You haven't changed a bit, + Mr. Bryce. Not one little bit!” + </p> + <p> + “Let's talk about you, Moira. You went to school in Sequoia, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was graduated from the high school there. I used to ride the + log-trains into town and back again.” + </p> + <p> + “Good news! Listen, Moira. I'm going to fire your father, as I've said, + because he's working for old J.B. now, not the Cardigan Redwood Lumber + Company. I really ought to pension him after his long years in the + Cardigan service, but I'll be hanged if we can afford pensions any more—particularly + to keep a man in booze; so the best our old woods-boss gets from me is + this shanty, or another like it when we move to new cuttings, and a + perpetual meal-ticket for our camp dining room while the Cardigans remain + in business. I'd finance him for a trip to some State institution where + they sometimes reclaim such wreckage, if I didn't think he's too old a dog + to be taught new tricks.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she suggested sadly, “you had better talk the matter over with + him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'd rather not. I'm fond of your father, Moira. He was a man when I + saw him last—such a man as these woods will never see again—and + I don't want to see him again until he's cold sober. I'll write him a + letter. As for you, Moira, you're fired, too. I'll not have you waiting on + table in my logging-camp—not by a jugful! You're to come down to + Sequoia and go to work in our office. We can use you on the books, helping + Sinclair, and relieve him of the task of billing, checking tallies, and + looking after the pay-roll. I'll pay you a hundred dollars a month, Moira. + Can you get along on that?” + </p> + <p> + Her hard hand closed over his tightly, but she did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Moira. It's a go, then. Hills and timber—timber and + hills—and I'm going to set you free. Perhaps in Sequoia you'll find + your Prince Charming. There, there, girl, don't cry. We Cardigans had + twenty-five years of faithful service from Donald McTavish before he + commenced slipping; after all, we owe him something, I think.” + </p> + <p> + She drew his hand suddenly to her lips and kissed it; her hot tears of joy + fell on it, but her heart was too full for mere words. + </p> + <p> + “Fiddle-de-dee, Moira! Buck up,” he protested, hugely pleased, but + embarrassed withal. “The way you take this, one would think you had + expected me to go back on an old pal and had been pleasantly surprised + when I didn't. Cheer up, Moira! Cherries are ripe, or at any rate they + soon will be; and if you'll just cease shedding the scalding and listen to + me, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll advance you two months' salary for—well, + you'll need a lot of clothes and things in Sequoia that you don't need + here. And I'm glad I've managed to settle the McTavish hash without + kicking up a row and hurting your feelings. Poor old Mac! I'm sorry I + can't bear with him, but we simply have to have the logs, you know.” + </p> + <p> + He rose, stooped, and pinched her ear; for had he not known her since + childhood, and had they not gathered huckleberries together in the long + ago? She was sister to him—just another one of his problems—and + nothing more. “Report on the job as soon as possible, Moira,” he called to + her from the gate. Then the gate banged behind him, and with a smile and a + debonair wave of his hand, he was striding down the little camp street + where the dogs and the children played in the dust. + </p> + <p> + After a while Moira walked to the gate and leaning upon it, looked down + the street toward the log-landing where Bryce was ragging the laggard crew + into some thing like their old-time speed. Presently the locomotive backed + in and coupled to the log tram, and when she saw Bryce leap aboard and + seat himself on a top log in such a position that he could not fail to see + her at the gate, she waved to him. He threw her a careless kiss, and the + train pulled out. + </p> + <p> + Presently, when Moira lifted her Madonna glance to the frieze of timber on + the skyline, there was a new glory in her eyes; and lo, it was autumn in + the woods, for over that hill Prince Charming had come to her, and life + was all crimson and gold! + </p> + <p> + When the train loaded with Cardigan logs crawled in on the main track and + stopped at the log-landing in Pennington's camp, the locomotive uncoupled + and backed in on the siding for the purpose of kicking the caboose, in + which Shirley and Colonel Pennington had ridden to the woods, out onto the + main line again—where, owing to a slight downhill grade, the + caboose, controlled by the brakeman, could coast gently forward and be + hooked on to the end of the log-train for the return journey to Sequoia. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the afternoon Shirley, following the battle royal between Bryce + and the Pennington retainers, had sat dismally in the caboose. She was + prey to many conflicting emotions; but having had what her sex term “a + good cry,” she had to a great extent recovered her customary poise—and + was busily speculating on the rapidity with which she could leave Sequoia + and forget she had ever met Bryce Cardigan—when the log-train + rumbled into the landing and the last of the long string of trucks came to + a stop directly opposite the caboose. + </p> + <p> + Shirley happened to be looking through the grimy caboose window at that + moment. On the top log of the load the object of her unhappy speculations + was seated, apparently quite oblivious of the fact that he was back once + more in the haunt of his enemies, although knowledge that the + double-bitted axe he had so unceremoniously borrowed of Colonel Pennington + was driven deep into the log beside him, with the haft convenient to his + hand, probably had much to do with Bryce's air of detached indifference. + He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his chin in his cupped hands, + and a pipe thrust aggressively out the corner of his mouth, the while he + stared moodily at his feet. + </p> + <p> + Shirley suspected she knew what he was thinking of; he was less than six + feet from her, and a morbid fascination moved her to remain at the window + and watch the play of emotions over his strong, stern face. She told + herself that should he move, should he show the slightest disposition to + raise his head and bring his eyes on a level with hers, she would dodge + away from the window in time to escape his scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + She reckoned without the engine. With a smart bump it struck the caboose + and shunted it briskly up the siding; at the sound of the impact Bryce + raised his troubled glance just in time to see Shirley's body, yielding to + the shock, sway into full view at the window. + </p> + <p> + With difficulty he suppressed a grin. “I'll bet my immortal soul she was + peeking at me,” he soliloquized. “Confound the luck! Another meeting this + afternoon would be embarrassing.” Tactfully he resumed his study of his + feet, not even looking up when the caboose, after gaining the main track, + slid gently down the slight grade and was coupled to the rear + logging-truck. Out of the tail of his eye he caught a glimpse of Colonel + Pennington passing alongside the log-train and entering the caboose; he + heard the engineer shout to the brakeman—who had ridden down from + the head of the train to unlock the siding switch and couple the caboose—to + hurry up, lock the switch, and get back aboard the engine. + </p> + <p> + “Can't get this danged key to turn in the lock,” the brakeman shouted + presently. “Lock's rusty, and something's gone bust inside.” + </p> + <p> + Minutes passed. Bryce's assumed abstraction became real, for he had many + matters to occupy his busy brain, and it was impossible for him to sit + idle without adverting to some of them. Presently he was subconsciously + aware that the train was moving gently forward; almost immediately, it + seemed to him, the long string of trucks had gathered their customary + speed; and then suddenly it dawned upon Bryce that the train had started + off without a single jerk—and that it was gathering headway rapidly. + </p> + <p> + He looked ahead—and his hair grew creepy at the roots. There was no + locomotive attached to the train! It was running away down a two per cent. + grade, and because of the tremendous weight of the train, it was gathering + momentum at a fearful rate. + </p> + <p> + The reason for the runaway dawned on Bryce instantly. The road, being + privately owned, was, like most logging-roads, neglected as to roadbed and + rolling-stock; also it was undermanned, and the brake-man, who also acted + as switchman, had failed to set the hand-brakes on the leading truck after + the engineer had locked the air-brakes. As a result, during the five or + six minutes required to “spot in” the caboose, and an extra minute or two + lost while the brakeman struggled with the recalcitrant lock on the + switch, the air had leaked away through the worn valves and rubber tubing, + and the brakes had been released—so that the train, without warning, + had quietly and almost noiselessly slid out of the log-landing and started + on its mad career. Before the engineer could beat it to the other switch + with the locomotive, run out on the main track, let the runaway gradually + catch up with him and hold it—no matter how or what happened to him + or his engine—the first logging-truck had cleared the switch and + blocked pursuit. There was nothing to do now save watch the wild runaway + and pray, for of all the mad runaways in a mad world, a loaded + logging-train is by far the worst. + </p> + <p> + For an instant after realizing his predicament, Bryce Cardigan was tempted + to jump and take his chance on a few broken bones, before the train could + reach a greater speed than twenty miles an hour. His impulse was to run + forward and set the handbrake on the leading truck, but a glance showed + him that even with the train standing still he could not hope to leap from + truck to truck and land on the round, freshly peeled surface of the logs + without slipping for he had no calks in his boots. And to slip now meant + swift and horrible death. + </p> + <p> + “Too late!” he muttered. “Even if I could get to the head of the train, I + couldn't stop her with the hand-brake; should I succeed in locking the + wheels, the brute would be doing fifty miles an hour by that time—the + front truck would slide and skid, leave the tracks and pile up with me at + the bottom of a mess of wrecked rolling-stock and redwood logs.” + </p> + <p> + Then he remembered. In the wildly rolling caboose Shirley Sumner rode with + her uncle, while less than two miles ahead, the track swung in a sharp + curve high up along the hillside above Mad River. Bryce knew the leading + truck would never take that curve at high speed, even if the ancient + rolling-stock should hold together until the curve was reached, but would + shoot off at a tangent into the canyon, carrying trucks, logs, and caboose + with it, rolling over and over down the hillside to the river. + </p> + <p> + “The caboose must be cut out of this runaway,” Bryce soliloquized, “and it + must be cut out in a devil of a hurry. Here goes nothing in particular, + and may God be good to my dear old man.” + </p> + <p> + He jerked his axe out of the log, drove it deep into the top log toward + the end, and by using the haft to cling to, crawled toward the rear of the + load and looked down at the caboose coupling. The top log was a + sixteen-foot butt; the two bottom logs were eighteen footers. With a + silent prayer of thanks to Providence, Bryce slid down to the landing thus + formed. He was still five feet above the coupling, however; but by leaning + over the swaying, bumping edge and swinging the axe with one hand, he + managed to cut through the rubber hose on the air connection. “The blamed + thing might hold and drag the caboose along after I've pulled out the + coupling-pin,” he reflected. “And I can't afford to take chances now.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless he took them. Axe in hand, he leaped down to the narrow ledge + formed by the bumper in front of the cabooses—driving his face into + the front of the caboose; and he only grasped the steel rod leading from + the brake-chains to the wheel on the roof in time to avoid falling half + stunned between the front of the caboose and the rear of the + logging-truck. The caboose had once been a box-car; hence there was no + railed front platform to which Bryce might have leaped in safety. Clinging + perilously on the bumper, he reached with his foot, got his toe under the + lever on the side, jerked it upward, and threw the pin out of the + coupling; then with his free hand he swung the axe and drove the great + steel jaws of the coupling apart. + </p> + <p> + The caboose was cut out! But already the deadly curve was in sight; in two + minutes the first truck would reach it; and the caboose, though cut loose, + had to be stopped, else with the headway it had gathered, it, too, would + follow the logging-trucks to glory. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Bryce clung to the brake-rod, weak and dizzy from the effects + of the blow when, leaping down from the loaded truck to the caboose + bumper, his face had smashed into the front of the caboose. His chin was + bruised, skinned, and bloody; his nose had been broken, and twin rivulets + of blood ran from his nostrils. He wiped it away, swung his axe, drove the + blade deep into the bumper and left it there with the haft quivering; + turning, he climbed swiftly up the narrow iron ladder beside the brake-rod + until he reached the roof; then, still standing on the ladder, he reached + the brake-wheel and drew it promptly but gradually around until the + wheel-blocks began to bite, when he exerted his tremendous strength to the + utmost and with his knees braced doggedly against the front of the + caboose, held the wheel. + </p> + <p> + The brake screamed, but the speed of the caboose was not appreciably + slackened. “It's had too good a start!” Bryce moaned. “The momentum is + more than I can overcome. Oh, Shirley, my love! God help you!” + </p> + <p> + He cast a sudden despairing look over his shoulder downward at the + coupling. He was winning, after all, for a space of six feet now yawned + between the end of the logging-truck and the bumper of the caboose. If he + could but hold that tremendous strain on the wheel for a quarter of a + mile, he might get the demon caboose under control! Again he dug his knees + into the front of the car and twisted on the wheel until it seemed that + his muscles must crack. + </p> + <p> + After what seemed an eon of waiting, he ventured another look ahead. The + rear logging-truck was a hundred yards in front of him now, and from the + wheels of the caboose an odour of something burning drifted up to him. + “I've got your wheels locked!” he half sobbed. “I'll hold you yet, you + brute. Slide! That's it! Slide, and flatten your infernal wheels. Hah! + You're quitting—quitting. I'll have you in control before we reach + the curve. Burn, curse you, burn!” + </p> + <p> + With a shriek of metal scraping metal, the head of the Juggernaut ahead + took the curve, clung there an instant, and was catapulted out into space. + Logs weighing twenty tons were flung about like kindling; one instant, + Bryce could see them in the air; the next they had disappeared down the + hillside. A deafening crash, a splash, a cloud of dust— + </p> + <p> + With a protesting squeal, the caboose came to the point where the + logging-train had left the right of way, carrying rails and ties with it. + The wheels on the side nearest the bank slid into the dirt first and + plowed deep into the soil; the caboose came to an abrupt stop, trembled + and rattled, overtopped its centre of gravity, and fell over against the + cut-bank, wearily, like a drunken hag. + </p> + <p> + Bryce, still clinging to the brake, was fully braced for the shock and was + not flung off. Calmly he descended the ladder, recovered the axe from the + bumper, climbed back to the roof, tiptoed off the roof to the top of the + bank and sat calmly down under a manzanita bush to await results, for he + was quite confident that none of the occupants of the confounded caboose + had been treated to anything worse than a wild ride and a rare fright, and + he was curious to see how Shirley Sumner would behave in an emergency. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pennington was first to emerge at the rear of the caboose. He + leaped lightly down the steps, ran to the front of the car, looked down + the track, and swore feelingly. Then he darted back to the rear of the + caboose. + </p> + <p> + “All clear and snug as a bug under a chip, my dear,” he called to Shirley. + “Thank God, the caboose became uncoupled—guess that fool brakeman + forgot to drop the pin; it was the last car, and when it jumped the track + and plowed into the dirt, it just naturally quit and toppled over against + the bank. Come out, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Shirley came out, dry-eyed, but white and trembling. The Colonel placed + his arm around her, and she hid her face on his shoulder and shuddered. + “There, there!” he soothed her affectionately. “It's all over, my dear. + All's well that ends well.” + </p> + <p> + “The train,” she cried in a choking voice. “Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “In little pieces—down in Mad River.” He laughed happily. “And the + logs weren't even mine! As for the trucks, they were a lot of ratty + antiques and only fit to haul Cardigan's logs. About a hundred yards of + roadbed ruined—that's the extent of my loss, for I'd charged off the + trucks to profit and loss two years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Bryce Cardigan,” she sobbed. “I saw him—he was riding a top log on + the train. He—ah, God help him!” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel shook her with sudden ferocity. “Young Cardigan,” he cried + sharply. “Riding the logs? Are you certain?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, and her shoulders shook piteously. + </p> + <p> + “Then Bryce Cardigan is gone!” Pennington's pronouncement was solemn, + deadly with its flat finality. “No man could have rolled down into Mad + River with a trainload of logs and survived. The devil himself couldn't.” + He heaved a great sigh, and added: “Well, that clears the atmosphere + considerably, although for all his faults, I regret, for his father's + sake, that this dreadful affair has happened. Well, it can't be helped, + Shirley. Don't cry, my dear. I know it's terrible, but—there, there + my love. Do brace up. Poor devil! For all his damnable treatment of me, I + wouldn't have had this happen for a million dollars.” + </p> + <p> + Shirley burst into wild weeping. Bryce's heart leaped, for he understood + the reason for her grief. She had sent him away in anger, and he had gone + to his death; ergo it would be long before Shirley would forgive herself. + Bryce had not intended presenting himself before her in his battered and + bloody condition, but the sight of her distress now was more than he could + bear. He coughed slightly, and the alert Colonel glanced up at him + instantly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be hanged!” The words fell from Pennington's lips with a + heartiness that was almost touching. “I thought you'd gone with the + train.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry to have disappointed you, old top,” Bryce replied blithely, “but + I'm just naturally stubborn. Too bad about the atmosphere you thought + cleared a moment ago! It's clogged worse than ever now.” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of Bryce's voice, Shirley raised her head, whirled and looked + up at him. He held his handkerchief over his gory face that the sight + might not distress her; he could have whooped with delight at the joy that + flashed through her wet lids. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce Cardigan,” she commanded sternly, “come down here this instant.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a pretty sight, Shirley. Better let me go about my business.” + </p> + <p> + She stamped her foot. “Come here!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, since you insist,” he replied, and he slid down the bank. + </p> + <p> + “How did you get up there—and what do you mean by hiding there + spying on me, you—you—oh, YOU!” + </p> + <p> + “Cuss a little, if it will help any,” he suggested. “I had to get out of + your way—out of your sight—and up there was the best place. I + was on the roof of the caboose when it toppled over, so all I had to do + was step ashore and sit down.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why didn't you stay there?” she demanded furiously. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't let me,” he answered demurely. “And when I saw you weeping + because I was supposed to be with the angels, I couldn't help coughing to + let you know I was still hanging around, ornery as a book-agent.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you ruin your face, Mr. Cardigan?” + </p> + <p> + “Tried to take a cast of the front end of the caboose in my classic + countenance—that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “But you were riding the top log on the last truck—” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, but I wasn't hayseed enough to stay there until we struck this + curve. I knew exactly what was going to happen, so I climbed down to the + bumper of the caboose, uncoupled it from the truck, climbed up on the + roof, and managed to get the old thing under control with the hand-brake; + then I skedaddled up into the brush because I knew you were inside, and—-By + the way, Colonel Pennington, here is your axe, which I borrowed this + afternoon. Much obliged for its use. The last up-train is probably waiting + on the siding at Freshwater to pass the late lamented; consequently a walk + of about a mile will bring you a means of transportation back to Sequoia. + Walk leisurely—you have lots of time. As for myself, I'm in a hurry, + and my room is more greatly to be desired than my company, so I'll start + now.” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his hat, turned, and walked briskly down the ruined track. + </p> + <p> + Shirley made a little gesture of dissent, half opened her lips to call him + back, thought better of it, and let him go. When he was out of sight, it + dawned on her that he had risked his life to save hers. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Seth,” she said soberly, “what would have happened to us if Bryce + Cardigan had not come up here to-day to thrash your woods-boss?” + </p> + <p> + “We'd both be in Kingdom Come now,” he answered truthfully. + </p> + <p> + “Under the circumstances, then,” Shirley continued, “suppose we all agree + to forget that anything unusual happened to-day—” + </p> + <p> + “I bear the young man no ill will, Shirley, but before you permit yourself + to be carried away by the splendour of his action in cutting out the + caboose and getting it under control, it might be well to remember that + his own precious hide was at stake also. He would have cut the caboose out + even if you and I had not been in it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he would not,” she insisted, for the thought that he had done it for + her sake was very sweet to her and would persist. “Cooped up in the + caboose, we did not know the train was running away until it was too late + for us to jump, while Bryce Cardigan, riding out on the logs, must have + known it almost immediately. He would have had time to jump before the + runaway gathered too much headway—and he would have jumped, Uncle + Seth, for his father's sake.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he certainly didn't stay for mine, Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + She dried her moist eyes and blushed furiously. “Uncle Seth,” she pleaded, + taking him lovingly by the arm, “let's be friends with Bryce Cardigan; + let's get together and agree on an equitable contract for freighting his + logs over our road.” + </p> + <p> + “You are now,” he replied severely, “mixing sentiment and business; if you + persist, the result will be chaos. Cardigan has in a large measure squared + himself for his ruffianly conduct earlier in the day, and I'll forgive him + and treat him with courtesy hereafter; but I want you to understand, + Shirley, that such treatment by me does not constitute a license for that + fellow to crawl up in my lap and be petted. He is practically a pauper + now, which makes him a poor business risk, and you'll please me greatly by + leaving him severely alone—by making him keep his distance.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not do that,” she answered with a quiet finality that caused her + uncle to favour her with a quick, searching glance. + </p> + <p> + He need not have worried, however, for Bryce Cardigan was too well aware + of his own financial condition to risk the humiliation of asking Shirley + Sumner to share it with him. Moreover, he had embarked upon a war—a + war which he meant to fight to a finish. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + George Sea Otter, summoned by telephone, came out to Freshwater, the + station nearest the wreck, and transported his battered young master back + to Sequoia. Here Bryce sought the doctor in the Cardigan Redwood Lumber + Company's little hospital and had his wrecked nose reorganized and his + cuts bandaged. It was characteristic of his father's son that when this + detail had been attended to, he should go to the office and work until the + six o'clock whistle blew. + </p> + <p> + Old Cardigan was waiting for him at the gate when he reached home. George + Sea Otter had already given the old man a more or less garbled account of + the runaway log-train, and Cardigan eagerly awaited his son's arrival in + order to ascertain the details of this new disaster which had come upon + them. For disaster it was, in truth. The loss of the logs was trifling—perhaps + three or four thousand dollars; the destruction of the rolling-stock was + the crowning misfortune. Both Cardigans knew that Pennington would eagerly + seize upon this point to stint his competitor still further on + logging-equipment, that there would be delays—purposeful but + apparently unavoidable—before this lost rolling-stock would be + replaced. And in the interim the Cardigan mill, unable to get a sufficient + supply of logs to fill orders in hand, would be forced to close down. Full + well Pennington knew that anything which, tends to bring about a shortage + of raw material for any manufacturing plant will result inevitably in the + loss of customers. + </p> + <p> + “Well, son,” said John Cardigan mildly as Bryce unlatched the gate, + “another bump, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir—right on the nose.” + </p> + <p> + “I meant another bump to your heritage, my son.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm worrying more about my nose, partner. In fact, I'm not worrying about + my heritage at all. I've come to a decision on that point: We're going to + fight and fight to the last; we're going down fighting. And by the way, I + started the fight this afternoon. I whaled the wadding out of that bucko + woods-boss of Pennington's, and as a special compliment to you, John + Cardigan, I did an almighty fine job of cleaning. Even went so far as to + muss the Colonel up a little.” + </p> + <p> + “Wow, wow, Bryce! Bully for you! I wanted that man Rondeau taken apart. He + has terrorized our woods-men for a long time. He's king of the mad-train, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was relieved. His father did not know, then, of the act of vandalism + in the Valley of the Giants. This fact strengthened Bryce's resolve not to + tell him—also to get the fallen monarch sawed up and the stump + blasted out before an operation should restore his father's sight and + reveal to him the crowning cruelty of his enemy. + </p> + <p> + Arm in arm they walked up the garden path together. + </p> + <p> + Just as they entered the house, the telephone in the hall tinkled, and + Bryce answered. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cardigan,” came Shirley Sumner's voice over the wire. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce,” he corrected her. + </p> + <p> + She ignored the correction, + </p> + <p> + “I—I don't know what to say to you,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “There is no necessity for saying anything, Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + “But you saved our lives, and at least have a right to expect due and + grateful acknowledgment of our debt. I rang up to tell you how splendid + and heroic your action was—” + </p> + <p> + “I had my own life to save, Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not think of that at the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—I didn't think of your uncle's, either,” he replied without + enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure we never can hope to catch even with you, Mr. Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't try. Your revered relative will not; so why should you?” + </p> + <p> + “You are making it somewhat hard for me to—to—rehabilitate our + friendship, Mr. Cardigan. We have just passed through a most extraordinary + day, and if at evening I can feel as I do now, I think you ought to do + your share—and help.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless your heart,” he murmured. “The very fact that you bothered to ring + me up at all makes me your debtor. Shirley, can you stand some plain + speaking—between friends, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so, Mr. Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Bryce, “listen to this: I am your uncle's enemy until + death do us part. Neither he nor I expect to ask or to give quarter, and + I'm going to smash him if I can.” + </p> + <p> + “If you do, you smash me,” she warned him. + </p> + <p> + “Likewise our friendship. I'm sorry, but it's got to be done if I can do + it. Shall—shall we say good-bye, Shirley?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes-s-s!” There was a break in her voice. “Good-bye, Mr Cardigan. I + wanted you to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye! Well, that's cutting the mustard,” he murmured sotto voce, “and + there goes another bright day-dream.” Unknown to himself, he spoke + directly into the transmitter, and Shirley, clinging half hopefully to the + receiver at the other end of the wire, heard him—caught every + inflection of the words, commonplace enough, but freighted with the pathos + of Bryce's first real tragedy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bryce!” she cried sharply. But he did not hear her; he had hung up + his receiver now. + </p> + <p> + The week that ensued was remarkable for the amount of work Bryce + accomplished in the investigation of his father's affairs—also for a + visit from Donald McTavish, the woods-boss. Bryce found him sitting in the + private office one morning at seven o'clock. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, McTavish,” he saluted the woods-boss cheerfully and extended his + hand for a cordial greeting. His wayward employee stood up, took the + proffered hand in both of his huge and callous ones, and held it rather + childishly. + </p> + <p> + “Weel! 'Tis the wee laddie hissel,” he boomed. “I'm glad to see ye, boy.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd have seen me the day before yesterday—if you had been + seeable,” Bryce reminded him with a bright smile. “Mac, old man, they tell + me you've gotten to be a regular go-to-hell.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll nae deny I take a wee drappie now an' then,” the woods-boss admitted + frankly, albeit there was a harried, hangdog look in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Bryce sat down at his desk, lighted his pipe, and looked McTavish over + soberly. The woods-boss was a big, raw-boned Scotsman, with a plentiful + sprinkling of silver in his thick mane of red hair, which fell far down on + his shoulders. A tremendous nose rose majestically out of a face so strong + and rugged one searched in vain for aught of manly beauty in it; his long + arms hung gorilla-like, almost to his knees, and he was slightly stooped, + as if from bearing heavy burdens. Though in the late fifties, his years + had touched him lightly; but John Barleycorn had not been so considerate. + Bryce noted that McTavish was carrying some thirty pounds of whiskey fat + and that the pupils of his fierce blue eyes were permanently distended, + showing that alcohol had begun to affect his brain. His hands trembled as + he stood before Bryce, smiling fatuously and plucking at the cuffs of his + mackinaw. The latter realized that McTavish was waiting for him to broach + the object of the visit; so with an effort he decided to begin the + disagreeable task. + </p> + <p> + “Mac, did Moira give you my message?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess we understand each other, Mac. Was there something else you + wanted to see me about?” + </p> + <p> + McTavish sidled up to the desk. “Ye'll no be firin' auld Mac oot o' hand?” + he pleaded hopefully. “Mon, ha ye the heart to do it—after a' these + years?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded. “If you have the heart—after all these years—to + draw pay you do not earn, then I have the heart to put a better man in + your place.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye was ever a laddie to hae your bit joke.” + </p> + <p> + “It's no good arguing, Mac. You're off the pay-roll onto the pension-roll—your + shanty in the woods, your meals at the camp kitchen, your clothing and + tobacco that I send out to you. Neither more nor less!” He reached into + his desk and drew forth a check. “Here's your wages to the fifteenth. It's + the last Cardigan check you'll ever finger. I'm terribly sorry, but I'm + terribly in earnest.” + </p> + <p> + “Who will ye pit in ma place?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. However, it won't be a difficult task to find a better man + than you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll nae let him work.” McTavish's voice deepened to a growl. “You worked + that racket on my father. Try it on me, and you'll answer to me—personally. + Lay the weight of your finger on your successor, Mac, and you'll die in + the county poor-farm. No threats, old man! You know the Cardigans; they + never bluff.” + </p> + <p> + McTavish's glance met the youthful master's for several seconds; then the + woods-boss trembled, and his gaze sought the office floor. Bryce knew he + had his man whipped at last, and McTavish realized it, too, for quite + suddenly he burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “Dinna fire me, lad,” he pleaded. “I'll gae back on the job an' leave + whusky alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing doing, Mac. Leave whiskey alone for a year and I'll discharge + your successor to give you back your job. For the present however, my + verdict stands. You're discharged.” + </p> + <p> + “Who kens the Cardigan woods as I ken them?” McTavish blubbered. “Who'll + swamp a road into timber sixty per cent. clear when the mill's runnin' on + foreign orders an' the owd man's calling for clear logs? Who'll fell trees + wi' the least amount o' breakage? Who'll get the work out o' the men? + Who'll—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't plead, Mac,” Bryce interrupted gently. “You're quite through, and I + can't waste any more time on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye dinna mean it, lad. Ye canna mean it.” + </p> + <p> + “On your way, Mac. I loathe arguments. And don't forget your check.” + </p> + <p> + “I maun see yer faither aboot this. He'll nae stand for sic treatment o' + an auld employee.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce's temper flared up. “You keep away from my father. You've worried + him enough in the past, you drunkard. If you go up to the house to annoy + my father with your pleadings, McTavish, I'll manhandle you.” He glanced + at his watch. “The next train leaves for the woods in twenty minutes. If + you do not go back on it and behave yourself, you can never go back to + Cardigan woods.” + </p> + <p> + “I will nae take charity from any man,” McTavish thundered. “I'll nae + bother the owd man, an' I'll nae go back to yon woods to live on yer + bounty.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, go somewhere, Mac, and be quick about it. Only—when you've + reformed, please come back. You'll be mighty welcome. Until then, however, + you're as popular with me—that is, in a business way—as a wet + dog.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye're nae the man yer faither was,” the woods-boss half sobbed. “Ye hae a + heart o' stone.” + </p> + <p> + “You've been drunk for fifteen days—and I'm paying you for it, Mac,” + Bryce reminded him gently. “Don't leave your check behind. You'll need + it.” + </p> + <p> + With a fine show of contempt and rage, McTavish tore the check into strips + and threw them at Bryce. “I was never a mon to take charity,” he roared + furiously, and left the office. Bryce called after him a cheerful + good-bye, but he did not answer. And he did not remain in town; neither + did he return to his shanty in the woods. For a month his whereabouts + remained a mystery; then one day Moira received a letter from him + informing her that he had a job knee-bolting in a shingle mill in + Mendocino County. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + In the interim Bryce had not been idle. From his woods-crew he picked an + old, experienced hand—one Jabez Curtis—to take the place of + the vanished McTavish. Colonel Pennington, having repaired in three days + the gap in his railroad, wrote a letter to the Cardigan Redwood Lumber + Company, informing Bryce that until more equipment could be purchased and + delivered to take the place of the rolling-stock destroyed in the wreck, + the latter would have to be content with half-deliveries; whereupon Bryce + irritated the Colonel profoundly by purchasing a lot of second-hand trucks + from a bankrupt sugar-pine mill in Lassen County and delivering them to + the Colonel's road via the deck of a steam schooner. + </p> + <p> + “That will insure delivery of sufficient logs to get out our orders on + file,” Bryce informed his father. “While we are morally certain our mill + will run but one year longer, I intend that it shall run full capacity for + that year. In fact, I'm going to saw in that one year remaining to us as + much lumber as we would ordinarily saw in two years. To be exact, I'm + going to run a night-shift.” + </p> + <p> + The sightless old man raised both hands in deprecation. “The market won't + absorb it,” he protested. + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll stack it in piles to air-dry and wait until the market is + brisk enough to absorb it,” Bryce replied. + </p> + <p> + “Our finances won't stand the overhead of that night-shift, I tell you,” + his father warned. + </p> + <p> + “I know we haven't sufficient cash on hand to attempt it, Dad, but—I'm + going to borrow some.” + </p> + <p> + “From whom? No bank in Sequoia will lend us a penny, and long before you + came home I had sounded every possible source of a private loan.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you sound the Sequoia Bank of Commerce?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. Pennington owns the controlling interest in that bank, and + I was never a man to waste my time.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce chuckled. “I don't care where the money comes from so long as I get + it, partner. Pennington's money may be tainted; in fact, I'd risk a bet + that it is; but our employees will accept it for wages nevertheless. + Desperate circumstances require desperate measures you know, and the day + before yesterday, when I was quite ignorant of the fact that Colonel + Pennington controls the Sequoia Bank of Commerce, I drifted in on the + president and casually struck him for a loan of one hundred thousand + dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be shot, Bryce! What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “Said he'd take the matter under consideration and give me an answer this + morning. He asked me, of course, what I wanted that much money for, and I + told him I was going to run a night-shift, double my force of men in the + woods, and buy some more logging-trucks, which I can get rather cheap. + Well, this morning I called for my answer—and got it. The Sequoia + Bank of Commerce will loan me up to a hundred thousand, but it won't give + me the cash in a lump sum. I can have enough to buy the logging-trucks + now, and on the first of each month, when I present my pay-roll, the bank + will advance me the money to meet it.” + </p> + <p> + “Bryce, I am amazed.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not—since you tell me Colonel Pennington controls that bank. + That the bank should accommodate us is the most natural procedure + imaginable. Pennington is only playing safe—which is why the bank + declined to give me the money in a lump sum. If we run a night-shift, + Pennington knows that we can't dispose of our excess output under present + market conditions. The redwood trade is in the doldrums and will remain in + them to a greater or less degree until the principal redwood centres + secure a rail outlet to the markets of the country. It's a safe bet our + lumber is going to pile up on the mill dock; hence, when the smash comes + and the Sequoia Bank of Commerce calls our loan and we cannot possibly + meet it, the lumber on hand will prove security for the loan, will it not? + In fact, it will be worth two or three dollars per thousand more then than + it is now, because it will be air-dried. And inasmuch as all the signs + point to Pennington's gobbling us anyhow, it strikes me as a rather good + business on his part to give us sufficient rope to insure a thorough job + of hanging.” + </p> + <p> + “But what idea have you got back of such a procedure, Bryce?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely a forlorn hope, Dad. Something might turn up. The market may take + a sudden spurt and go up three or four dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and it may take a sudden spurt and drop three or four dollars,” + his father reminded him. + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed. “That would be Pennington's funeral, Dad. And whether the + market goes up or comes down, it costs us nothing to make the experiment.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true.” his father agreed. + </p> + <p> + “Then, if you'll come down to the office to-morrow morning, Dad, we'll + hold a meeting of our board of directors and authorize me, as president of + the company, to sign the note to the bank. We're borrowing this without + collateral, you know.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan sighed. Such daring financial acrobatics were not usual with + him, but as Bryce had remarked there was no reason why, in their present + predicament, they should not gamble. Hence he entered no further + objection, and the following day the agreement was entered into with the + bank. Bryce closed by wire for the extra logging-equipment and immediately + set about rounding up a crew for the woods and for the night-shift in the + mill. + </p> + <p> + For a month Bryce was as busy as the proverbial one-armed paper-hanger + with the itch, and during all that time he did not see Shirley Sumner or + hear of her, directly or indirectly. Only at infrequent intervals did he + permit himself to think of her, for he was striving to forget, and the + memory of his brief glimpse of paradise was always provocative of pain. + </p> + <p> + Moira McTavish, in the meantime, had come down from the woods and entered + upon her duties in the mill office. The change from her dull, drab life, + giving her, as it did, an opportunity for companionship with people of + greater mentality and refinement than she had been used to, quickly + brought about a swift transition in the girl's nature. With the passing of + the coarse shoes and calico dresses and the substitution of the kind of + clothing all women of Moira's instinctive refinement and natural beauty + long for, the girl became cheerful, animated, and imbued with the optimism + of her years. At first old Sinclair resented the advent of a woman in the + office; then he discovered that Moira's efforts lightened his own labours + in exact proportion to the knowledge of the business which she assimilated + from day to day. + </p> + <p> + Moira worked in the general office, and except upon occasions when Bryce + desired to look at the books or Moira brought some document into the + private office for his perusal, there were days during which his pleasant + “Good morning, Moira,” constituted the extent of their conversation. To + John Cardigan, however, Moira was a ministering angel. Gradually she + relieved Bryce of the care of the old man. She made a cushion for his + easy-chair in the office; she read the papers to him, and the + correspondence, and discussed with him the receipt and delivery of orders, + the movements of the lumber-fleet, the comedies and tragedies of his + people, which had become to him matters of the utmost importance. She + brushed his hair, dusted his hat, and crowned him with it when he left the + office at nightfall, and whenever Bryce was absent in the woods or in San + Francisco, it fell to her lot to lead the old man to and from the house on + the hill. To his starved heart her sweet womanly attentions were + tremendously welcome, and gradually he formed the habit of speaking of + her, half tenderly, half jokingly, as “my girl.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had been absent in San Francisco for ten days. He had planned to + stay three weeks, but finding his business consummated in less time, he + returned to Sequoia unexpectedly. Moira was standing at the tall + bookkeeping desk, her beautiful dark head bent over the ledger, when he + entered the office and set his suitcase in the corner. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Mr. Bryce?” she queried. + </p> + <p> + “The identical individual, Moira. How did you guess it was I?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him then, and her wonderful dark eyes lighted with a + flame Bryce had not seen in them heretofore. “I knew you were coming,” she + replied simply. + </p> + <p> + “But how could you know? I didn't telegraph because I wanted to surprise + my father, and the instant the boat touched the dock, I went overside and + came directly here. I didn't even wait for the crew to run out the + gangplank—so I know nobody could have told you I was due.” + </p> + <p> + “That is quite right, Mr. Bryce. Nobody told me you were coming, but I + just knew, when I heard the Noyo whistling as she made the dock, that you + were aboard, and I didn't look up when you entered the office because I + wanted to verify my—my suspicion.” + </p> + <p> + “You had a hunch, Moira. Do you get those telepathic messages very often?” + He was crossing the office to shake her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I've never noticed particularly—that is, until I came to work here. + But I always know when you are returning after a considerable absence.” + She gave him her hand. “I'm so glad you're back.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he demanded bluntly. + </p> + <p> + She flushed. “I—I really don't know, Mr. Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” he persisted, “what do you think makes you glad?” + </p> + <p> + “I had been thinking how nice it would be to have you back, Mr. Bryce. + When you enter the office, it's like a breeze rustling the tops of the + Redwoods. And your father misses you so; he talks to me a great deal about + you. Why, of course we miss you; anybody would.” + </p> + <p> + As he held her hand, he glanced down at it and noted how greatly it had + changed during the past few months. The skin was no longer rough and + brown, and the fingers, formerly stiff and swollen from hard work, were + growing more shapely. From her hand his glance roved over the girl, noting + the improvements in her dress, and the way the thick, wavy black hair was + piled on top of her shapely head. + </p> + <p> + “It hadn't occurred to me before, Moira,” he said with a bright impersonal + smile that robbed his remark of all suggestion of masculine flattery, “but + it seems to me I'm unusually glad to see you, also. You've been fixing + your hair different.” + </p> + <p> + The soft lambent glow leaped again into Moira's eyes. He had noticed her—particularly. + “Do you like my hair done that way?” she inquired eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether I do or not. It's unusual—for you. You look + mighty sweetly old-fashioned with it coiled in back—somewhat like an + old-fashioned daguerreotype of my mother. Is this new style the latest in + hairdressing in Sequoia?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so, Mr. Bryce. I copied it from Colonel Pennington's niece, Miss + Sumner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he replied briefly. “You've met her, have you? I didn't know she was + in Sequoia still.” + </p> + <p> + “She's been away, but she came back last week. I went to the Valley of the + Giants last Saturday afternoon—” + </p> + <p> + Bryce interrupted. “You didn't tell my father about the tree that was cut, + did you?” he demanded sharply. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Good girl! He mustn't know. Go on, Moira. I interrupted you.” + </p> + <p> + “I met Miss Sumner up there. She was lost; she'd followed the old trail + into the timber, and when the trees shut out the sun, she lost all sense + of direction. She was terribly frightened and crying when I found her and + brought her home.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I swan, Moira! What was she doing in our timber?” + </p> + <p> + “She told me that once, when she was a little girl, you had taken her for + a ride on your pony up to your mother's grave. And it seems she had a + great curiosity to see that spot again and started out without saying a + word to any one. Poor dear! She was in a sad state when I found her.” + </p> + <p> + “How fortunate you found her! I've met Miss Sumner three or four times. + That was when she first came to Sequoia. She's a stunning girl, isn't + she?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly, Mr. Bryce. She's the first lady I've ever met. She's + different.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt! Her kind are not a product of homely little communities like + Sequoia. And for that matter, neither is her wolf of an uncle. What did + Miss Sumner have to say to you, Moira?” + </p> + <p> + “She told me all about herself—and she said a lot of nice things + about you, Mr. Bryce, after I told her I worked for you. And when I showed + her the way home, she insisted that I should walk home with her. So I did—and + the butler served us with tea and toast and marmalade. Then she showed me + all her wonderful things—and gave me some of them. Oh, Mr. Bryce, + she's so sweet. She had her maid dress my hair in half a dozen different + styles until they could decide on the right style, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And that's it—eh, Moira?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded brightly. + </p> + <p> + “I can see that you and Miss Sumner evidently hit it off just right with + each other. Are you going to call on her again?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! She begged me to. She says she's lonesome.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say she is, Moira. Well, her choice of a pal is a tribute to the + brains I suspected her of possessing, and I'm glad you've gotten to know + each other. I've no doubt you find life a little lonely sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes, Mr. Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “How's my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Splendid. I've taken good care of him for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Moira, you're a sweetheart of a girl. I don't know how we ever managed to + wiggle along without you.” Fraternally—almost paternally—he + gave her radiant cheek three light little pats as he strode past her to + the private office. He was in a hurry to get to his desk, upon which he + could see through the open door a pile of letters and orders, and a moment + later he was deep in a perusal of them, oblivious to the fact that ever + and anon the girl turned upon him her brooding, Madonna-like glance. + </p> + <p> + That night Bryce and his father, as was their custom after dinner, + repaired to the library, where the bustling and motherly Mrs. Tully served + their coffee. This good soul, after the democratic fashion in vogue in + many Western communities, had never been regarded as a servant; neither + did she so regard herself. She was John Cardigan's housekeeper, and as + such she had for a quarter of a century served father and son their meals + and then seated herself at the table with them. This arrangement had but + one drawback, although this did not present itself until after Bryce's + return to Sequoia and his assumption of the direction of the Cardigan + destinies. For Mrs. Tully had a failing common to many of her sex: she + possessed for other people's business an interest absolutely incapable of + satisfaction—and she was, in addition, garrulous beyond belief. The + library was the one spot in the house which at the beginning of her + employment John Cardigan had indicated to Mrs. Tully as sanctuary for him + and his; hence, having served the coffee this evening, the amiable + creature withdrew, although not without a pang as she reflected upon the + probable nature of their conversation and the void which must inevitably + result by reason of the absence of her advice and friendly cooperation and + sympathy. + </p> + <p> + No sooner had Mrs. Tully departed than Bryce rose and closed the door + behind her. John Cardigan opened the conversation with a contented grunt: + </p> + <p> + “Plug the keyhole, son,” he continued. “I believe you have something on + your mind—and you know how Mrs. Tully resents the closing of that + door. Estimable soul that she is, I have known her to eavesdrop. She can't + help it, poor thing! She was born that way.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce clipped a cigar and held a lighted match while his father “smoked + up.” Then he slipped into the easy-chair beside the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Well, John Cardigan,” he began eagerly, “fate ripped a big hole in our + dark cloud the other day and showed me some of the silver lining. I've + been making bad medicine for Colonel Pennington. Partner, the pill I'm + rolling for that scheming scoundrel will surely nauseate him when he + swallows it.” + </p> + <p> + “What's in the wind, boy?” + </p> + <p> + “We're going to parallel Pennington's logging-road.” + </p> + <p> + “Inasmuch as that will cost close to three quarters of a million dollars, + I'm of the opinion that we're not going to do anything of the sort.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. Nevertheless, if I can demonstrate to a certain party that it + will not cost more than three quarters of a million, he'll loan me the + money.” + </p> + <p> + The old man shook his head. “I don't believe it, Bryce. Who's the crazy + man?” + </p> + <p> + “His name is Gregory. He's Scotch.” + </p> + <p> + “Now I know he's crazy. When he hands you the money, you'll find he's + talking real money but thinking of Confederate greenbacks. For a sane + Scotchman to loan that much money without collateral security would be + equivalent to exposing his spinal cord and tickling it with a rat-tail + file.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed. “Pal,” he declared, “if you and I have any brains, they + must roll around in our skulls like buckshot in a tin pan. Here we've been + sitting for three months, and twiddling our thumbs, or lying awake nights + trying to scheme a way out of our difficulties, when if we'd had the sense + that God gives geese we would have solved the problem long ago and ceased + worrying. Listen, now, with all your ears. When Bill Henderson wanted to + build the logging railroad which he afterward sold to Pennington, and + which Pennington is now using as a club to beat our brains out, did he + have the money to build it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did he get it?” + </p> + <p> + “I loaned it to him. He only had about eight miles of road to build then, + so I could afford to accommodate him.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he pay you back?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he gave me a ten-year contract for hauling our logs at a dollar and + a half a thousand feet, and I merely credited his account with the amount + of the freight-bills he sent me until he'd squared up the loan, principal + and interest.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if Bill Henderson financed himself on that plan, why didn't we + think of using the same time-honoured plan for financing a road to + parallel Pennington's?” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan sat up with a jerk. “By thunder!” he murmured. That was as + close as he ever came to uttering an oath. “By thunder!” he repeated. “I + never thought of that! But then,” he added, “I'm not so young as I used to + be, and there are any number of ideas which would have occurred to me + twenty years ago but do not occur to me now.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, John Cardigan. I forgive you. Now, then, continue to listen: + to the north of that great block of timber held by you and Pennington lie + the redwood holdings of the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company.” + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of them before.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, timber away in there in back of beyond has never been well + advertised, because it is regarded as practically inaccessible. By + extending his logging-road and adding to his rolling-stock, Pennington + could make it accessible, but he will not. He figures on buying all that + back timber rather cheap when he gets around to it, for the reason that + the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company cannot possibly mill its timber until + a railroad connects its holdings with the outside world. They can hold it + until their corporation franchise expires, and it will not increase + sufficiently in value to pay taxes.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why the blamed fools ever bought in there, Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “When they bought, it looked like a good buy. You will remember that some + ten years ago a company was incorporated with the idea of building a + railroad from Grant's Pass, Oregon, on the line of the Southern Pacific, + down the Oregon and California coast to tap the redwood belt.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember. There was a big whoop and hurrah and then the proposition + died abornin'. The engineers found that the cost of construction through + that mountainous country was prohibitive.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, before the project died, Gregory and his associates believed that + it was going to survive. They decided to climb in on the ground floor—had + some advance, inside information that the road was to be built; go they + quietly gathered together thirty thousand acres of good stuff and then sat + down to wait for the railroad, And they are still waiting. Gregory, by the + way, is the president of the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company. He's an + Edinburgh man, and the fly American promoters got him to put up the price + of the timber and then mortgaged their interests to him as security for + the advance. He foreclosed on their notes five years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “And there he is with his useless timber!” John Cardigan murmured + thoughtfully. “The poor Scotch sucker!” + </p> + <p> + “He isn't poor. The purchase of that timber didn't even dent his + bank-roll. He's what they call in England a tinned-goods manufacturer—purveyor + to His Majesty the King, and all that. But he would like to sell his + timber, and being Scotch, naturally he desires to sell it at a profit. In + order to create a market for it, however, he has to have an outlet to that + market. We supply the outlet—with his help; and what happens? Why, + timber that cost him fifty and seventy-five cents per thousand feet + stumpage—and the actual timber will overrun the cruiser's estimate + every time—will be worth two dollars and fifty cents—perhaps + more.” + </p> + <p> + The elder Cardigan turned slowly in his chair and bent his sightless gaze + upon his son. “Well, well,” he cried impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “He loans us the money to build our road. We build it—on through our + timber and into his. The collateral security which we put up will be a + twenty-five-years contract to haul his logs to tidewater on Humboldt Bay, + at a base freight-rate of one dollar and fifty cents, with an increase of + twenty-five cents per thousand every five years thereafter, and an option + for a renewal of the contract upon expiration, at the rate of freight last + paid. We also grant him perpetual booming-space for his logs in the slough + which we own and where we now store our logs until needed at the mill. In + addition we sell him, at a reasonable figure, sufficient land fronting on + tidewater to enable him to erect a sawmill, lay out his yards, and build a + dock out into the deep water. + </p> + <p> + “Thus Gregory will have that which he hasn't got now—an outlet to + his market by water; and when the railroad to Sequoia builds in from the + south, it will connect with the road which we have built from Sequoia up + into Township Nine to the north; hence Gregory will also have an outlet to + his market by rail. He can easily get a good manager to run his lumber + business until he finds a customer for it, and in the meantime we will be + charging his account with our freight-bills against him and gradually pay + off the loan without pinching ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you talked with Gregory?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I met him while I was in San Francisco. Somebody brought him up to a + meeting of the Redwood Lumber Manufacturers' Association, and I pounced on + him like an owl on a mouse.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan's old hand came gropingly forth and rested affectionately + upon his boy's. “What a wonderful scheme it would have been a year ago,” + he murmured sadly. “You forget, my son, that we cannot last in business + long enough to get that road built though Gregory should agree to finance + the building of it. The interest on our bonded indebtedness is payable on + the first—” + </p> + <p> + “We can meet it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, but we can't meet the fifty thousand dollars which, under the terms + of our deed of trust, we are required to pay in on July first of each year + as a sinking fund toward the retirement of our bonds. By super-human + efforts—by sacrificing a dozen cargoes, raising hob with the market, + and getting ourselves disliked by our neighbours—we managed to meet + half of it this year and procure an extension of six months on the balance + due. + </p> + <p> + “That is Pennington's way. He plays with us as a cat does with a mouse, + knowing, like the cat, that when he is weary of playing, he will devour + us. And now, when we are deeper in debt than ever, when the market is + lower and more sluggish than it has been in fifteen years, to hope to meet + the interest and the next payment to the sinking fund taxes my optimism. + Bryce, it just can't be done. We'd have our road about half completed when + we'd bust up in business; indeed, the minute Pennington suspected we were + paralleling his line, he'd choke off our wind. I tell you it can't be + done.” + </p> + <p> + But Bryce contradicted him earnestly. “It can be done,” he said. “Gregory + knows nothing of our financial condition. Our rating in the reports of the + commercial agencies is as good as it ever was, and a man's never broke + till somebody finds it out.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that if we can start building our road and have it half completed + before Pennington jumps on us, GREGORY WILL SIMPLY HAVE TO COME TO OUR AID + IN SELF-DEFENSE. Once he ties up with us, he's committed to the task of + seeing us through. If we fall, he must pick us up and carry us, whether he + wants to or not; and I will so arrange the deal that he will have to. I + can do it, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan raised his hand. “No,” he said firmly, “I will not allow you + to do this. That way—that is the Pennington method. If we fall, my + son, we pass out like gentlemen, not blackguards. We will not take + advantage of this man Gregory's faith. If he joins forces with us, we lay + our hand on the table and let him look.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he'll never join hands with us, partner. We're done.” + </p> + <p> + “We're not done, my son. We have one alternative, and I'm going to take + it. I've got to—for your sake. Moreover, your mother would have + wished it so.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. I'm going to sell Pennington my Valley of the Giants. Thank + God, that quarter-section does not belong to the Cardigan Redwood Lumber + Company. It is my personal property, and it is not mortgaged. Pennington + can never foreclose on it—and until he gets it, twenty-five hundred + acres of virgin timber on Squaw Creek are valueless—nay, a source of + expense to him. Bryce, he has to have it; and he'll pay the price, when he + knows I mean business.” + </p> + <p> + With a sweeping gesture he waved aside the arguments that rose to his + son's lips. “Lead me to the telephone,” he commanded; and Bryce, + recognizing his sire's unalterable determination, obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “Find Pennington's number in the telephone-book,” John Cardigan commanded + next. + </p> + <p> + Bryce found it, and his father proceeded to get the Colonel on the wire. + “Pennington,” he said hoarsely, “this is John Cardigan speaking. I've + decided to sell you that quarter-section that blocks your timber on Squaw + Creek.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” the Colonel purred. “I had an idea you were going to present it + to the city for a natural park.” + </p> + <p> + “I've changed my mind. I've decided to sell at your last offer.” + </p> + <p> + “I've changed my mind, too. I've decided not to buy—at my last + offer. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly John Cardigan hung the receiver on the hook, turned and groped for + his son. When he found him, the old man held him for a moment in his arms. + “Lead me upstairs, son,” he murmured presently. “I'm tired. I'm going to + bed.” + </p> + <p> + When Colonel Seth Pennington turned from the telephone and faced his + niece, Shirley read his triumph in his face. “Old Cardigan has capitulated + at last,” he cried exultingly. “We've played a waiting game and I've won; + he just telephoned to say he'd accept my last offer for his Valley of the + Giants, as the sentimental old fool calls that quarter-section of huge + redwoods that blocks the outlet to our Squaw Creek timber.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're not going to buy it. You told him so, Uncle Seth.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'm not going to buy it—at my last offer. It's worth five + thousand dollars in the open market, and once I offered him fifty thousand + for it. Now I'll give him five.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why he wants to sell,” Shirley mused. “From what Bryce Cardigan + told me once, his father attaches a sentimental value to that strip of + woods; his wife is buried there; it's—or rather, it used to be—a + sort of shrine to the old gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “He's selling it because he's desperate. If he wasn't teetering on the + verge of bankruptcy, he'd never let me outgame him,” Pennington replied + gayly. “I'll say this for the old fellow: he's no bluffer. However, since + I know his financial condition almost to a dollar, I do not think it would + be good business to buy his Valley of the Giants now. I'll wait until he + has gone bust—and save twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you're biting off your nose to spite your face, Uncle Seth. The + Laguna Grande Lumber Company needs that outlet. In dollars and cents, what + is it worth to the Company?” + </p> + <p> + “If I thought I couldn't get it from Cardigan a few months from now, I'd + go as high as a hundred thousand for it to-night,” he answered coolly. + </p> + <p> + “In that event, I advise you to take it for fifty thousand. It's terribly + hard on old Mr. Cardigan to have to sell it, even at that price.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not understand these matters, Shirley. Don't try. And don't waste + your sympathy on that old humbug. He has to dig up fifty thousand dollars + to pay on his bonded indebtedness, and he's finding it a difficult job. + He's just sparring for time, but he'll lose out.” + </p> + <p> + As if to indicate that he considered the matter closed, the Colonel drew + his chair toward the fire, picked up a magazine, and commenced idly to + slit the pages. Shirley studied the back of his head for some time, then + got out some fancy work and commenced plying her needle. And as she plied + it, a thought, nebulous at first, gradually took form in her head until + eventually she murmured loud enough for the Colonel to hear: + </p> + <p> + “I'll do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” Pennington queried. + </p> + <p> + “Something nice for somebody who did something nice for me,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “That McTavish girl?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Moira! Isn't she sweet, Uncle Seth? I'm going to give her that black + suit of mine. I've scarcely worn it—” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” he interrupted with an indulgent yawn. “Well, do whatever + makes for your happiness, my dear. That's all money is for.” + </p> + <p> + About two o'clock the following afternoon old Judge Moore, of the Superior + Court of Humboldt County, drifted into Bryce Cardigan's office, sat down + uninvited, and lifted his long legs to the top of an adjacent chair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Bryce, my boy,” he began, “a little bird tells me your daddy is + considering the sale of Cardigan's Redwoods, or the Valley of the Giants, + as your paternal ancestor prefers to refer to that little old + quarter-section out yonder on the edge of town. How about it?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce stared at him a moment questioningly. “Yes, Judge,” he replied, + “we'll sell, if we get our price.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” his visitor drawled, “I have a client who might be persuaded. I'm + here to talk turkey. What's your price?” + </p> + <p> + “Before we talk price,” Bryce parried, “I want you to answer a question.” + </p> + <p> + “Let her fly,” said Judge Moore. + </p> + <p> + “Are you, directly or indirectly, acting for Colonel Pennington?” + </p> + <p> + “That's none of your business, young man—at least, it would be none + of your business if I were, directly or indirectly, acting for that + unconvicted thief. To the best of my information and belief, Colonel + Pennington doesn't figure in this deal in any way, shape, or manner; and + as you know, I've been your daddy's friend for thirty years.” + </p> + <p> + Still Bryce was not convinced, notwithstanding the fact that he would have + staked his honour on the Judge's veracity. Nobody knew better than he in + what devious ways the Colonel worked, his wonders to perform. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “your query is rather sudden, Judge, but still I can name + you a price. I will state frankly, however, that I believe it to be over + your head. We have several times refused to sell to Colonel Pennington for + a hundred thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally that little dab of timber is worth more to Pennington than to + anybody else. However, my client has given me instructions to go as high + as a hundred thousand if necessary to get the property.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “I said it. One hundred thousand dollars of the present standard weight + and fineness.” + </p> + <p> + Judge Moore's last statement swept away Bryce's suspicions. He required + now no further evidence that, regardless of the identity of the Judge's + client, that client could not possibly be Colonel Seth Pennington or any + one acting for him, since only the night before Pennington had curtly + refused to buy the property for fifty thousand dollars. For a moment Bryce + stared stupidly at his visitor. Then he recovered his wits. + </p> + <p> + “Sold!” he almost shouted, and after the fashion of the West extended his + hand to clinch the bargain. The Judge shook it solemnly. “The Lord loveth + a quick trader,” he declared, and reached into the capacious breast pocket + of his Prince Albert coat. “Here's the deed already made out in favour of + myself, as trustee.” He winked knowingly. + </p> + <p> + “Client's a bit modest, I take it,” Bryce suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very. Of course I'm only hazarding a guess, but that guess is that my + client can afford the gamble and is figuring on giving Pennington a pain + where he never knew it to ache him before. In plain English, I believe the + Colonel is in for a razooing at the hands of somebody with a small grouch + against him.” + </p> + <p> + “May the Lord strengthen that somebody's arm,” Bryce breathed fervently. + “If your client can afford to hold out long enough, he'll be able to buy + Pennington's Squaw Creek timber at a bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “My understanding is that such is the programme.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce reached for the deed, then reached for his hat. “If you'll be good + enough to wait here, Judge Moore, I'll run up to the house and get my + father to sign this deed. The Valley of the Giants is his personal + property, you know. He didn't include it in his assets when incorporating + the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company.” + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later he returned with the deed duly signed by John + Cardigan and witnessed by Bryce; whereupon the Judge carelessly tossed his + certified check for a hundred thousand dollars on Bryce's desk and + departed whistling “Turkey in the Straw.” Bryce reached for the telephone + and called up Colonel Pennington. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce Cardigan speaking,” he began, but the Colonel cut him short. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, impulsive young friend,” he interrupted in oleaginous tones, + “how often do you have to be told that I am not quite ready to buy that + quarter-section?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” Bryce retorted, “I merely called up to tell you that every dollar + and every asset you have in the world, including your heart's blood, isn't + sufficient to buy the Valley of the Giants from us now.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What's that? Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, my dear, overcautious, and thoroughly unprincipled enemy, it was + sold five minutes ago for the tidy sum of one hundred thousand dollars, + and if you don't believe me, come over to my office and I'll let you feast + your eyes on the certified check.” + </p> + <p> + He could hear a distinct gasp. After an interval of five seconds, however, + the Colonel recovered his poise. “I congratulate you,” he purred. “I + suppose I'll have to wait a little longer now, won't I? Well—patience + is my middle name. Au revoir.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel hung up. His hard face was ashen with rage, and he stared at a + calendar on the wall with his cold, phidian stare. However, he was not + without a generous stock of optimism. “Somebody has learned of the low + state of the Cardigan fortune,” he mused, “and taken advantage of it to + induce the old man to sell at last. They're figuring on selling to me at a + neat profit. And I certainly did overplay my hand last night. However, + there's nothing to do now except sit tight and wait for the new owner's + next move.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, in the general office of the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company, + joy was rampant. Bryce Cardigan was doing a buck and wing dance around the + room, while Moira McTavish, with her back to her tall desk, watched him, + in her eyes a tremendous joy and a sweet, yearning glow of adoration that + Bryce was too happy and excited to notice. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he paused before her. “Moira, you're a lucky girl,” he declared. + “I thought this morning you were going back to a kitchen in a + logging-camp. It almost broke my heart to think of fate's swindling you + like that.” He put his arm around her and gave her a brotherly hug. “It's + autumn in the woods, Moira, and all the underbrush is golden.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, though it was winter in her heart. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + Not the least of the traits which formed Shirley Sumner's character was + pride. Proud people quite usually are fiercely independent and + meticulously honest—and Shirley's pride was monumental. Hers was the + pride of lineage, of womanhood, of an assured station in life, combined + with that other pride which is rather difficult of definition without + verbosity and is perhaps better expressed in the terse and illuminating + phrase “a dead-game sport.” Unlike her precious relative, unlike the + majority of her sex, Shirley had a wonderfully balanced sense of the + eternal fitness of things; her code of honour resembled that of a very + gallant gentleman. She could love well and hate well. + </p> + <p> + A careful analysis of Shirley's feelings toward Bryce Cardigan immediately + following the incident in Pennington's woods, had showed her that under + more propitious circumstances she might have fallen in love with that + tempestuous young man in sheer recognition of the many lovable and manly + qualities she had discerned in him. As an offset to the credit side of + Bryce's account with her, however, there appeared certain debits in the + consideration of which Shirley always lost her temper and was immediately + quite certain she loathed the unfortunate man. + </p> + <p> + He had been an honoured and (for aught Shirley knew to the contrary) + welcome guest in the Penninton home one night, and the following day had + assaulted his host, committed great bodily injuries upon the latter's + employees for little or no reason save the satisfaction of an abominable + temper, made threats of further violence, declared his unfaltering enmity + to her nearest and best-loved relative, and in the next breath had had the + insolence to prate of his respect and admiration for her. Indeed, in + cogitating on this latter incongruity, Shirley recalled that the + extraordinary fellow had been forced rather abruptly to check himself in + order to avoid a fervid declaration of love! And all of this under the + protection of a double-bitted axe, one eye on her and the other on his + enemies. + </p> + <p> + However, all of these grave crimes and misdemeanors were really + insignificant compared with his crowning offense. What had infuriated + Shirley was the fact that she had been at some pains to inform Bryce + Cardigan that she loathed him—whereat he had looked her over coolly, + grinned a little, and declined to believe her! Then, seemingly as if fate + had decreed that her futility should be impressed upon her still further, + Bryce Cardigan had been granted an opportunity to save, in a strikingly + calm, heroic, and painful manner, her and her uncle from certain and + horrible death, thus placing upon Shirley an obligation that was as + irritating to acknowledge as it was futile to attempt to reciprocate. + </p> + <p> + That was where the shoe pinched. Before that day was over she had been + forced to do one of two things—acknowledge in no uncertain terms her + indebtedness to him, or remain silent and be convicted of having been, in + plain language, a rotter. So she had telephoned him and purposely left + ajar the door to their former friendly relations. + </p> + <p> + Monstrous! He had seen the open door and deliberately slammed it in her + face. Luckily for them both she had heard, all unsuspected by him as he + slowly hung the receiver on the hook, the soliloquy wherein he gave her a + pointed hint of the distress with which he abdicated—which knowledge + was all that deterred her from despising him with the fervour of a woman + scorned. + </p> + <p> + Resolutely Shirley set herself to the task of forgetting Bryce when, after + the passage of a few weeks, she realized that he was quite sincere in his + determination to forget her. Frequent glimpses of him on the streets of + Sequoia, the occasional mention of his name in the Sequoia Sentinel, the + very whistle of Cardigan's mill, made her task a difficult one; and + presently in desperation she packed up and departed for an indefinite stay + in the southern part of the State. At the end of six weeks, however, she + discovered that absence had had the traditional effect upon her heart and + found herself possessed of a great curiosity to study the villain at short + range and discover, if possible, what new rascality he might be + meditating. About this time, a providential attack of that aristocratic + ailment, gout, having laid Colonel Pennington low, she told herself her + duty lay in Sequoia, that she had Shirley Sumner in hand at last and that + the danger was over. In consequence, she returned to Sequoia. + </p> + <p> + The fascination which a lighted candle holds for a moth is too well known + to require further elucidation here. In yielding one day to a desire to + visit the Valley of the Giants, Shirley told herself that she was going + there to gather wild blackberries. She had been thinking of a certain + blackberry pie, which thought naturally induced reflection on Bryce + Cardigan and reminded Shirley of her first visit to the Giants under the + escort of a boy in knickerbockers. She had a very vivid remembrance of + that little amphitheatre with the sunbeams falling like a halo on the + plain tombstone; she wondered if the years had changed it all and decided + that there could not possibly be any harm in indulging a very natural + curiosity to visit and investigate. + </p> + <p> + Her meeting with Moira McTavish that day, and the subsequent friendship + formed with the woods-boss's daughter, renewed all her old apprehensions. + On the assumption that Shirley and Bryce were practically strangers to + each other (an assumption which Shirley, for obvious reasons, did not + attempt to dissipate), Moira did not hesitate to mention Bryce very + frequently. To her he was the one human being in the world utterly worth + while, and it is natural for women to discuss, frequently and at great + length, the subject nearest their hearts. In the three stock subjects of + the admirable sex—man, dress, and the ills that flesh is heir to—man + readily holds the ascendancy; and by degrees Moira—discovering that + Shirley, having all the dresses she required (several dozen more, in fact) + and being neither subnormal mentally nor fragile physically, gave the last + two topics scant attention—formed the habit of expatiating at great + length on the latter. Moira described Bryce in minute detail and related + to her eager auditor little unconscious daily acts of kindness, + thoughtfulness, or humour performed by Bryce—his devotion to his + father, his idealistic attitude toward the Cardigan employees, his + ability, his industry, the wonderful care he bestowed upon his + fingernails, his marvellous taste in neckwear, the boyishness of his + lighter and the mannishness of his serious moments. And presently, little + by little, Shirley's resentment against him faded, and in her heart was + born a great wistfulness bred of the hope that some day she would meet + Bryce Cardigan on the street and that he would pause, lift his hat, smile + at her his compelling smile and, forthwith proceed to bully her into being + friendly and forgiving—browbeat her into admitting her change of + heart and glorying in it. + </p> + <p> + To this remarkable state of mind had Shirley Sumner attained at the time + old John Cardigan, leading his last little trump in a vain hope that it + would enable him to take the odd trick in the huge game he had played for + fifty years, decided to sell his Valley of the Giants. + </p> + <p> + Shortly after joining her uncle in Sequoia, Shirley had learned from the + Colonel the history of old man Cardigan and his Valley of the Giants, or + as the townspeople called it, Cardigan's Redwoods. Therefore she was + familiar with its importance to the assets of the Laguna Grande Lumber + Company, since, while that quarter-section remained the property of John + Cardigan, two thousand five hundred acres of splendid timber owned by the + former were rendered inaccessible. Her uncle had explained to her that + ultimately this would mean the tying up of some two million dollars, and + inasmuch as the Colonel never figured less than five per cent. return on + anything, he was in this instance facing a net loss of one hundred + thousand dollars for each year obstinate John Cardigan persisted in + retaining that quarter-section. + </p> + <p> + “I'd gladly give him a hundred thousand for that miserable little dab of + timber and let him keep a couple of acres surrounding his wife's grave, if + the old fool would only listen to reason,” the Colonel had complained + bitterly to her. “I've offered him that price a score of times, and he + tells me blandly the property isn't for sale. Well, he who laughs last + laughs best, and if I can't get that quarter-section by paying more than + ten times what it's worth in the open market, I'll get it some other way, + if it costs me a million.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” Shirley had queried at the time. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, my dear,” he had answered darkly. “You wouldn't understand + the procedure if I told you. I'll have to run all around Robin Hood's barn + and put up a deal of money, one way or another, but in the end I'll get it + all back with interest—and Cardigan's Redwoods! The old man can't + last forever, and what with his fool methods of doing business, he's about + broke, anyhow. I expect to do business with his executor or his receiver + within a year.” + </p> + <p> + Shirley, as explained in a preceding chapter, had been present the night + John Cardigan, desperate and brought to bay at last, had telephoned + Pennington at the latter's home, accepting Pennington's last offer for the + Valley of the Giants. The cruel triumph in the Colonel's handsome face as + he curtly rebuffed old Cardigan had been too apparent for the girl to + mistake; recalling her conversation with him anent the impending + possibility of his doing business with John Cardigan's receiver or + executor, she realized now that a crisis had come in the affairs of the + Cardigans, and across her vision there flashed again the vision of Bryce + Cardigan's homecoming—of a tall old man with his trembling arms + clasped around his boy, with grizzled cheek laid against his son's, as one + who, seeking comfort through bitter years, at length had found it. + </p> + <p> + Presently another thought came to Shirley. She knew Bryce Cardigan was far + from being indifferent to her; she had given him his opportunity to be + friendly with her again, and he had chosen to ignore her though sorely + against his will. For weeks Shirley had pondered this mysterious action, + and now she thought she caught a glimpse of the reason underlying it all. + In Sequoia, Bryce Cardigan was regarded as the heir to the throne of + Humboldt's first timber-king, but Shirley knew now that as a timber-king, + Bryce Cardigan bade fair to wear a tinsel crown. Was it this knowledge + that had led him to avoid her? + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” she mused. “He's proud. Perhaps the realization that he will + soon be penniless and shorn of his high estate has made him chary of + acquiring new friends in his old circle. Perhaps if he were secure in his + business affairs—Ah, yes! Poor boy! He was desperate for fifty + thousand dollars!” Her heart swelled. “Oh, Bryce, Bryce,” she murmured, “I + think I'm beginning to understand some of your fury that day in the woods. + It's all a great mystery, but I'm sure you didn't intend to be so—so + terrible. Oh, my dear, if we had only continued to be the good friends we + started out to be, perhaps you'd let me help you now. For what good is + money if one cannot help one's dear friends in distress. Still, I know you + wouldn't let me help you, for men of your stamp cannot borrow from a + woman, no matter how desperate their need. And yet—you only need a + paltry fifty thousand dollars!” + </p> + <p> + Shirley carried to bed with her that night the woes of the Cardigans, and + in the morning she telephoned Moira McTavish and invited the latter to + lunch with her at home that noon. It was in her mind to question Moira + with a view to acquiring additional information. When Moira came, Shirley + saw that she had been weeping. + </p> + <p> + “My poor Moira!” she said, putting her arms around her visitor. “What has + happened to distress you? Has your father come back to Sequoia? Forgive me + for asking. You never mentioned him, but I have heard—There, there, + dear! Tell me all about it.” + </p> + <p> + Moira laid her head on Shirley's shoulder and sobbed for several minutes. + Then, “It's Mr. Bryce,” she wailed. “He's so unhappy. Something's + happened; they're going to sell Cardigan's Redwoods; and they—don't + want to. Old Mr. Cardigan is home—ill; and just before I left the + office, Mr. Bryce came in—and stood a moment looking—at me—so + tragically I—I asked him what had happened. Then he patted my cheek—oh, + I know I'm just one of his responsibilities—and said 'Poor Moira! + Never any luck!' and went into his—private office. I waited a + little, and then I went in too; and—oh, Miss Sumner, he had his head + down on his desk, and when I touched his head, he reached up and took my + hand and held it—and laid his cheek against it a little while—and + oh, his cheek was wet. It's cruel of God—to make him—unhappy, + He's good—too good. And—oh, I love him so, Miss Shirley, I + love him so—and he'll never, never know. I'm just one of his—responsibilities, + you know; and I shouldn't presume. But nobody—has ever been kind to + me but Mr. Bryce—and you. And I can't help loving people who are + kind—and gentle to nobodies.” + </p> + <p> + The hysterical outburst over, Shirley led the girl to her cozy + sitting-room upstairs and prevailed upon the girl to put on one of her own + beautiful negligees. Moira's story—her confession of love, so tragic + because so hopeless—had stirred Shirley deeply. She seated herself + in front of Moira and cupped her chin in her palm. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, dear,” she said, “you couldn't possibly see anybody you loved + suffer so and not feel dreadfully about it. And when a man like Bryce + Cardigan is struck down, he's apt to present rather a tragic and helpless + figure. He wanted sympathy, Moira—woman's sympathy, and it was dear + of you to give it to him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd gladly die for him,” Moira answered simply. “Oh, Miss Shirley, you + don't know him the way we who work for him do. If you did, you'd love him, + too. You couldn't help it, Miss Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he loves you, too, Moira.” The words came with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + Moira shook her head hopelessly. “No, Miss Shirley. I'm only one of his + many human problems, and he just won't go back on me, for old sake's sake. + We played together ten years ago, when he used to spend his vacations at + our house in Cardigan's woods, when my father was woods-boss. He's Bryce + Cardigan—and I—I used to work in the kitchen of his + logging-camp.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Moira. He may love you, even though you do not suspect it. + You mustn't be so despairing. Providence has a way of working out these + things. Tell me about his trouble, Moira.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it's money. He's been terribly worried for a long time, and I'm + afraid things aren't going right with the business. I've felt ever since + I've been there that there's something that puts a cloud over Mr. Bryce's + smile. It hurts them terribly to have to sell the Valley of the Giants, + but they have to; Colonel Pennington is the only one who would consider + buying it; they don't want him to have it—and still they have to + sell to him.” + </p> + <p> + “I happen to know, Moira, that he isn't going to buy it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is—but not at a price that will do them any good. They have + always thought he would be eager to buy whenever they decided to sell, and + now he says he doesn't want it, and old Mr. Cardigan is ill over it all. + Mr. Bryce says his father has lost his courage at last; and oh, dear, + things are in such a mess. Mr. Bryce started to tell me all about it—and + then he stopped suddenly and wouldn't say another word.” + </p> + <p> + Shirley smiled. She thought she understood the reason for that. However, + she did not pause to speculate on it, since the crying need of the present + was the distribution of a ray of sunshine to broken-hearted Moira. + </p> + <p> + “Silly,” she chided, “how needlessly you are grieving! You say my uncle + has declined to buy the Valley of the Giants?” + </p> + <p> + Moira nodded. + </p> + <p> + “My uncle doesn't know what he's talking about, Moira. I'll see that he + does buy it. What price are the Cardigans asking for it now?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Colonel Pennington has offered them a hundred thousand dollars for + it time and again, but last night he withdrew that offer. Then they named + a price of fifty thousand, and he said he didn't want it at all.” + </p> + <p> + “He needs it, and it's worth every cent of a hundred thousand to him, + Moira. Don't worry, dear. He'll buy it, because I'll make him, and he'll + buy it immediately; only you must promise me not to mention a single word + of what I'm telling you to Bryce Cardigan, or in fact, to anybody. Do you + promise?” + </p> + <p> + Moira seized Shirley's hand and kissed it impulsively. “Very well, then,” + Shirley continued. “That matter is adjusted, and now we'll all be happy. + Here comes Thelma with luncheon. Cheer up, dear, and remember that + sometime this afternoon you're going to see Mr. Bryce smile again, and + perhaps there won't be so much of a cloud over his smile this time.” + </p> + <p> + When Moira returned to the office of the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company, + Shirley rang for her maid. “Bring me my motor-coat and hat, Thelma,” she + ordered, “and telephone for the limousine.” She seated herself before the + mirror at her dressing-table and dusted her adorable nose with a + powder-puff. “Mr. Smarty Cardigan,” she murmured happily, “you walked + rough-shod over my pride, didn't you! Placed me under an obligation I + could never hope to meet—and then ignored me—didn't you? Very + well, old boy. We all have our innings sooner or later, you know, and I'm + going to make a substantial payment on that huge obligation as sure as my + name is Shirley Sumner. Then, some day when the sun is shining for you + again, you'll come to me and be very, very humble. You're entirely too + independent, Mr. Cardigan, but, oh, my dear, I do hope you will not need + so much money. I'll be put to my wit's end to get it to you without + letting you know, because if your affairs go to smash, you'll be perfectly + intolerable. And yet you deserve it. You're such an idiot for not loving + Moira. She's an angel, and I gravely fear I'm just an interfering, + mischievous, resentful little devil seeking vengeance on—” + </p> + <p> + She paused suddenly. “No, I'll not do that, either,” she soliloquized. + “I'll keep it myself—for an investment. I'll show Uncle Seth I'm a + business woman, after all. He has had his fair chance at the Valley of the + Giants, after waiting years for it, and now he has deliberately sacrificed + that chance to be mean and vindictive. I'm afraid Uncle Seth isn't very + sporty—after what Bryce Cardigan did for us that day the log-train + ran away. I'll have to teach him not to hit an old man when he's down and + begging for mercy. <i>I</i>'LL buy the Valley but keep my identity secret + from everybody; then, when Uncle Seth finds a stranger in possession, + he'll have a fit, and perhaps, before he recovers, he'll sell me all his + Squaw Creek timber—only he'll never know I'm the buyer. And when I + control the outlet—well, I think that Squaw Creek timber will make + an excellent investment if it's held for a few years. Shirley, my dear, + I'm pleased with you. Really, I never knew until now why men could be so + devoted to business. Won't it be jolly to step in between Uncle Seth and + Bryce Cardigan, hold up my hand like a policeman, and say: 'Stop it, boys. + No fighting, IF you please. And if anybody wants to know who's boss around + here, start something.'” + </p> + <p> + And Shirley laid her head upon the dressing-table and laughed heartily. + She had suddenly bethought herself of Aesop's fable of the lion and the + mouse! + </p> + <p> + When her uncle came home that night, Shirley observed that he was + preoccupied and disinclined to conversation. + </p> + <p> + “I noticed in this evening's paper,” she remarked presently, “that Mr. + Cardigan has sold his Valley of the Giants. So you bought it, after all?” + </p> + <p> + “No such luck!” he almost barked. “I'm an idiot. I should be placed in + charge of a keeper. Now, for heaven's sake, Shirley, don't discuss that + timber with me, for if you do, I'll go plain, lunatic crazy. I've had a + very trying day.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Uncle Seth!” she purred sweetly. Her apparent sympathy soothed his + rasped soul. He continued: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll get the infernal property, and it will be worth what I have to + pay for it, only it certainly does gravel me to realize that I am about to + be held up, with no help in sight. I'll see Judge Moore to-morrow and + offer him a quick profit for his client. That's the game, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I do hope the new owner exhibits some common sense, Uncle dear,” she + replied, and turned back to the piano. “But I greatly fear,” she added to + herself, “that the new owner is going to prove a most obstinate creature + and frightfully hard to discover.” + </p> + <p> + True to his promise, the Colonel called on Judge Moore bright and early + the following morning. “Act Three of that little business drama entitled + 'The Valley of the Giants,' my dear Judge,” he announced pleasantly. “I + play the lead in this act. You remember me, I hope. I played a bit in Act + Two.” + </p> + <p> + “In so far as my information goes, sir, you've been cut out of the cast in + Act Three. I don't seem to find any lines for you to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “One line, Judge, one little line. What profit does your client want on + that quarter-section?” + </p> + <p> + “That quarter-section is not in the market, Colonel. When it is, I'll send + for you, since you're the only logical prospect should my client decide to + sell. And remembering how you butted in on politics in this county last + fall and provided a slush-fund to beat me and place a crook on the + Superior Court bench, in order to give you an edge in the many suits you + are always filing or having filed against you, I rise to remark that you + have about ten split seconds in which to disappear from my office. If you + linger longer, I'll start throwing paper-weights.” And as if to emphasize + his remark, the Judge's hand closed over one of the articles in question. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel withdrew with what dignity he could muster. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + Upon his return from the office that night, Bryce Cardigan found his + father had left his bed and was seated before the library fire. + </p> + <p> + “Feeling a whole lot better to-day, eh, pal?” his son queried. + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan smiled. “Yes, son,” he replied plaintively. “I guess I'll + manage to live till next spring.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knew there was nothing wrong with you, John Cardigan, that a + healthy check wouldn't cure. Pennington rather jolted you, though, didn't + he?” + </p> + <p> + “He did, Bryce. It was jolt enough to be forced to sell that quarter—I + never expected we'd have to do it; but when I realize that it was a case + of sacrificing you or my Giants, of course you won. And I didn't feel so + badly about it as I used to think I would. I suppose that's because there + is a certain morbid pleasure in a real sacrifice for those we love. And I + never doubted but that Pennington would snap up the property the instant I + offered to sell. Hence his refusal—in the face of our desperate need + for money to carry on until conditions improve—almost floored your + old man.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can afford to draw our breath now, and that gives us a fighting + chance, partner. And right after dinner you and I will sit down and start + brewing a pot of powerful bad medicine for the Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “Son, I've been sitting here simmering all day.” There was a note of the + old dominant fighting John Cardigan in his voice now. “And it has occurred + to me that even if I must sit on the bench and root, I've not reached the + point where my years have begun to affect my thinking ability.” He touched + his leonine head. “I'm as right as a fox upstairs, Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “Right-o, Johnny. We'll buck the line together. After dinner you trot out + your plan of campaign and I'll trot out mine; then we'll tear them apart, + select the best pieces of each and weld them into a perfect whole.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, dinner disposed of, father and son sat down together to + prepare the plan of campaign. For the space of several minutes a silence + settled between them, the while they puffed meditatively upon their + cigars. Then the old man spoke. + </p> + <p> + “We'll have to fight him in the dark.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because if Pennington knows, or even suspects the identity of the man who + is going to parallel his logging railroad, he will throw all the weight of + his truly capable mind, his wealth and his ruthlessness against you—and + you will be smashed. To beat that man, you must do more than spend money. + You will have to outthink him, outwork him, outgame him, and when + eventually you have won, you'll know you've been in the fight of your + career. You have one advantage starting out. The Colonel doesn't think you + have the courage to parallel his road in the first place; in the second + place, he knows you haven't the money; and in the third place he is + morally certain you cannot borrow it, because you haven't any collateral + to secure your note. + </p> + <p> + “We are mortgaged now to the limit, and our floating indebtedness is very + large; on the face of things and according to the Colonel's very correct + inside information, we're helpless; and unless the lumber-market stiffens + very materially this year, by the time our hauling-contract with + Pennington's road expires, we'll be back where we were yesterday before we + sold the Giants. Pennington regards that hundred thousand as get-away + money for us. So, all things considered, the Colonel, will be slow to + suspect us of having an ace in the hole; but by jinks we have it, and + we're going to play it.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bryce, “we're going to let somebody else play it for us. The + point you make—to wit, that we must remain absolutely in the + background—is well taken.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” agreed the old man. “Now let us proceed to the next point. + You must engage some reliable engineer to look over the proposed route of + the road and give us an estimate of the cost of construction.” + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of argument we will consider that done, and that the + estimate comes within the scope of the sum Gregory is willing to advance + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Your third step, then, will be to incorporate a railroad company under + the laws of the State of California.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll favour the fair State of New Jersey with our trade,” Bryce + suggested dryly. “I notice that when Pennington bought out the Henderson + interests and reorganized that property, he incorporated the Laguna Grande + Lumber Company under the laws of the State of New Jersey, home of the + trusts. There must be some advantage connected with such a course.” + </p> + <p> + “Have it your own way, boy. What's good enough for the Colonel is good + enough for us. Now, then, you are going to incorporate a company to build + a road twelve miles long—and a private road, at that. That would be + a fatal step. Pennington would know somebody was going to build a + logging-road, and regardless of who the builders were, he would have to + fight them in self-protection. How are you going to cover your trail, my + son?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce pondered. “I will, to begin, have a dummy board of directors. Also, + my road cannot be private; it must be a common carrier, and that's where + the shoe pinches. Common carriers are subject to the rules and regulations + of the Railroad Commission.” + </p> + <p> + “They are wise and just rules,” commented the old man, “expensive to obey + at times, but quite necessary. We can obey and still be happy. Objection + overruled.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, since we must be a common carrier, we might as well carry our + deception still further and incorporate for the purpose of building a road + from Sequoia to Grant's Pass, Oregon, there to connect with the Southern + Pacific.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan smiled. “The old dream revived, eh? Well, the old jokes + always bring a hearty laugh. People will laugh at your company, because + folks up this way realize that the construction cost of such a road is + prohibitive, not to mention the cost of maintenance, which would be + tremendous and out of all proportion to the freight area tapped.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, since we're not going to build more than twelve miles of our road + during the next year, and probably not more than ten miles additional + during the present century, we won't worry over it. It doesn't cost a cent + more to procure a franchise to build a road from here to the moon. If we + fail to build to Grant's Pass, our franchise to build the uncompleted + portion of the road merely lapses and we hold only that portion which we + have constructed. That's all we want to hold.” + </p> + <p> + “How about rights of way?” + </p> + <p> + “They will cost us very little, if anything. Most or the landowners along + the proposed route will give us rights of way free gratis and for nothing, + just to encourage the lunatics. Without a railroad the land is valueless; + and as a common carrier they know we can condemn rights of way + capriciously withheld—something we cannot do as a private road. + Moreover, deeds to rights of way can be drawn with a time-limit, after + which they revert to the original owners.” + </p> + <p> + “Good strategy, my son! And certainly as a common carrier we will be + welcomed by the farmers and cattlemen along our short line. We can handle + their freight without much annoyance and perhaps at a slight profit.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that about completes the rough outline of our plan. The next thing + to do is to start and keep right on moving, for as old Omar has it, 'The + bird of time hath but a little way to flutter,' and the birdshot is + catching up with him. We have a year in which to build our road; if we do + not hurry, the mill will have to shut down for lack of logs, when our + contract with Pennington expires.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget the manager for our new corporation—the vice-president + and general manager. The man we engage must be the fastest and most + convincing talker in California; not only must he be able to tell a lie + with a straight face, but he must be able to believe his own lies. And he + must talk in millions, look millions, and act as if a million dollars were + equivalent in value to a redwood stump. In addition, he must be a man of + real ability and a person you can trust implicitly.” + </p> + <p> + “I have the very man you mention. His name is Buck Ogilvy and only this + very day I received a letter from him begging me for a small loan. I have + Buck on ice in a fifth-class San Francisco hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about him, Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't have to. You've just told me about him, However, I'll read you his + letter. I claim there is more character in a letter than in a face.” + </p> + <p> + Here Bryce read aloud: + </p> + <p> + Golden Gate Hotel—Rooms fifty cents—and up. San Francisco, + California, August fifteenth, 1916. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR CARDIGAN: Hark to the voice of one crying in the wilderness; then + picture to yourself the unlovely spectacle of a strong man crying. + </p> + <p> + Let us assume that you have duly considered. Now wind up your wrist and + send me a rectangular piece of white, blue, green, or pink paper bearing + in the lower right-hand corner, in your clear, bold chirography, the magic + words “Bryce Cardigan”—with the little up-and-down hook and flourish + which identifies your signature given in your serious moods and lends + value to otherwise worthless paper. Five dollars would make me chirk up; + ten would start a slight smile; twenty would put a beam in mine eye; fifty + would cause me to utter shrill cries of unadulterated joys and a hundred + would inspire me to actions like unto those of a whirling dervish. + </p> + <p> + I am so flat busted my arches make hollow sounds as I tread the hard + pavements of a great city, seeking a job. Pausing on the brink of despair, + that destiny which shapes our ends inspired me to think of old times and + happier days and particularly of that pink-and-white midget of a girl who + tended the soda-fountain just back of the railroad station at Princeton. + You stole that damsel from me, and I never thanked you. Then I remembered + you were a timber-king with a kind heart and that you lived somewhere in + California; so I looked in the telephone book and found the address of the + San Francisco office of the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company. You have a + mean man in charge there. I called on him, told him I was an old college + pal of yours, and tried to borrow a dollar. He spurned me with contumely—so + much of it, in fact, that I imagine you have a number of such friends. + While he was abusing me, I stole from his desk the stamped envelope which + bears to you these tidings of great woe; and while awaiting your reply, be + advised that I subsist on the bitter cud of reflection, fresh air, and + water, all of which, thank God, cost nothing. + </p> + <p> + My tale is soon told. When you knew me last, I was a prosperous young + contractor. Alas! I put all my eggs in one basket and produced an omelet. + Took a contract to build a railroad in Honduras. Honduras got to fighting + with Nicaragua; the government I had done business with went out of + business; and the Nicaraguan army recruited all my labourers and mounted + them on my mules and horses, swiped all my grub, and told me to go home. I + went. Why stay? Moreover, I had an incentive consisting of about an inch + of bayonet—fortunately not applied in a vital spot—which + accelerated rather than decreased my speed. + </p> + <p> + Hurry, my dear Cardigan. Tempest fidgets; remember Moriarity—which, + if you still remember your Latin, means: “Time flies. Remember to-morrow!” + I finished eating my overcoat the day before yesterday. + </p> + <p> + Make it a hundred, and God will bless you. When I get it, I'll come to + Sequoia and kiss you. I'll pay you back sometime—of course. + </p> + <p> + Wistfully thine—Buck Ogilvy + </p> + <p> + P.S.—Delays are dangerous, and procrastination is the thief of time.—B. + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan chuckled. “I'd take Buck Ogilvy, Bryce. He'll do. Is he + honest?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. He was, the last time I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then wire him a hundred. Don't wait for the mail. The steamer that + carries your letter might be wrecked and your friend Ogilvy forced to + steal.” + </p> + <p> + “I have already wired him the hundred. In all probability he is now out + whirling like a dervish.” + </p> + <p> + “Good boy! Well, I think we've planned sufficient for the present, Bryce. + You'd better leave for San Francisco to-morrow and close your deal with + Gregory. Arrange with him to leave his own representative with Ogilvy to + keep tab on the job, check the bills, and pay them as they fall due; and + above all things, insist that Gregory shall place the money in a San + Francisco bank, subject to the joint check of his representative and ours. + Hire a good lawyer to draw up the agreement between you; be sure you're + right, and then go ahead—full speed. When you return to Sequoia, + I'll have a few more points to give you. I'll mull them over in the + meantime.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <p> + When Bryce Cardigan walked down the gang-plank at the steamship-dock in + San Francisco, the first face he saw among the waiting crowd was Buck + Ogilvy's. Mr. Ogilvy wore his over-coat and a joyous smile, proving that + in so far as he was concerned all was well with the world; he pressed + forward and thrust forth a great speckled paw for Bryce to shake. Bryce + ignored it. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you remember me?” Ogilvy demanded. “I'm Buck Ogilvy.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked him fairly in the eye and favoured him with a lightning wink. + “I have never heard of you, Mr. Ogilvy. You are mistaking me for someone + else.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry,” Ogilvy murmured. “My mistake! Thought you were Bill Kerrick, who + used to be a partner of mine. I'm expecting him on this boat, and he's the + speaking image of you.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded and passed on, hailed a taxicab, and was driven to the San + Francisco office of his company. Five minutes later the door opened and + Buck Ogilvy entered. + </p> + <p> + “I was a bit puzzled at the dock, Bryce,” he explained as they shook + hands, “but decided to play safe and then follow you to your office. + What's up? Have you killed somebody, and are the detectives on your trail? + If so, 'fess up and I'll assume the responsibility for your crime, just to + show you how grateful I am for that hundred.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I wasn't being shadowed, Buck, but my principal enemy was coming down + the gangplank right behind me, and—” + </p> + <p> + “So was my principal enemy,” Ogilvy interrupted. “What does our enemy look + like?” + </p> + <p> + “Like ready money. And if he had seen me shaking hands with you, he'd have + suspected a connection between us later on. Buck, you have a good job—about + five hundred a month.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, old man. I'd work for you for nothing. What are we going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Build twelve miles of logging railroad and parallel the line of the old + wolf I spoke of a moment ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Good news! We'll do it. How soon do you want it done?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as possible. You're the vice-president and general manager.” + </p> + <p> + “I accept the nomination. What do I do first?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen carefully to my story, analyze my plan for possible weak spots, + and then get busy, because after I have provided the funds and given the + word 'Go!' the rest is up to you. I must not be known in the transaction + at all, because that would be fatal. And I miss my guess if, once we start + building or advertising the building of the road, you and I and everybody + connected with the enterprise will not be shadowed day and night by an + army of Pinkertons.” + </p> + <p> + “I listen,” said Buck Ogilvy, and he inclined a large speckled ear in + Bryce's direction, the while his large speckled hand drew a scratch-pad + toward him. + </p> + <p> + Three hours later Ogilvy was in possession of the most minute details of + the situation in Sequoia, had tabulated, indexed, and cross-indexed them + in his ingenious brain and was ready for business—and so announced + himself. “And inasmuch as that hundred you sent me has been pretty well + shattered,” he concluded, “suppose you call in your cold-hearted manager + who refused me alms on your credit, and give him orders to honour my + sight-drafts. If I'm to light in Sequoia looking like ready money, I've + got to have some high-class, tailor-made clothes, and a shine and a shave + and a shampoo and a trunk and a private secretary. If there was a railroad + running into Sequoia, I'd insist on a private car.” + </p> + <p> + This final detail having been attended to, Mr. Ogilvy promptly proceeded + to forget business and launched forth into a recital of his manifold + adventures since leaving Princeton; and when at length all of their + classmates had been accounted for and listed as dead, married, prosperous, + or pauperized, the amiable and highly entertaining Buck took his departure + with the announcement that he would look around a little and try to buy + some good second-hand grading equipment and a locomotive, in addition to + casting an eye over the labour situation and sending a few wires East for + the purpose of sounding the market on steel rails. Always an enthusiast in + all things, in his mind's eye Mr. Ogilvy could already see a long + trainload of logs coming down the Northern California & Oregon + Railroad, as he and Bryce had decided to christen the venture. + </p> + <p> + “N. C. & O.,” Mr. Ogilvy murmured. “Sounds brisk and snappy. I like + it. Hope that old hunks Pennington likes it, too. He'll probably feel that + N. C. & O. stands for Northern California Outrage.” + </p> + <p> + When Bryce Cardigan returned to Sequoia, his labours, insofar as the + building of the road were concerned, had been completed. His agreement + with Gregory of the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company had been signed, + sealed, and delivered; the money to build the road had been deposited in + bank; and Buck Ogilvy was already spending it like a drunken sailor. From + now on, Bryce could only watch, wait, and pray. + </p> + <p> + On the next steamer a surveying party with complete camping-equipment + arrived in Sequoia, purchased a wagon and two horses, piled their dunnage + into the wagon, and disappeared up-country. Hard on their heels came Mr. + Buck Ogilvy, and occupied the bridal suite in the Hotel Sequoia, + arrangements for which had previously been made by wire. In the sitting + room of the suite Mr. Ogilvy installed a new desk, a filing-cabinet, and a + brisk young male secretary. + </p> + <p> + He had been in town less than an hour when the editor of the Sequoia + Sentinel sent up his card. The announcement of the incorporation of the + Northern California Outrage (for so had Mr. Ogilvy, in huge enjoyment of + the misery he was about to create, dubbed the road) had previously been + flashed to the Sentinel by the United Press Association, as a local + feature story, and already speculation was rife in Sequoia as to the + identity of the harebrained individuals who dared to back an enterprise as + nebulous as the millennium. Mr. Ogilvy was expecting the visit—in + fact, impatiently awaiting it; and since the easiest thing he did was to + speak for publication, naturally the editor of the Sentinel got a story + which, to that individual's simple soul, seemed to warrant a seven-column + head—which it received. Having boned up on the literature of the + Redwood Manufacturers' Association, what Buck Ogilvy didn't know about + redwood timber, redwood lumber, the remaining redwood acreage and market + conditions, past and present, might have been secreted in the editorial + eye without seriously hampering the editorial sight. He stated that the + capital behind the project was foreign, that he believed in the success of + the project and that his entire fortune was dependent upon the completion + of it. In glowing terms he spoke of the billions of tons of + timber-products to be hauled out of this wonderfully fertile and + little-known country, and confidently predicted for the county a future + commercial supremacy that would be simply staggering to contemplate. + </p> + <p> + When Colonel Seth Pennington read this outburst he smiled. “That's a + bright scheme on the part of that Trinidad Redwood Timber Company gang to + start a railroad excitement and unload their white elephant,” he declared. + “A scheme like that stuck them with their timber, and I suppose they + figure there's a sucker born every minute and that the same old gag might + work again. Chances are they have a prospect in tow already.” + </p> + <p> + When Bryce Cardigan read it, he laughed. The interview was so like Buck + Ogilvy! In the morning the latter's automobile was brought up from the + steamship-dock, and accompanied by his secretary, Mr. Ogilvy disappeared + into the north following the bright new stakes of his surveying-gang, and + for three weeks was seen no more. As for Bryce Cardigan, that young man + buckled down to business, and whenever questioned about the new railroad + was careful to hoot at the idea. + </p> + <p> + On a day when Bryce's mind happened to be occupied with thoughts of + Shirley Sumner, he bumped into her on the main street of Sequoia, and to + her great relief but profound surprise, he paused in his tracks, lifted + his hat, smiled, and opened his mouth to say something—thought + better of it, changed his mind, and continued on about his business. As + Shirley passed him, she looked him squarely in the face, and in her glance + there was neither coldness nor malice. + </p> + <p> + Bryce felt himself afire from heels to hair one instant, and cold and + clammy the next, for Shirley spoke to him. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mr. Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, turned, and approached her. “Good morning, Shirley,” he + replied. “How have you been?” + </p> + <p> + “I might have been dead, for all the interest you took in me,” she replied + sharply. “As matters stand, I'm exceedingly well—thank you. By the + way, are you still belligerent?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. “I have to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Still peeved at my uncle?” + </p> + <p> + Again he nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I think you're a great big grouch, Bryce Cardigan,” she flared at him + suddenly. “You make me unutterably weary.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” he answered, “but just at present I am forced to subject you + to the strain. Say a year from now, when things are different with me, + I'll strive not to offend.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not be here a year from now,” she warned him. He bowed. “Then I'll + go wherever you are—and bring you back.” And with a mocking little + grin, he lifted his hat and passed on. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <p> + Though Buck Ogilvy was gone from Sequoia for a period of three weeks, he + was by no means forgotten. His secretary proved to be an industrious + press-agent who by mail, telegraph, and long-distance telephone managed + daily to keep the editor of the Sequoia Sentinel fully apprised of all + developments in the matter of the Northern California Oregon Railroad + Company—including some that had not as yet developed! The result was + copious and persistent publicity for the new railroad company, and the + arousing in the public mind of a genuine interest in this railroad which + was to do so much for the town of Sequoia. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Seth Pennington was among those who, skeptical at first and + inclined to ridicule the project into an early grave, eventually found + himself swayed by the publicity and gradually coerced into serious + consideration of the results attendant upon the building of the road. The + Colonel was naturally as suspicious as a rattlesnake in August; hence he + had no sooner emerged from the ranks of the frank scoffers than his alert + mind framed the question: + </p> + <p> + “How is this new road—improbable as I know it to be—going to + affect the interests of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, if the + unexpected should happen and those bunco-steerers should actually build a + road from Sequoia to Grant's Pass, Oregon, and thus construct a feeder to + a transcontinental line?” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes of serious reflection sufficed to bring the Colonel to the + verge of panic, notwithstanding the fact that he was ashamed of himself + for yielding to fright despite his firm belief that there was no reason + why he should be frightened. Similar considerations occur to a small boy + who is walking home in the dark past a cemetery. + </p> + <p> + The vital aspects of his predicament dawned on the Colonel one night at + dinner, midway between the soup and the fish. So forcibly did they occur + to him, in fact, that for the nonce he forgot that his niece was seated + opposite him. + </p> + <p> + “Confound them,” the Colonel murmured distinctly, “I must look into this + immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “Look into what, Uncle dear?” Shirley asked innocently. + </p> + <p> + “This new railroad that man Ogilvy talks of building—which means, + Shirley, that with Sequoia as his starting point, he is going to build a + hundred and fifty miles north to connect with the main line of the + Southern Pacific in Oregon.” + </p> + <p> + “But wouldn't that be the finest thing that could possibly happen to + Humboldt County?” she demanded of him. + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly it would—to Humboldt County; but to the Laguna Grande + Lumber Company, in which you have something more than a sentimental + interest, my dear, it would be a blow. A large part of the estate left by + your father is invested in Laguna Grande stock, and as you know, all of my + efforts are devoted to appreciating that stock and to fighting against + anything that has a tendency to depreciate it.” + </p> + <p> + “Which reminds me, Uncle Seth, that you never discuss with me any of the + matters pertaining to my business interests,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + He beamed upon her with his patronizing and indulgent smile. “There is no + reason why you should puzzle that pretty head of yours with business + affairs while I am alive and on the job,” he answered. “However, since you + have expressed a desire to have this railroad situation explained to you, + I will do so. I am not interested in seeing a feeder built from Sequoia + north to Grant's Pass, and connecting with the Southern Pacific, but I am + tremendously interested in seeing a feeder built south from Sequoia toward + San Francisco, to connect with the Northwestern Pacific.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “For cold, calculating business reasons, my dear.” He hesitated a moment + and then resumed: “A few months ago I would not have told you the things I + am about to tell you, Shirley, for the reason that a few months ago it + seemed to me you were destined to become rather friendly with young + Cardigan. When that fellow desires to be agreeable, he can be rather a + likable boy—lovable, even. You are both young; with young people who + have many things in common and are thrown together in a community like + Sequoia, a lively friendship may develop into an ardent love; and it has + been my experience that ardent love not infrequently leads to the altar.” + </p> + <p> + Shirley blushed, and her uncle chuckled good-naturedly. “Fortunately,” he + continued, “Bryce Cardigan had the misfortune to show himself to you in + his true colours, and you had the good sense to dismiss him. Consequently + I see no reason why I should not explain to you now what I considered it + the part of wisdom to withhold from you at that time—provided, of + course, that all this does not bore you to extinction.” + </p> + <p> + “Do go on, Uncle Seth. I'm tremendously interested,” averred Shirley. + </p> + <p> + “Shortly after I launched the Laguna Grande Lumber Company—in which, + as your guardian and executor of your father's estate, I deemed it wise to + invest part of your inheritance—I found myself forced to seek + further for sound investments for your surplus funds. Now, good timber, + bought cheap, inevitably will be sold dear. At least, such has been my + observation during a quarter of a century—and old John Cardigan had + some twenty thousand acres of the finest redwood timber in the State—timber + which had cost him an average price of less than fifty cents per thousand. + </p> + <p> + “Well, in this instance the old man had overreached himself, and finding + it necessary to increase his working capital, he incorporated his holdings + into the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company and floated a bond-issue of a + million dollars. They were twenty-year six per cent. certificates; the + security was ample, and I invested for you three hundred thousand dollars + in Cardigan bonds. I bought them at eighty, and they were worth two + hundred; at least, they would have been worth two hundred under my + management—” + </p> + <p> + “How did you manage to buy them so cheap?” she interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Old Cardigan had had a long run of bad luck—due to bad management + and bad judgment, my dear—and when a corporation is bonded, the + bondholders have access to its financial statements. From time to time I + discovered bondholders who needed money and hence unloaded at a sacrifice; + but by far the majority of the bonds I purchased for your account were + owned by local people who had lost confidence in John Cardigan and the + future of the redwood lumber industry hereabouts. You understand, do you + not?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand what all this has to do with a railroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well—I shall proceed to explain.” He held up his index finger. + “Item one: For years old John Cardigan has rendered valueless, because + inaccessible, twenty-five hundred acres of Laguna Grande timber on Squaw + Creek. His absurd Valley of the Giants blocks the outlet, and of course he + persisted in refusing me a right of way through that little dab of timber + in order to discourage me and force me to sell him that Squaw Creek timber + at his price.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Shirley agreed, “I dare say that was his object. Was it + reprehensible of him, Uncle Seth?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit, my dear. He was simply playing the cold game of business. I + would have done the same thing to Cardigan had the situation been + reversed. We played a game together—and I admit that he won, fairly + and squarely.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why is it that you feel such resentment against him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't resent the old fool, Shirley. He merely annoys me. I suppose + I feel a certain natural chagrin at having been beaten, and in consequence + cherish an equally natural desire to pay the old schemer back in his own + coin. Under the rules as we play the game, such action on my part is + perfectly permissible, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she agreed frankly, “I think it is, Uncle Seth. Certainly, if he + blocked you and rendered your timber valueless, there is no reason why, if + you have the opportunity, you should not block him—and render his + timber valueless.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel banged the table with his fist so heartily that the silver + fairly leaped. “Spoken like a man!” he declared. “I HAVE the opportunity + and am proceeding to impress the Cardigans with the truth of the old + saying that every dog must have his day. When Cardigan's contract with our + road for the hauling of his logs expires by limitation next year, I am not + going to renew it—at least not until I have forced him to make me + the concessions I desire, and certainly not at the present ruinous + freight-rate.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Shirley eagerly, “if you got a right of way through his + Valley of the Giants, you would renew the contract he has with you for the + hauling of his logs, would you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I would have, before young Cardigan raised such Hades that day in the + logging-camp, before old Cardigan sold his Valley of the Giants to another + burglar—and before I had gathered indubitable evidence that neither + of the Cardigans knows enough about managing a sawmill and selling lumber + to guarantee a reasonable profit on the capital they have invested and + still pay the interest on their bonded and floating indebtedness. Shirley, + I bought those Cardigan bonds for you because I thought old Cardigan knew + his business and would make the bonds valuable—make them worth par. + Instead, the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company is tottering on the verge of + bankruptcy; the bonds I purchased for you are now worth less than I paid + for them, and by next year the Cardigans will default on the interest. + </p> + <p> + “So I'm going to sit tight and decline to have any more business dealings + with the Cardigans. When their hauling contract expires, I shall not renew + it under any circumstances; that will prevent them from getting logs, and + so they will automatically go out of the lumber business and into the + hands of a receiver; and since you are the largest individual stockholder, + I, representing you and a number of minor bondholders, will dominate the + executive committee of the bondholders when they meet to consider what + shall be done when the Cardigans default on their interest and the payment + due the sinking fund. I shall then have myself appointed receiver for the + Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company, investigate its affairs thoroughly, and + see for myself whether or no there is a possibility of working it out of + the jam it is in and saving you a loss on your bonds. + </p> + <p> + “I MUST pursue this course, my dear, in justice to you and the other + bondholders. If, on the other hand, I find the situation hopeless or + conclude that a period of several years must ensue before the Cardigans + work out of debt, I shall recommend to the bank which holds the deed of + trust and acts as trustee, that the property be sold at public auction to + the highest bidder to reimburse the bondholders. Of course,” he hastened + to add, “if the property sells for more than the corporation owes such + excess will then in due course be turned over to the Cardigans.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it likely to sell at a price in excess of the indebtedness?” Shirley + queried anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “It is possible, but scarcely probable,” he answered dryly. “I have in + mind, under those circumstances, bidding the property in for the Laguna + Grande Lumber Company and merging it with our holdings, paying part of the + purchase-price of the Cardigan property in Cardigan bonds, and the + remainder in cash.” + </p> + <p> + “But what will the Cardigans do then, Uncle Seth?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, long before the necessity for such a contingency arises, the old + man will have been gathered to the bosom of Abraham; and after the + Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company has ceased to exist, young Cardigan can go + to work for a living.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you give him employment, Uncle Seth?” + </p> + <p> + “I would not. Do you think I'm crazy, Shirley? Remember, my dear, there is + no sentiment in business. If there was, we wouldn't have any business.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I understand, Uncle Seth—with the exception of what effect + the building of the N. C. O. has upon your plans.” + </p> + <p> + “Item two,” he challenged, and ticked it off on his middle finger. “The + Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company owns two fine bodies of redwood timber + widely separated—one to the south of Sequoia in the San Hedrin + watershed and at present practically valueless because inaccessible, and + the other to the north of Sequoia, immediately adjoining our holdings in + Township Nine and valuable because of its accessibility.” He paused a + moment and looked at her smilingly, “The logging railroad of our + corporation, the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, makes it accessible. Now, + while the building of the N.C.O. would be a grand thing for the county in + general, we can get along without it because it doesn't help us out + particularly. We already have a railroad running from our timber to + tidewater, and we can reach the markets of the world with our ships.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I understand, Uncle Seth. When Cardigan's hauling contract with + our road expires, his timber in Township Nine will depreciate in value + because it will no longer be accessible, while our timber, being still + accessible, retains its value.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. And to be perfectly frank with you, Shirley, I do not want + Cardigan's timber in Township Nine given back its value through + accessibility provided by the N.C.O. If that road is not built, Cardigan's + timber in Township Nine will be valuable to us, but not to another living + soul. Moreover, the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company has a raft of fine + timber still farther north and adjoining the holdings of our company and + Cardigan's, and if this infernal N.C.O. isn't built, we'll be enabled to + buy that Trinidad timber pretty cheap one of these bright days, too.” + </p> + <p> + “All of which appears to me to constitute sound business logic, Uncle + Seth.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. “Item three,” he continued, and ticked it off on his third + finger: “I want to see the feeder for a transcontinental line built into + Sequoia from the south, for the reason that it will tap the Cardigan + holdings in the San Hedrin watershed and give a tremendous value to timber + which at the present time is rather a negative asset; consequently I would + prefer to have that value created after Cardigan's San Hedrin timber has + been merged with the assets of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company.” + </p> + <p> + “And so—” + </p> + <p> + “I must investigate this N.C.O. outfit and block it if possible—and + it should be possible.” + </p> + <p> + “How, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't considered the means, my dear. Those come later. For the + present I am convinced that the N.C.O. is a corporate joke, sprung on the + dear public by the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company to get the said dear + public excited, create a real-estate boom, and boost timber-values. Before + the boom collapses—a condition which will follow the collapse of the + N.C.O.—the Trinidad people hope to sell their holdings and get from + under.” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” said Shirley, demurely, “the more I see of business, the more + fascinating I find it.” + </p> + <p> + “Shirley, it's the grandest game in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” she added musingly, “old Mr. Cardigan is so blind and + helpless.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll be saying that about me some day if I live to be as old as John + Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, I feel sorry for him, Uncle Seth.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you'll continue to waste your sympathy on him rather than on his + son, I'll not object,” he retorted laughingly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bryce Cardigan is able to take care of himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and mean enough.” + </p> + <p> + “He saved our lives, Uncle Seth.” + </p> + <p> + “He had to—in order to save his own. Don't forget that, my dear.” + Carefully he dissected a sand-dab and removed the backbone. “I'd give a + ripe peach to learn the identity of the scheming buttinsky who bought old + Cardigan's Valley of the Giants,” he said presently. “I'll be hanged if + that doesn't complicate matters a little.” + </p> + <p> + “You should have bought it when the opportunity offered,” she reminded + him. “You could have had it then for fifty thousand dollars less than you + would have paid for it a year ago—and I'm sure that should have been + sufficient indication to you that the game you and the Cardigans had been + playing so long had come to an end. He was beaten and acknowledged it, and + I think you might have been a little more generous to your fallen enemy, + Uncle Seth.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say,” he admitted lightly. “However, I wasn't, and now I'm going + to be punished for it, my dear: so don't roast me any more. By the way, + that speckled hot-air fellow Ogilvy, who is promoting the Northern + California Oregon Railroad, is back in town again. Somehow, I haven't much + confidence in that fellow. I think I'll wire the San Francisco office to + look him up in Dun's and Bradstreet's. Folks up this way are taking too + much for granted on that fellow's mere say—so, but I for one intend + to delve for facts—particularly with regard to the N.C.O. bank-roll + and Ogilvy's associates. I'd sleep a whole lot more soundly to-night if I + knew the answer to two very important questions.” + </p> + <p> + “What are they, Uncle Seth?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'd like to know whether the N.C.O. is genuine or a screen to hide + the operations of the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company.” + </p> + <p> + “It might,” said Shirley, with one of those sudden flashes of intuition + peculiar to women, “be a screen to hide the operations of Bryce Cardigan. + Now that he knows you aren't going to renew his hauling contract, he may + have decided to build his own logging railroad.” + </p> + <p> + After a pause the Colonel made answer: “No, I have no fear of that. It + would cost five hundred thousand dollars to build that twelve-mile line + and bridge Mad River, and the Cardigans haven't got that amount of money. + What's more, they can't get it.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose,” she persisted, “that the real builder of the road should + prove to be Bryce Cardigan, after all. What would you do?” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pennington's eyes twinkled. “I greatly fear, my dear, I should + make a noise like something doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you lost the battle.” + </p> + <p> + “In that event the Laguna Grande Lumber Company wouldn't be any worse off + than it is at present. The principal loser, as I view the situation, would + be Miss Shirley Sumner, who has the misfortune to be loaded up with + Cardigan bonds. And as for Bryce Cardigan—well, that young man would + certainly know he'd been through a fight.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if he'll fight to the last, Uncle Seth.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I believe he will,” Pennington replied soberly. + </p> + <p> + “I'd love to see you beat him.” + </p> + <p> + “Shirley! Why, my dear, you're growing ferocious.” Her uncle's tones were + laden with banter, but his countenance could not conceal the pleasure her + last remark had given him. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I have something at stake, have I not?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you really want me to smash him?” The Colonel's voice proclaimed his + incredulity. + </p> + <p> + “You got me into this fight by buying Cardigan bonds for me,” she replied + meaningly, “and I look to you to save the investment or as much of it as + possible; for certainly, if it should develop that the Cardigans are the + real promoters of the N.C.O., to permit them to go another half-million + dollars into debt in a forlorn hope of saving a company already top-heavy + with indebtedness wouldn't savor of common business sense. Would it?” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel rose hastily, came around the table, and kissed her + paternally. “My dear,” he murmured, “you're such a comfort to me. Upon my + word, you are.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad you have explained the situation to me, Uncle Seth.” + </p> + <p> + “I would have explained it long ago had I not cherished a sneaking + suspicion that—er—well, that despite everything, young + Cardigan might—er—influence you against your better judgment + and—er—mine.” + </p> + <p> + “You silly man!” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged. “One must figure every angle of a possible situation, my + dear, and I should hesitate to start something with the Cardigans, and + have you, because of foolish sentiment, call off my dogs.” + </p> + <p> + Shirley thrust out her adorable chin aggressively. “Sick 'em. Tige!” she + answered. “Shake 'em up, boy!” + </p> + <p> + “You bet I'll shake 'em up,” the Colonel declared joyously. He paused with + a morsel of food on his fork and waved the fork at her aggressively. “You + stimulate me into activity, Shirley. My mind has been singularly dull of + late; I have worried unnecessarily, but now that I know you are with me, I + am inspired. I'll tell you how we'll fix this new railroad, if it exhibits + signs of being dangerous.” Again he smote the table. “We'll sew 'em up + tighter than a new buttonhole.” + </p> + <p> + “Do tell me how,” she pleaded eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I'll block them on their franchise to run over the city streets of + Sequoia.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “By making the mayor and the city council see things my way,” he answered + dryly. “Furthermore, in order to enter Sequoia, the N. C. O. will have to + cross the tracks of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's line on Water + Street—make a jump-crossing—and I'll enjoin them and hold them + up in the courts till the cows come home.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Seth, you're a wizard.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, at least I'm no slouch at looking after my own interests—and + yours, Shirley. In the midst of peace we should be prepared for war. + You've met Mayor Poundstone and his lady, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I had tea at her house last week.” + </p> + <p> + “Good news. Suppose you invite her and Poundstone here for dinner some + night this week. Just a quiet little family dinner, Shirley, and after + dinner you can take Mrs. Poundstone upstairs, on some pretext or other, + while I sound Poundstone out on his attitude toward the N. C. O. They + haven't asked for a franchise yet; at least, the Sentinel hasn't printed a + word about it;—but when they do, of course the franchise will be + advertised for sale to the highest bidder. Naturally, I don't want to bid + against them; they might run the price up on me and leave me with a + franchise on my hands—something I do not want, because I have no use + for the blamed thing myself. I feel certain, however, I can find some less + expensive means of keeping them out of it—say by convincing + Poundstone and a majority of the city council that the N. C. O. is not + such a public asset as its promoters claim for it. Hence I think it wise + to sound the situation out in advance, don't you, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “I shall attend to the matter, Uncle Seth.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes after dinner was over, Shirley joined her uncle in the + library and announced that His Honor, the Mayor, and Mrs. Poundstone, + would be delighted to dine with them on the following Thursday night. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <p> + To return to Bryce Cardigan: Having completed his preliminary plans to + build the N. C. O., Bryce had returned to Sequoia, prepared to sit quietly + on the side-lines and watch his peppery henchman Buck Ogilvy go into + action. The more Bryce considered that young man's fitness for the + position he occupied, the more satisfied did he become with his decision. + While he had not been in touch with Ogilvy for several years, he had known + him intimately at Princeton. + </p> + <p> + In his last year at college Ogilvy's father, a well-known railroad + magnate, had come a disastrous cropper in the stock market, thus throwing + Buck upon his own resources and cutting short his college career—which + was probably the very best thing that could happen to his father's son. + For a brief period—perhaps five minutes—Buck had staggered + under the blow; then his tremendous optimism had asserted itself, and + while he packed his trunk, he had planned for the future. As to how that + future had developed, the reader will have gleaned some slight idea from + the information imparted in his letter to Bryce Cardigan, already quoted. + In a word, Mr. Ogilvy had had his ups and downs. + </p> + <p> + Ogilvy's return to Sequoia following his three-weeks tour in search of + rights of way for the N. C. O. was heralded by a visit from him to Bryce + Cardigan at the latter's office. As he breasted the counter in the general + office, Moira McTavish left her desk and came over to see what the visitor + desired. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see Mr. Bryce Cardigan,” Buck began in crisp + businesslike accents. He was fumbling in his card-case and did not look up + until about to hand his card to Moira—when his mouth flew half open, + the while he stared at her with consummate frankness. The girl's glance + met his momentarily, then was lowered modestly; she took the card and + carried it to Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Hum-m-m!” Bryce grunted. “That noisy fellow Ogilvy, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “His clothes are simply wonderful—and so is his voice. He's very + refined. But he's carroty red and has freckled hands, Mr. Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce rose and sauntered into the general office. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bryce Cardigan?” Buck queried politely, with an interrogative lift of + his blond eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “At your service, Mr. Ogilvy. Please come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much, sir.” He followed Bryce to the latter's private + office, closed the door carefully behind him, and stood with his broad + back against it. + </p> + <p> + “Buck, are you losing your mind?” Bryce demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Losing it? I should say not. I've just lost it.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you. If you were quite sane, you wouldn't run the risk of being + seen entering my office.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut-tut, old dear! None of that! Am I not the main-spring of the Northern + California Oregon Railroad and privileged to run the destinies of that + soulless corporation as I see fit?” He sat down, crossed his long legs, + and jerked a speckled thumb toward the outer office. “I was sane when I + came in here, but the eyes of the girl outside—oh, yow, them eyes! I + must be introduced to her. And you're scolding me for coming around here + in broad daylight. Why, you duffer, if I come at night, d'ye suppose I'd + have met her? Be sensible.” + </p> + <p> + “You like Moira's eyes, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I've never seen anything like them. Zounds, I'm afire. I have little + prickly sensations, like ants running over me. How can you be insensate + enough to descend to labour with an houri like that around? Oh, man! To + think of an angel like that WORKING—to think of a brute like you + making her work!” + </p> + <p> + “Love at first sight, eh, Buck?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what it is, but it's nice. Who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “She's Moira McTavish, and you're not to make love to her. Understand? I + can't have you snooping around this office after to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ogilvy's eyes popped with interest. “Oh,” he breathed. “You have an + eye to the main chance yourself have you? Have you proposed to the lady as + yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you idiot.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll match you for her—or rather for the chance to propose + first.” Buck produced a dollar and spun it in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing doing, Buck. Spare yourself these agonizing suspicions. The fact + of the matter is that you give me a wonderful inspiration. I've always + been afraid Moira would fall in love with some ordinary fellow around + Sequoia—propinquity, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “You bet. Propinquity's the stuff. I'll stick around.” + </p> + <p> + “—and I we been on the lookout for a fine man to marry her off to. + She's too wonderful for you, Buck, but in time you might learn to live up + to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Duck! I'm liable to kiss you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be too precipitate. Her father used to be our woods-boss. I fired + him for boozing.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't care two hoots if her dad was old Nick himself. I'm going to + marry her—if she'll have me. Ah, the glorious creature!” He waved + his long arms despairingly. “O Lord, send me a cure for freckles. Bryce, + you'll speak a kind word for me, won't you—sort of boom my stock, + eh? Be a good fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Now come down to earth and render a report on your + stewardship.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll try. To begin, I've secured rights of way, at a total cost of twelve + thousand, one hundred and three dollars and nine cents, from the city + limits of Sequoia to the southern boundary of your timber in Township + Nine. I've got my line surveyed, and so far as the building of the road is + concerned, I know exactly what I'm going to do, and how and when I'm going + to do it, once I get my material on the ground.” + </p> + <p> + “What steps have you taken toward securing your material?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can close a favourable contract for steel rails with the Colorado + Steel Products Company. Their schedule of deliveries is O. K. as far as + San Francisco, but it's up to you to provide water transportation from + there to Sequoia.” + </p> + <p> + “We can handle the rails on our steam schooners. Next?” + </p> + <p> + “I have an option of a rattling good second-hand locomotive down at the + Santa Fe shops, and the Hawkins & Barnes Construction Company have + offered me a steam shovel, half a dozen flat-cars, and a lot of fresnos + and scrapers at ruinous prices. This equipment is pretty well worn, and + they want to get rid of it before buying new stuff for their contract to + build the Arizona and Sonora Central. However, it is first-rate equipment + for us, because it will last until we're through with it; then we can + scrap it for junk. We can buy or rent teams from local citizens and get + half of our labour locally. San Francisco employment bureaus will readily + supply the remainder, and I have half a dozen fine boys on tap to boss the + steam shovel, pile-driver, bridge-building gang, track-layer and + construction gang. And as soon as you tell me how I'm to get my material + ashore and out on the job, I'll order it and get busy.” + </p> + <p> + “That's exactly where the shoe begins to pinch, Pennington's main-line + tracks enter the city along Water Street, with one spur into his log-dump + and another out on his mill-dock. From the main-line tracks we also have + built a spur through our drying-yard out to our log-dump and a switch-line + out on to our milldock. We can unload our locomotive, steam shovel, and + flat-cars on our own wharf, but unless Pennington gives us permission to + use his main-line tracks out to a point beyond the city limits—where + a Y will lead off to the point where our construction begins—we're + up a stump.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose he refuses, Bryce. What then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we'll simply have to enter the city down Front Street, paralleling + Pennington's tracks on Water Street, turning down B Street, make a + jump-crossing of Pennington's line on Water Street, and connecting with + the spur into our yard.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't have an elbow turn at Front and B streets?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't have to. We own a square block on that corner, and we'll build + across it, making a gradual turn.” + </p> + <p> + “See here, my son,” Buck said solemnly, “is this your first adventure in + railroad building?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I thought so; otherwise you wouldn't talk so confidently of running your + line over city streets and making jump-crossings on your competitor's + road. If your competitor regards you as a menace to his pocketbook, he can + give you a nice little run for your money and delay you indefinitely.” + </p> + <p> + “I realize that, Buck. That's why I'm not appearing in this railroad deal + at all. If Pennington suspected I was back of it, he'd fight me before the + city council and move heaven and earth to keep me out of a franchise to + use the city streets and cross his line. Of course, since his main line + runs on city property, under a franchise granted by the city, the city has + a perfect right to grant me the privilege of making a jump-crossing of his + line—-” + </p> + <p> + “Will they do it? That's the problem. If they will not, you're licked, my + son, and I'm out of a job.” + </p> + <p> + “We can sue and condemn a right of way.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but if the city council puts up a plea that it is against the best + interests of the city to grant the franchise, you'll find that except in + most extraordinary cases, the courts regard it as against public policy to + give judgment against a municipality, the State or the Government of the + United States. At any rate, they'll hang you up in the courts till you die + of old age; and as I understand the matter, you have to have this line + running in less than a year, or go out of business.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce hung his head thoughtfully. “I've been too cocksure,” he muttered + presently. “I shouldn't have spent that twelve thousand for rights of way + until I had settled the matter of the franchise.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't buy any rights of way—yet,” Ogilvy hastened to assure + him. “I've only signed the land-owners up on an agreement to give or sell + me a right of way at the stipulated figures any time within one year from + date. The cost of the surveying gang and my salary and expenses are all + that you are out to date.” + </p> + <p> + “Buck, you're a wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I've merely been through all this before and have profited by + my experience. Now, then, to get back to our muttons. Will the city + council grant you a franchise to enter the city and jump Pennington's + tracks?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I don't know, Buck. You'll have to ask them—sound them + out. The city council meets Saturday morning.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll meet this evening—in the private diningroom of the Hotel + Sequoia, if I can arrange it,” Buck Ogilvy declared emphatically. “I'm + going to have them all up for dinner and talk the matter over. I'm not + exactly aged, Bryce, but I've handled about fifteen city councils and + county boards of supervisors, not to mention Mexican and Central American + governors and presidents, in my day, and I know the breed from cover to + cover. Following a preliminary conference, I'll let you know whether + you're going to get that franchise without difficulty or whether + somebody's itchy palm will have to be crossed with silver first. Honest + men never temporize. You know where they stand, but a grafter temporizes + and plays a waiting game, hoping to wear your patience down to the point + where you'll ask him bluntly to name his figure. By the way, what do you + know about your blighted old city council, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “Two of the five councilmen are for sale; two are honest men—and one + is an uncertain quantity. The mayor is a politician. I've known them all + since boyhood, and if I dared come out in the open, I think that even the + crooks have sentiment enough for what the Cardigans stand for in this + county to decline to hold me up.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why not come out in the open and save trouble and expense?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not ready to have a lot of notes called on me,” Bryce replied dryly. + “Neither am I desirous of having the Laguna Grande Lumber Company start a + riot in the redwood lumber market by cutting prices to a point where I + would have to sell my lumber at a loss in order to get hold of a little + ready money. Neither do I desire to have trees felled across the right of + way of Pennington's road after his trainloads of logs have gone through + and before mine have started from the woods. I don't want my log-landings + jammed until I can't move, and I don't want Pennington's engineer to take + a curve in such a hurry that he'll whip my loaded logging-trucks off into + a canon and leave me hung up for lack of rolling-stock. I tell you, the + man has me under his thumb, and the only way I can escape is to slip out + when he isn't looking. He can do too many things to block the delivery of + my logs and then dub them acts of God, in order to avoid a judgment + against him on suit for non-performance of his hauling contract with this + company.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum-m-m! Slimy old beggar, isn't he? I dare say he wouldn't hesitate to + buy the city council to block you, would he?” + </p> + <p> + “I know he'll lie and steal. I dare say he'd corrupt a public official.” + </p> + <p> + Buck Ogilvy rose and stretched himself. “I've got my work cut out for me, + haven't I?” he declared with a yawn. “However, it'll be a fight worth + while, and that at least will make it interesting. Well?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce pressed the buzzer on his desk, and a moment later Moira entered. + “Permit me, Moira, to present Mr. Ogilvy. Mr. Ogilvy, Miss McTavish.” The + introduction having been acknowledged by both parties, Bryce continued: + “Mr. Ogilvy will have frequent need to interview me at this office, Moira, + but it is our joint desire that his visits here shall remain a profound + secret to everybody with the exception of ourselves. To that end he will + hereafter call at night, when this portion of the town is absolutely + deserted. You have an extra key to the office, Moira. I wish you would + give it to Mr. Ogilvy.” + </p> + <p> + The girl nodded. “Mr. Ogilvy will have to take pains to avoid our + watchman,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “That is a point well taken, Moira. Buck, when you call, make it a point + to arrive here promptly on the hour. The watchman will be down in the mill + then, punching the time-clock.” + </p> + <p> + Again Moira inclined her dark head and withdrew. Mr. Buck Ogilvy groaned. + “God speed the day when you can come out from under and I'll be permitted + to call during office hours,” he murmured. He picked up his hat and + withdrew, via the general office. Half an hour later, Bryce looked out and + saw him draped over the counter, engaged in animated conversation with + Moira McTavish. Before Ogilvy left, he had managed to impress Moira with a + sense of the disadvantage under which he laboured through being forced, + because of circumstances Mr. Cardigan would doubtless relate to her in due + course, to abandon all hope of seeing her at the office—at least for + some time to come. Then he spoke feelingly of the unmitigated horror of + being a stranger in a strange town, forced to sit around hotel lobbies + with drummers and other lost souls, and drew from Moira the assurance that + it wasn't more distressing than having to sit around a boardinghouse night + after night watching old women tat and tattle. + </p> + <p> + This was the opening Buck Ogilvy had sparred for. Fixing Moira with his + bright blue eyes, he grinned boldly and said: “Suppose, Miss McTavish, we + start a league for the dispersion of gloom. You be the president, and I'll + be the financial secretary.” + </p> + <p> + “How would the league operate?” Moira demanded cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it might begin by giving a dinner to all the members, followed by a + little motor-trip into the country next Saturday afternoon,” Buck + suggested. + </p> + <p> + Moira's Madonna glance appraised him steadily. “I haven't known you very + long, Mr. Ogilvy,” she reminded him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm easy to get acquainted with,” he retorted lightly. “Besides, + don't I come well recommended?” He pondered for a moment. Then: “I'll tell + you what, Miss McTavish. Suppose we put it up to Bryce Cardigan. If he + says it's all right we'll pull off the party. If he says it's all wrong, + I'll go out and drown myself—and fairer words than them has no man + spoke.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll think it over,” said Moira. + </p> + <p> + “By all means. Never decide such an important matter in a hurry. Just tell + me your home telephone number, and I'll ring up at seven this evening for + your decision.” + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly Moira gave him the number. She was not at all prejudiced + against this carroty stranger—in fact, she had a vague suspicion + that he was a sure cure for the blues, an ailment which she suffered from + all too frequently; and, moreover, his voice, his respectful manner, his + alert eyes, and his wonderful clothing were all rather alluring. + Womanlike, she was flattered at being noticed—particularly by a man + like Ogilvy, whom it was plain to be seen was vastly superior to any male + even in Sequoia, with the sole exception of Bryce Cardigan. The flutter of + a great adventure was in Moira's heart, and the flush of a thousand roses + in her cheeks when, Buck Ogilvy having at length departed, she went into + Bryce's private office to get his opinion as to the propriety of accepting + the invitation. + </p> + <p> + Bryce listened to her gravely as with all the sweet innocence of her years + and unworldliness she laid the Ogilvy proposition before him. + </p> + <p> + “By all means, accept,” he counselled her. “Buck Ogilvy is one of the + finest gentlemen you'll ever meet. I'll stake my reputation on him. You'll + find him vastly amusing, Moira. He'd make Niobe forget her troubles, and + he DOES know how to order a dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think I ought to have a chaperon?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it isn't necessary, although it's good form in a small town like + Sequoia, where everybody knows everybody else.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” Moira murmured thoughtfully. “I'll ask Miss Sumner to come + with us. Mr. Ogilvy won't mind the extra expense, I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be delighted,” Bryce assured her maliciously. “Ask Miss Sumner, by + all means.” + </p> + <p> + When Moira had left him, Bryce sighed. “Gosh!” he murmured. “I wish I + could go, too.” + </p> + <p> + He was roused from his bitter introspections presently by the ringing of + the telephone. To his amazement Shirley Sumner was calling him! + </p> + <p> + “You're a wee bit surprised, aren't you, Mr. Cardigan?” she said + teasingly. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” he answered honestly. “I had a notion I was quite persona non + grata with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you relieved to find you are not? You aren't, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I am relieved.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you're wondering why I have telephoned to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven't had time. The suddenness of it all has left me more or less + dumb. Why did you ring up?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted some advice. Suppose you wanted very, very much to know what two + people were talking about, but found yourself in a position where you + couldn't eavesdrop. What would you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't eavesdrop,” he told her severely. “That isn't a nice thing to + do, and I didn't think you would contemplate anything that isn't nice.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't ordinarily. But I have every moral, ethical, and financial + right to be a party to that conversation, only—well—” + </p> + <p> + “With you present there would be no conversation—is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, Mr. Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is of the utmost importance that you should know what is said?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you do not intend to use your knowledge of this conversation, when + gained, for an illegal or unethical purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not. On the contrary, if I am aware of what is being planned, I can + prevent others from doing something illegal and unethical.” + </p> + <p> + “In that event, Shirley, I should say you are quite justified in + eavesdropping.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can I do it? I can't hide in a closet and listen.” + </p> + <p> + “Buy a dictograph and have it hidden in the room where the conversation + takes place. It will record every word of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Where can I buy one?” + </p> + <p> + “In San Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you telephone to your San Francisco office and have them buy one for + me and ship it to you, together with directions for using. George Sea + Otter can bring it over to me when it arrives.” + </p> + <p> + “Shirley, this is most extraordinary.” + </p> + <p> + “I quite realize that. May I depend upon you to oblige me in this matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. But why pick on me, of all persons, to perform such a mission + for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can trust you to forget that you have performed it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I think you may safely trust me. And I shall attend to the + matter immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, Mr. Cardigan. How is your dear old father? Moira told + me sometime ago that he was ill.” + </p> + <p> + “He's quite well again, thank you. By the way, Moira doesn't know that you + and I have ever met. Why don't you tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't answer that question—now. Perhaps some day I may be in a + position to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “It's too bad the circumstances are such that we, who started out to be + such agreeable friends, see so little of each other, Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, it is. However, it's all your fault. I have told you once how you + can obviate that distressing situation. But you're so stubborn, Mr. + Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got to the point where I like crawling on my hands and knees,” + he flared back at her. + </p> + <p> + “Even for your sake, I decline to simulate friendship or tolerance for + your uncle; hence I must be content to let matters stand as they are + between us.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed lightly. “So you are still uncompromisingly belligerent—still + after Uncle Seth's scalp?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and I think I'm going to get it. At any rate, he isn't going to get + mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think you're rather unjust to make me suffer for the sins of my + relative, Bryce?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + She had called him by his first name. He thrilled. “I'm lost in a quagmire + of debts—I'm helpless now,” he murmured. “I'm not fighting for + myself alone, but for a thousand dependents—for a principle—for + an ancient sentiment that was my father's and is now mine. You do not + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand more than you give me credit for, and some day you'll + realize it. I understand just enough to make me feel sorry for you. I + understand what even my uncle doesn't suspect at present, and that is that + you're the directing genius of the Northern California Oregon Railroad and + hiding behind your friend Ogilvy. Now, listen to me, Bryce Cardigan: + You're never going to build that road. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + The suddenness of her attack amazed him to such an extent that he did not + take the trouble to contradict her. Instead he blurted out, angrily and + defiantly: “I'll build that road if it costs me my life—if it costs + me you. Understand! I'm in this fight to win.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not build that road,” she reiterated. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I shall not permit you to. I have some financial interest in the + Laguna Grande Lumber Company, and it is not to that financial interest + that you should build the N.C.O.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you find out I was behind Ogilvy?” + </p> + <p> + “Intuition. Then I accused you of it, and you admitted it.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you're going to tell your uncle now,” he retorted witheringly. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I am not. I greatly fear I was born with a touch of + sporting blood, Mr. Cardigan, so I'm going to let you two fight until + you're exhausted, and then I'm going to step in and decide the issue. You + can save money by surrendering now. I hold the whip hand.” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer to fight. With your permission this bout will go to a knockout.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so certain I do not like you all the more for that decision. And + if it will comfort you the least bit, you have my word of honour that I + shall not reveal to my uncle the identity of the man behind the N. C. O. + I'm not a tattletale, you know, and moreover I have a great curiosity to + get to the end of the story. The fact is, both you and Uncle Seth annoy me + exceedingly. How lovely everything would have been if you two hadn't + started this feud and forced upon me the task of trying to be fair and + impartial to you both.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you remain fair and impartial?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can—even up to the point of deciding whether or not you + are going to build that road. Then I shall act independently of you both. + Forgive my slang, but—I'm going to hand you each a poke then.” + </p> + <p> + “Shirley,” he told her earnestly, “listen carefully to what I am about to + say: I love you. I've loved you from the day I first met you. I shall + always love you; and when I get around to it, I'm going to ask you to + marry me. At present, however, that is a right I do not possess. However, + the day I acquire the right I shall exercise it.” + </p> + <p> + “And when will that day be?” Very softly, in awesome tones! + </p> + <p> + “The day I drive the last spike in the N. C. O.” + </p> + <p> + Fell a silence. Then: “I'm glad, Bryce Cardigan, you're not a quitter. + Good-bye, good luck—and don't forget my errand.” She hung up and sat + at the telephone for a moment, dimpled chin in dimpled hand, her glance + wandering through the window and far away across the roofs of the town to + where the smoke-stack of Cardigan's mill cut the sky-line. “How I'd hate + you if I could handle you!” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Following this exasperating but illuminating conversation with Shirley + Sumner over the telephone, Bryce Cardigan was a distressed and badly + worried man. However, Bryce was a communicant of a very simple faith—to + wit, that one is never whipped till one is counted out, and the first + shock of Shirley's discovery having passed, he wasted no time in vain + repinings but straightway set himself to scheme a way out of his dilemma. + </p> + <p> + For an hour he sat slouched in his chair, chin on breast, the while he + reviewed every angle of the situation. + </p> + <p> + He found it impossible, however, to dissociate the business from the + personal aspects of his relations with Shirley, and he recalled that she + had the very best of reasons for placing their relations on a business + basis rather than a sentimental one. He had played a part in their little + drama which he knew must have baffled and infuriated her. More, had she, + in those delightful few days of their early acquaintance, formed for him a + sentiment somewhat stronger than friendship (he did not flatter himself + that this was so), he could understand her attitude toward him as that of + the woman scorned. For the present, however, it was all a profound and + disturbing mystery, and after an hour of futile concentration there came + to Bryce the old childish impulse to go to his father with his troubles. + That sturdy old soul, freed from the hot passions of youth, its + impetuosity and its proneness to consider cause rather than effect, had + weathered too many storms in his day to permit the present one to benumb + his brain as it had his son's. + </p> + <p> + “He will be able to think without having his thoughts blotted out by a + woman's face,” Bryce soliloquized. “He's like one of his own big redwood + trees; his head is always above the storm.” + </p> + <p> + Straightway Bryce left the office and went home to the old house on the + knoll. John Cardigan was sitting on the veranda, and from a stand beside + him George Sea Otter entertained him with a phonograph selection—“The + Suwanee River,” sung by a male quartet. As the gate clicked, John raised + his head; then as Bryce's quick step spurned the cement walk up the little + old-fashioned garden, he rose and stood with one hand outstretched and + trembling a little. He could not see, but with the intuition of the blind, + he knew. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, son?” he demanded gently as Bryce came up the low steps. + “George, choke that contraption off.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce took his father's hand. “I'm in trouble, John Cardigan,” he said + simply, “and I'm not big enough to handle it alone.” + </p> + <p> + The leonine old man smiled, and his smile had all the sweetness of a + benediction. His boy was in trouble and had come to him. Good! Then he + would not fail him. “Sit down, son, and tell the old man all about it. + Begin at the beginning and let me have all the angles of the angle.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce obeyed, and for the first time John Cardigan learned of his son's + acquaintance with Shirley Sumner and the fact that she had been present in + Pennington's woods the day Bryce had gone there to settle the score with + Jules Rondeau. In the wonderful first flush of his love a sense of + embarrassment, following his discovery of the fact that his father and + Colonel Pennington were implacable enemies, had decided Bryce not to + mention the matter of the girl to John Cardigan until the ENTENTE CORDIALE + between Pennington and his father could be reestablished, for Bryce had, + with the optimism of his years, entertained for a few days a thought that + he could bring about this desirable condition of affairs. The discovery + that he could not, together with his renunciation of his love until he + should succeed in protecting his heritage and eliminating the despair that + had come upon his father in the latter's old age, had further operated to + render unnecessary any discussion of the girl with the old man. + </p> + <p> + With the patience and gentleness of a confessor John Cardigan heard the + story now, and though Bryce gave no hint in words that his affections were + involved in the fight for the Cardigan acres, yet did his father know It, + for he was a parent. And his great heart went out in sympathy for his boy. + </p> + <p> + “I understand, sonny, I understand. This young lady is only one additional + reason why you must win, for of course you understand she is not + indifferent to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know that she feels for me anything stronger than a vagrant + sympathy, Dad, for while she is eternally feminine, nevertheless she has a + masculine way of looking at many things. She is a good comrade with a + bully sense of sportsmanship, and unlike her skunk of an uncle, she fights + in the open. Under the circumstances, however, her first loyalty is to + him; in fact, she owes none to me. And I dare say he has given her some + extremely plausible reason why we should be eliminated; while I think she + is sorry that it must be done, nevertheless, in a mistaken impulse of + self-protection she is likely to let him do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, perhaps. One never knows why a woman does things, although it is + a safe bet that if they're with you at all, they're with you all the way. + Eliminate the girl, my boy. She's trying to play fair to you and her + relative. Let us concentrate on Pennington.” + </p> + <p> + “The entire situation hinges on that jump-crossing of his tracks on Water + Street.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't know you plan to cross them, does he?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, lad, your job is to get your crossing in before he finds out, isn't + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it is an impossible task, partner. I'm not Aladdin, you know. I + have to have a franchise from the city council, and I have to have rails.” + </p> + <p> + “Both are procurable, my son. Induce the city council to grant you a + temporary franchise to-morrow, and buy your rails from Pennington. He has + a mile of track running up Laurel Creek, and Laurel Creek was logged out + three years ago. I believe that spur is useless to Pennington, and the + ninety-pound rails are rusting there.” + </p> + <p> + “But will he sell them to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if you tell him why you want them.” + </p> + <p> + “But he hates me, old pal.” + </p> + <p> + “The Colonel never permits sentiment to interfere with business, my son. + He doesn't need the rails, and he does desire your money. Consider the + rail-problem settled.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you stand with the Mayor and the council?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not stand at all. I opposed Poundstone for the office; Dobbs, who + was appointed to fill a vacancy caused by the death of a regularly elected + councilman, was once a bookkeeper in our office, you will remember. I + discharged him for looting the petty-cash drawer. Andrews and Mullin are + professional politicians and not to be trusted. In fact, Poundstone, + Dobbs, Andrews, and Mullin are known as the Solid Four. Yates and + Thatcher, the remaining members of the city council, are the result of the + reform ticket last fall, but since they are in the minority, they are + helpless.” + </p> + <p> + “That makes it bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. The Cardigans are not known to be connected with the N. C. O. + Send your bright friend Ogilvy after that franchise. He's the only man who + can land it. Give him a free hand and tell him to deliver the goods by any + means short of bribery. I imagine he's had experience with city councils + and will know exactly how to proceed. I KNOW you can procure the rails and + have them at the intersection of B and Water streets Thursday night. If + Ogilvy can procure the temporary franchise and have it in his pocket by + six o'clock Thursday night, you should have that crossing in by sunup + Friday morning. Then let Pennington rave. He cannot procure an injunction + to restrain us from cutting his tracks, thus throwing the matter into the + courts and holding us up indefinitely, because by the time he wakes up, + the tracks will have been cut. The best he can do then will be to fight us + before the city council when we apply for our permanent franchise. Thank + God, however, the name of Cardigan carries weight in this county, and with + the pressure of public sympathy and opinion back of us, we may venture, my + boy, to break a lance with the Solid Four, should they stand with + Pennington.” + </p> + <p> + “Partner, it looks like a forlorn hope,” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you're the boy to lead it. And it will cost but little to put in + the crossing and take a chance. Remember, Bryce, once we have that + crossing in, it stands like a spite-fence between Pennington and the law + which he knows so well how to pervert to suit his ignoble purposes.” He + turned earnestly to Bryce and waved a trembling admonitory finger. “Your + job is to keep out of court. Once Pennington gets the law on us, the issue + will not be settled in our favour for years; and in the meantime—you + perish. Run along now and hunt up Ogilvy. George, play that 'Suwannee + River' quartet again. It sort o' soothes me.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <p> + It was with a considerably lighter heart that Bryce returned to the + mill-office, from which he lost no time in summoning Buck Ogilvy by + telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks so much for the invitation,” Ogilvy murmured gratefully. “I'll be + down in a pig's whisper.” And he was. “Bryce, you look like the devil,” he + declared the moment he entered the latter's private office. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to, Buck. I've just raised the devil and spilled the beans on the + N. C. O.” + </p> + <p> + “To whom, when, and where?” + </p> + <p> + “To Pennington's niece, over the telephone about two hours ago.” + </p> + <p> + Buck Ogilvy smote his left palm with his right fist. “And you've waited + two hours to confess your crime? Zounds, man, this is bad.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. Curse me, Buck. I've probably talked you out of a good job.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, say not so, old settler. We may still have an out. How did you let + the cat out of the bag?” + </p> + <p> + “That remarkable girl called me up, and accused you of being a mere screen + for me and amazed me so I admitted it.” + </p> + <p> + Ogilvy dropped his red head in simulated agony and moaned. Presently he + raised it and said: “Well, it might have been worse. Think of what might + have happened had she called in person. She would have picked your pocket + for the corporate seal, the combination of the safe, and the list of + stockholders, and probably ended up by gagging you and binding you in your + own swivel-chair.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Buck. Comfort and not abuse is what I need now.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll conclude my remarks by stating that I regard you as a + lovable fat-head devoid of sufficient mental energy to pound the + proverbial sand into the proverbial rat-hole. Now, then, what do you want + me to do to save the day?” + </p> + <p> + “Deliver to me by six o'clock Thursday night a temporary franchise from + the city council, granting the N. C. O. the right to run a railroad from + our drying-yard across Water Street at its intersection with B Street and + out Front Street.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. By all means! Easiest thing I do! Sure you don't want me to + arrange to borrow a star or two to make a ta-ra-ra for the lady that's + made a monkey out of you? No? All right, old dear! I'm on my way to do my + damnedest, which angels can't do no more. Nevertheless, for your sins, you + shall do me a favour before my heart breaks after falling down on this + contract you've just given me.” + </p> + <p> + “Granted, Buck. Name it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm giving a nice little private, specially cooked dinner to Miss + McTavish to-night. We're going to pull it off in one of those private + screened corrals in that highly decorated Chink restauraw on Third Street. + Moira—that is, Miss McTavish—is bringing a chaperon, one Miss + Shirley Sumner. Your job is to be my chaperon and entertain Miss Sumner, + who from all accounts is most brilliant and fascinating.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing doing!” Bryce almost roared. “Why, she's the girl that bluffed + the secret of the N. C. O. out of me!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hate her for it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I hate myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll come. You promised in advance, and no excuses go now. The + news will be all over town by Friday morning; so why bother to keep up + appearances any longer. Meet me at the Canton at seven and check dull care + at the entrance.” + </p> + <p> + And before Bryce could protest, Ogilvy had thrown open the office door and + called the glad tidings to Moira, who was working in the next room; + whereupon Moira's wonderful eyes shone with that strange lambent flame. + She clasped her hands joyously. “Oh, how wonderful!” she exclaimed “I've + always wanted Miss Shirley to meet Mr. Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + Again Bryce was moved to protest, but Buck Ogilvy reached around the + half-opened door and kicked him in the shins. “Don't crab my game, you + miserable snarley-yow. Detract one speck from that girl's pleasure, and + you'll never see that temporary franchise,” he threatened. “I will not + work for a quitter—so, there!” And with his bright smile he set out + immediately upon the trail of the city council, leaving Bryce Cardigan a + prey to many conflicting emotions, the chief of which, for all that he + strove to suppress it, was riotous joy in the knowledge that while he had + fought against it, fate had decreed that he should bask once more in the + radiance of Shirley Sumner's adorable presence. Presently, for the first + time in many weeks, Moira heard him whistling “Turkey in the Straw.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <p> + Fortunately for the situation which had so suddenly confronted him, Bryce + Cardigan had Mr. Buck Ogilvy; and out of the experiences gained in other + railroad-building enterprises, the said Ogilvy, while startled, was not + stunned by the suddenness and immensity of the order so casually given him + by his youthful employer, for he had already devoted to the matter of that + crossing the better part of the preceding night. Also he had investigated, + indexed, and cross-indexed the city council with a view to ascertaining + how great or how little would be the effort he must devote to obtaining + from it the coveted franchise. + </p> + <p> + “Got to run a sandy on the Mayor,” Buck soliloquized as he walked rapidly + uptown. “And I'll have to be mighty slick about it, too, or I'll get my + fingers in the jam. If I get the Mayor on my side—if I get him to + the point where he thinks well of me and would like to oblige me without + prejudicing himself financially or politically—I can get that + temporary franchise. Now, how shall I proceed to sneak up on that oily old + cuss's blind side?” + </p> + <p> + Two blocks farther on, Mr. Ogilvy paused and snapped his fingers + vigorously. “Eureka!” he murmured. “I've got Poundstone by the tail on a + downhill haul. Is it a cinch? Well, I just guess I should tell a man!” + </p> + <p> + He hurried to the telephone building and put in a long-distance call for + the San Francisco office of the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company. When the + manager came on the line, Ogilvy dictated to him a message which he + instructed the manager to telegraph back to him at the Hotel Sequoia one + hour later; this mysterious detail attended to, he continued on to the + Mayor's office in the city hall. + </p> + <p> + Mayor Poundstone's bushy eyebrows arched with interest when his secretary + laid upon his desk the card of Mr. Buchanan Ogilvy, vice-president and + general manager of the Northern California Oregon Railroad. “Ah-h-h!” he + breathed with an unpleasant resemblance to a bon vivant who sees before + him his favourite vintage. “I have been expecting Mr. Ogilvy to call for + quite a while. At last we shall see what we shall see. Show him in.” + </p> + <p> + The visitor was accordingly admitted to the great man's presence and + favoured with an official handshake of great heartiness. “I've been hoping + to have this pleasure for quite some time, Mr. Poundstone,” Buck announced + easily as he disposed of his hat and overcoat on an adjacent chair. “But + unfortunately I have had so much preliminary detail to attend to before + making an official call that at last I grew discouraged and concluded I'd + just drop in informally and get acquainted.” Buck's alert blue eyes opened + wide in sympathy with his genial mouth, to deluge Mayor Poundstone with a + smile that was friendly, guileless, confidential, and singularly + delightful. Mr. Ogilvy was a man possessed of tremendous personal + magnetism when he chose to exert it, and that smile was ever the opening + gun of his magnetic bombardment, for it was a smile that always had the + effect of making the observer desire to behold it again—of disarming + suspicion and establishing confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Glad you did—mighty glad,” the Mayor cried heartily. “We have all, + of course, heard of your great plans and are naturally anxious to hear + more of them, in the hope that we can do all that anybody reasonably and + legally can to promote your enterprise and incidentally our own, since we + are not insensible to the advantages which will accrue to this county when + it is connected by rail with the outside world.” + </p> + <p> + “That extremely broad view is most encouraging,” Buck chirped, and he + showered the Mayor with another smile. “Reciprocity is the watchword of + progress. I might state, however, that while you Humboldters are fully + alive to the benefits to be derived from a feeder to a transcontinental + road, my associates and myself are not insensible of the fact that the + success of our enterprise depends to a great extent upon the enthusiasm + with which the city of Sequoia shall cooperate with us; and since you are + the chief executive of the city, naturally I have come to you to explain + our plans fully.” + </p> + <p> + “I have read your articles of incorporation, Mr. Ogilvy,” Mayor Poundstone + boomed paternally. “You will recall that they were published in the + Sequoia SENTINEL. It strikes me—-” + </p> + <p> + “Then you know exactly what we purpose doing, and any further explanation + would be superfluous,” Buck interrupted amiably, glad to dispose of the + matter so promptly. Again he favoured the Mayor with his bright smile, and + the latter, now fully convinced that here was a young man of vast emprise + whom it behooved him to receive in a whole-hearted and public-spirited + manner, nodded vigorous approval. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that being the case, Mr. Ogilvy,” he continued, “what can we + Sequoians do to make you happy?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, to begin with, Mr. Poundstone, you might accept my solemn assurances + that despite the skepticism which, for some unknown reason, appears to + shroud our enterprise in the minds of some people, we have incorporated a + railroad company for the purpose of building a railroad. We purpose + commencing grading operations in the very near future, and the only thing + that can possibly interfere with the project will be the declination of + the city council to grant us a franchise to run our line through the city + to tidewater.” + </p> + <p> + He handed his cigar-case to Mayor Poundstone and continued lightly: “And I + am glad to have your assurance that the city council will not drop a cold + chisel in the cogs of the wheels of progress.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Poundstone had given no such assurance, but for some reason he did not + feel equal to the task of contradicting this pleasant fellow. Ogilvy + continued: “At the proper time we shall apply for the franchise. It will + then be time enough to discuss it. In the meantime the N. C. O. plans a + public dedicatory ceremony at the first breaking of ground, and I would be + greatly honoured, Mr. Mayor, if you would consent to turn the first + shovelful of earth and deliver the address of welcome upon that occasion.” + </p> + <p> + The Mayor swelled like a Thanksgiving turkey. “The honour will be mine,” + he corrected his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much, sir. Well, that's another worry off my mind.” With the + tact of a prime minister Buck then proceeded deliberately to shift the + conversation to the weather and asked a number of questions anent the + annual rainfall. Then he turned to crops, finance, and national politics + and gradually veered around to an artistic word-picture of the vast + expansion of the redwood-lumber industry when the redwood-belt should be + connected by rail with the markets of the entire country. He spoke of the + magic effect the building of such a line would have upon the growth of + Sequoia. Sequoia, he felt convinced, was destined to become a city of at + least a hundred thousand inhabitants; he rhapsodized over the progressive + spirit of the community and with a wave of his hand studded the waters of + Humboldt Bay with the masts of the world's shipping. Suddenly he checked + himself, glanced at his watch, apologized for consuming so much of His + Honour's valuable time, expressed himself felicitated at knowing the + Mayor, gracefully expressed his appreciation for the encouragement given + his enterprise, and departed. When he had gone, Mayor Poundstone declared + to his secretary that without doubt Ogilvy was the livest, keenest fellow + that had struck Sequoia since the advent of old John Cardigan. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later the Mayor's telephone-bell rang. Buck Ogilvy was on the + line. “I beg your pardon for bothering you with my affairs twice in the + same day, Mr. Mayor,” he announced deprecatingly, “but the fact is, a + condition has just arisen which necessitates the immediate employment of + an attorney. The job is not a very important one and almost any lawyer + would do, but in view of the fact that we must, sooner or later, employ an + attorney to look after our interests locally, it occurred to me that I + might as well make the selection of a permanent attorney now. I am a + stranger in this city Mr. Poundstone. Would it be imposing on your + consideration if I asked you to recommend such a person?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, not at all, not at all! Delighted to help you, Mr. Ogilvy. Let me + see, now. There are several attorneys in Sequoia, all men of excellent + ability and unimpeachable integrity, whom I can recommend with the utmost + pleasure. Cadman look up the relatives of a public official! Well! + Forward, men, follow me—to Henry's office.” + </p> + <p> + Henry Poundstone, Junior, proved to be the sole inhabitant of one rather + bare office in the Cardigan Block. Buck had fully resolved to give him a + retainer of a thousand dollars, or even more, if he asked for it, but + after one look at Henry he cut the appropriation to two hundred and fifty + dollars. Young Mr. Poundstone was blonde and frail, with large round + spectacles, rabbit teeth, and the swiftly receding chin of the terrapin. + Moreover, he was in such a flutter of anticipation over the arrival of his + client that Buck deduced two things—to wit, that the Mayor had + telephoned Henry he was apt to have a client, and that as a result of this + miracle, Henry was in no fit state to discuss the sordid subject of fees + and retainers. Ergo, Mr. Ogilvy decided to obviate such discussion now or + in the future. He handed Henry a check for two hundred and fifty dollars, + which he wrote out on the spot, and with his bright winning smile + remarked: “Now, Mr. Poundstone, we will proceed to business. That retainer + isn't a large one, I admit, but neither is the job I have for you to-day. + Later, if need of your services on a larger scale should develop, we shall + of course expect to make a new arrangement whereby you will receive the + customary retainer of all of our corporation attorneys I trust that is + quite satisfactory.” + </p> + <p> + “Eminently so,” gasped the young disciple of Blackstone. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then; let us proceed to business.” Buck removed from a small + leather bag a bale of legal-looking documents. “I have here,” he + announced, “agreements from landowners along the proposed right of way of + the N. C. O. to give to that company, on demand, within one year from + date, satisfactory deeds covering rights of way which are minutely + described in the said agreements. I wish these deeds prepared for signing + and recording at the earliest possible moment.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have them at this time to-morrow,” Henry promised. + </p> + <p> + The head of Henry Poundstone, Junior, was held high for the first time + since he had flung forth his modest shingle to the breezes of Sequoia six + months before, and there was an unaccustomed gleam of importance in his + pale eyes as he rushed into big father's office in the city hall. + </p> + <p> + “By jinks, Dad!” he exulted. “I've hooked a fish at last—and he's a + whopper.” + </p> + <p> + “Omit the cheers, my boy. Remember I sent that fish to you,” his father + answered with a bland and indulgent smile. “What are you doing for Ogilvy, + and how large a retainer did he give you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm making out deeds to his rights of way. Ordinarily it's about a + fifty-dollar job, but without waiting to discuss finances he handed me out + two hundred and fifty dollars. Why, Dad, that's more than you make in a + month from your job as Mayor.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that isn't a bad retainer. It's an opening wedge. However, it would + be mere chicken-feed in San Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + “Read this,” Henry urged, and thrust a yellow telegraph-form under the + Mayor's nose. The latter adjusted his glasses and read: + </p> + <p> + Imperative building operations commence immediately. Local skepticism + injurious and delays dangerous. We must show good faith to our New York + friends. J. P. M. insists upon knowing promptly where we stand with + Sequoia city council. See them immediately and secure temporary franchise, + if possible, to enable us to cross Water Street at B Street and build out + Front Street. Your arrangement with Cardigan for use of his mill-dock and + spur for unloading material from steamer ratified by board but regarded as + hold-up. If your judgment indicates no hold-up on permanent franchise, + commence active operations immediately upon acquisition of permanent + franchise. Engage local labour as far as possible. Cannot impress upon you + too fully necessity for getting busy, as road must be completed in three + years if our plans are to bear fruit and time is all too short. Impress + this upon city council and wire answer to-morrow. + </p> + <h3> + HOCKLEY. + </h3> + <p> + This telegram, as the Mayor observed, was dated that day and addressed to + Mr. Buchanan Ogilvy, Hotel Sequoia, Sequoia, Calif. Also, with a keen eye + to minor details, lie noted that it had been filed at San Francisco + SUBSEQUENT to Ogilvy's visit to him that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Ah-h-h!” breathed His Honour. “That accounts for his failure to bring the + matter up at our interview. Upon his return to the hotel he found this + telegram and got busy at once. By Jupiter, this looks like business. + Henry, how did you come into possession of this telegram?” + </p> + <p> + “It must have been mixed up in the documents Ogilvy left with me. I found + it on my desk when I was sorting out the papers, and in my capacity of + attorney for the N.C.O. I had no hesitancy in reading it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do declare! Wonder who Hockley is. Never heard of that fellow in + connection with the N.C.O.” + </p> + <p> + “Hockley doesn't matter,” young Henry declared triumphantly, “although I'd + bet a hat he's one of those heavy-weight Wall Street fellows and one of + J.P.M's vice-presidents, probably. J.P.M., of course, is the man behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil is J.P.M.?” + </p> + <p> + Henry smiled tolerantly upon his ignorant and guileless parent. “Well, how + would J. Pierpont Morgan do for a guess?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “Hell's bells and panther-tracks!” Mayor Poundstone started as if + snake-bitten. “I should say you have hooked a big fish. Boy, you've landed + a whale!” And the Mayor whistled softly in his amazement and delight. “By + golly, to think of you getting in with that bunch! Tremendyous! + Per-fect-ly tree-mend-yous! Did Ogilvy say anything about future + business?” + </p> + <p> + “He did. Said if I proved satisfactory, he would probably take me on and + pay the customary retainer given all of their corporation attorneys.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, by golly, he'd better take you on! I had a notion that chap Ogilvy + was smart enough to know which side his bread is buttered on and who does + the buttering.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could guarantee Mr. Ogilvy that temporary franchise mentioned in his + telegram, it might help me to get in right with J.P.M, at the start,” his + hopeful suggested. “I guess it would be kind of poor to be taken on as one + of the regular staff of attorneys for a Morgan corporation, eh? Say, they + pay those chaps as high as fifty thousand dollars a year retainer!” + </p> + <p> + “Guarantee it!” his father shouted. “Guarantee it! Well, I should snicker! + We'll just show J. P. M. and his crowd that they made no mistake when they + picked you as their Sequoia legal representative. I'll call a special + meeting of that little old city council of mine and jam that temporary + franchise through while you'd be saying 'Jack Robinson!'” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what let's do,” Henry suggested. “I'll draw up the + temporary franchise to-night, and we'll put it through to-morrow at, say, + ten o'clock without saying a word to Mr. Ogilvy about it. Then when the + city clerk has signed and attested it and put the seal of the city on it, + I'll just casually take it over to Mr. Ogilvy. Of course he'll be + surprised and ask me how I came to get it, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And you LOOK surprised,” his father cautioned, “—sort of as if you + failed to comprehend what he's driving at. Make him repeat. Then you say: + 'Oh, that! Why, that's nothing, Mr. Ogilvy. I found the telegram in those + papers you left with me, read it, and concluded you'd left it there to + give me the dope so I could go ahead and get the franchise for you. Up + here, whenever anybody wants a franchise from the city, they always hire + an attorney to get it for them, so I didn't think anything about this but + just naturally went and got it for you. If it ain't right, why, say so and + I'll have it made right.'” Old Poundstone nudged his son in the short ribs + and winked drolly. “Let him get the idea you're a fly bird and on to your + job.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave it to yours truly,” said Henry. + </p> + <p> + His father carefully made a copy of the telegram. + </p> + <p> + “H'm!” he grunted. “Wants to cross Water Street at B and build out Front + Street. Well, I dare say nobody will kick over the traces at that. Nothing + but warehouses and lumber-drying yards along there, anyhow. Still, come to + think of it, Pennington will probably raise a howl about sparks from the + engines of the N. C. O. setting his lumber piles afire. And he won't + relish the idea of that crossing, because that means a watchman and + safety-gates, and he'll have to stand half the cost of that.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be dead against it,” Henry declared. “I know, because at the + Wednesday meeting of the Lumber Manufacturers' Association the subject of + the N. C. O. came up, and Pennington made a talk against it. He said the + N. C. O. ought to be discouraged, if it was a legitimate enterprise, which + he doubted, because the most feasible and natural route for a road would + be from Willits, Mendocino County, north to Sequoia. He said the N. C. O. + didn't tap the main body of the redwood-belt and that his own road could + be extended to act as a feeder to a line that would build in from the + south. I tell you he's dead set against it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we won't tell him anything about it, Henry. We'll just pull off this + special session of the council and forget to invite the reporters; after + the job has been put over, Pennington can come around and howl all he + wants. We're not letting a chance like this slip by us without grabbing a + handful of the tail-feathers, Henry. No, sir—not if we know it.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet!” said Henry earnestly. + </p> + <p> + And it was even so. The entire council was present with the exception of + Thatcher, who was home ill. His running mate Yates was heartily in favour + of doing all and sundry of those things which would aid and encourage the + building of the much-to-be-desired railroad and offered no objection to + the motion to grant a sixty-day temporary franchise. However, he always + played ball with the absent Thatcher and he was fairly well acquainted + with his other colleagues on the council; where they were concerned he was + as suspicious as a rattlesnake in August—in consequence of which he + considered it policy to play safe pending Thatcher's recovery. Rising in + his place, he pointed out to the board the fact that many prominent + citizens who yearned for such a road as the N. C. O. had warned him of the + danger of lending official aid and comfort to a passel of professional + promoters and fly-by-nights; that after all, the N. C. O. might merely be + the stalking-horse to a real-estate boom planned to unload the undesirable + timber holdings of the Trinidad Redwood Lumber Company, in which event it + might be well for the council to proceed with caution. It was Mr. Yates' + opinion that for the present a temporary franchise for thirty days only + should be given; if during that thirty days the N. C. O. exhibited + indubitable signs of activity, he would gladly vote for a thirty-day + extension to enable the matter of a permanent franchise to be taken up in + regular order. + </p> + <p> + This amendment to the original motion met with the unqualified approval of + the Mayor, as he was careful to announce for the benefit of the other + members of the Solid Four. The fact of the matter was, however, that he + was afraid to oppose Yates in such a simple matter through fear that Yates + might grow cantankerous and carry his troubles to the Sequoia Sentinel—a + base trick he had been known to do in the past. After explaining the + advisability of keeping secret for the present the fact that a thirty-day + franchise had been granted, His Honour, with the consent of the maker of + the original motion and the second thereof, submitted the amended motion + to a vote, which was carried unanimously. + </p> + <p> + At eleven-thirty Thursday morning, therefore, young Henry Poundstone, + having worked the greater part of the previous night preparing the deeds, + delivered both deeds and franchise to Buck Ogilvy at the latter's hotel. + It was with difficulty that the latter could conceal his tremendous + amazement when Henry casually handed him the franchise. True, he had + slipped that fake telegram among the contracts as bait for Henry and his + father, but in his wildest flights of fancy had not looked for them to + swallow hook, line, and sinker. His fondest hope, at the time he conceived + the brilliant idea, was that Henry would show the telegram to his father + and thus inculcate in the old gentleman a friendly feeling toward the N. + C. O. not unmixed with pleasurable anticipations of the day when Henry + Poundstone, Junior, should be one of the most highly prized members of the + legal staff of a public-service corporation. + </p> + <p> + When he could control his emotions, Mr. Ogilvy gazed approvingly upon + Henry Poundstone. “Mr. Poundstone,” he said solemnly, “I have met some + meteoric young attorneys in my day, but you're the first genuine comet I + have seen in the legal firmament. Do you mind telling me exactly how you + procured this franchise—and why you procured it without explicit + orders from me?” + </p> + <p> + Henry did his best to look puzzled. “Why,” he said, “you left that + telegram with me, and I concluded that you regarded it as self-explanatory + or else had forgotten to mention it. I knew you were busy, and I didn't + want to bother you with details, so I just went ahead and filled the order + for you. Anything wrong about that?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. It's perfectly wonderful. But how did you put it over?” + </p> + <p> + Henry smirked. “My dad's the engineer,” he said bluntly. “If thirty days + ain't enough time, see me and I'll get you thirty days more. And in the + meantime nobody knows a thing about this little deal. What's more, they + won't know. I figured Colonel Pennington might try to block you at that + crossing so I—” + </p> + <p> + Buck Ogilvy extended his hand in benediction and let it drop lightly on + Henry Poundstone's thin shoulder. Henry quivered with anticipation under + that gentle accolade and swallowed his heart while the great Ogilvy made a + portentous announcement. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Poundstone,” he said earnestly, “I am not a man to forget clever + work. At the proper time I shall—” He smiled his radiant smile. “You + understand, of course, that I am speaking for and can make you no firm + promises. However—” He smiled again. “All I have to say is that + you'll do!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Henry Poundstone, Junior. “Thank you ever so much.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + An experience extending over a very active business career of thirty years + had convinced Colonel Seth Pennington of the futility of wracking his + brains in vain speculation over mysteries. In his day he had been + interested in some small public-service corporations, which is tantamount + to saying that he knew peanut politics and had learned that the very best + way to fight the devil is with fire. Frequently he had found it of great + interest and profit to him to know exactly how certain men spent their + time and his money, and since he was a very busy man himself, naturally he + had to delegate somebody else, to procure this information for him. When, + therefore, the Northern California Oregon Railroad commenced to encroach + on the Colonel's time-appropriation for sleep, he realized that there was + but one way in which to conserve his rest and that was by engaging to + fathom the mystery for him a specialist in the unravelling of mysteries. + In times gone by, the Colonel had found a certain national + detective-agency an extremely efficient aid to well-known commercial + agencies, and to these tried and true subordinates he turned now for + explicit and satisfying information anent the Northern California Outrage! + </p> + <p> + The information forthcoming from Dun's and Bradstreet's was vague and + unsatisfying. Neither of these two commercial agencies could ascertain + anything of interest regarding the finances of the N. C. O. For the + present the corporation had no office, its destinies in San Francisco + being guarded by a well-known attorney who had declined to make any + statement regarding the company but promised one at an early date. The + board of directors consisted of this attorney, his two assistants, his + stenographer, and Mr. Buchanan Ogilvy. The company had been incorporated + for five million dollars, divided into five million shares of par value of + one dollar each, and five shares had been subscribed! Both agencies + forwarded copies of the articles of incorporation, but since the Colonel + had already read this document in the Sequoia Sentinel, he was not further + interested. + </p> + <p> + “It looks fishy to me,” the Colonel commented to his manager, “and I'm + more than ever convinced it's a scheme of that Trinidad Redwood Timber + Company to start a timber-boom and unload. And that is something the + Laguna Grande Lumber Company does not view with favour, for the reason + that one of these bright days those Trinidad people will come to their + senses and sell cheap to us. A slight extension of our logging-road will + make that Trinidad timber accessible; hence we are the only logical + customers and should control the situation. However, to be sure is to be + satisfied. Telephone the San Francisco office to have the detective-agency + that handled the longshoremen's strike job for us send a couple of their + best operatives up on the next steamer, with instructions to report to me + on arrival.” + </p> + <p> + When the operatives reported, the Colonel's orders were brief and + explicit. “I want to know all about a man named Buchanan Ogilvy, who is up + north somewhere procuring rights of way for the Northern California Oregon + Railroad. Find him. Get up with him in the morning and put him to bed at + night. Report to me daily.” + </p> + <p> + Buck was readily located in the country north of Arcata, and one of the + operatives actually procured a job as chainman with his surveying gang, + while the other kept Ogilvy and his secretary under surveillance. Their + reports, however, yielded the Colonel nothing until the first day of + Buck's return to Sequoia, when the following written report caused the + Colonel to sit up and take notice. It was headed: “Report of Operative No. + 41,” and it read: + </p> + <p> + Ogilvy in his room until 12 o'clock noon. At 12:05 entered dining room, + leaving at 1 P. M. and proceeding direct to office of Cardigan Redwood + Lumber Company. Operative took post behind a lumber-pile at side of office + so as to command view of interior of office. From manner of greeting + accorded Ogilvy by Bryce Cardigan, operative is of opinion they had not + met before. Ogilvy remained in Cardigan's private office half an hour, + spent another half-hour conversing with young lady in general office. + Young lady a brunette. O. then returned to Hotel Sequoia, where he wrote + several letters in writing-room. At 3 p. M. called to telephone. At 3:02 + p. M. left hurriedly for Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company's office. Entered + private office without waiting to be announced. Emerged at 3:12, walking + slowly and in deep thought. At B and Cedar streets stopped suddenly, + snapped his fingers and started walking rapidly, in the manner of one who + has arrived at a decision. At 3:24 entered the telephone building and + placed a long-distance call. Operative standing at counter close by heard + him place call with the girl on duty. He asked for the Cardigan Redwood + Lumber Company in San Francisco. + </p> + <p> + Concluded his conversation at 3:32 and proceeded to the city hall, + entering the Mayor's office at 3:43 and emerging at 4:10. He then returned + to the Hotel Sequoia and sat in the lobby until handed a telegram at 4:40; + whereupon he entered the telephone-booth and talked to someone, emerging + at 4:43 to go to his room. He returned at 4:46 and hurried to the + law-office of Henry Poundstone, Junior, in the Cardigan Block. He was with + Poundstone until 4:59, when he returned leisurely to the Hotel Sequoia, + carrying a small leather grip. He also had this grip when he entered + Poundstone's office. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the hotel at 5:03 and went to his room. At 6:45 he entered a + public automobile in front of the hotel and was driven to No. 846 Elm + Street. The brunette young lady who works m the Cardigan Redwood Lumber + Company's office emerged presently and entered the car, which then + proceeded to No. 38 Redwood Boulevard, where the brunette young lady + alighted and entered the house. She returned at 7 sharp, accompanied by a + young lady whom she introduced to O. All three were then driven to the + Canyon restaurant at 432 Third Street and escorted to a reserved table in + one of the screened-off semi-private rooms along the right side of the + dining room. At 7:15 Bryce Cardigan entered the restaurant and was + escorted by the waiter to the table occupied by O. and party. + </p> + <p> + At 9:30 entire party left restaurant and entered a Napier car driven by a + half-breed Indian whom the second young lady hailed as George. O. and the + brunette young lady were dropped at 846 Elm Street while Cardigan and the + other young lady proceeded directly to No. 38 Redwood Boulevard. After + aiding the lady to alight, Cardigan talked with her a few minutes at the + gate, then bade her good-night and after waiting until she had disappeared + inside the front door, returned to the automobile and was driven to his + home, while the chauffeur George ran the car into the Cardigan garage. + </p> + <p> + Upon returning to Hotel Sequoia, found O. in hotel bar. Saw him to bed at + 10 sharp. + </p> + <p> + Needless to relate, this report had a most amazing effect upon Colonel + Pennington, and when at length he could recover his mental equilibrium, he + set about quite calmly to analyze the report, word by word and sentence by + sentence, with the result that he promptly arrived at the following + conclusion: + </p> + <p> + (1) His niece Shirley Sumner was not to be trusted in so far as young + Bryce Cardigan was concerned. Despite her assumption of hostility toward + the fellow since that memorable day in Pennington's woods, the Colonel was + now fully convinced that she had made her peace with him and had been the + recipient of his secret attentions right along. The Colonel was on the + verge of calling his niece up to demand an explanation, but on second + thought decided to wait a few days and see what his gum-shoe men might + have to report further. + </p> + <p> + (2) The N. C. O. was still a mystery, but a mystery in which Bryce + Cardigan was interested. Moreover, he was anxious to aid the N. C. O. in + every way possible. However, the Colonel could understand this. Cardigan + would aid anything that might possibly tend to lift the Cardigan lumber + interests out from under the iron heel of Colonel Pennington and he was + just young enough and unsophisticated enough to be fooled by that Trinidad + Redwood Timber gang. + </p> + <p> + (3) The N. C. O. was going to make a mighty bluff, even to the extent of + applying for a franchise to run over the city streets of Sequoia. Hence + Ogilvy's visit to Mayor Poundstone—doubtless on the advice of Bryce + Cardigan. Hence, also, his visit to young Henry Poundstone, whom he had + doubtless engaged as his legal representative in order to ingratiate + himself with the young man's father. Coarse work! + </p> + <p> + (4) Ogilvy had carried a small leather bag to and from Henry Poundstone's + office. That bag was readily explained. It had contained a bribe in gold + coin and young Henry had been selected as the go-between. That meant that + Mayor Poundstone had agreed to deliver the franchise—for a + consideration; and like the smooth scoundrel he was, he wanted his bit in + gold coin, which could not be marked without the marks being discovered! + Ogilvy had called first on the Mayor to arrange the details; then he had + called on the Mayor's son to complete the transaction. + </p> + <p> + (5) If a franchise had been arranged for and the bribe already delivered, + that meant the prompt and unadvertised commencement of operations. Where + (the Colonel asked himself) would these operations begin? Why, close to + the waterfront, where materials could be landed from the steamer that + brought them to Sequoia. At whose mill-dock would those materials be + discharged? Why, Cardigan's dock, of course. Ogilvy had probably called + first on Cardigan to arrange that detail. Yes, the N. C. O. was going to + carry its monumental bluff to the point of building a mile of track + through town. ... No—no, they wouldn't spend that much money on a + bluff; they wouldn't bribe Poundstone unless the road was meant. And was + it a common carrier, after all? Had Cardigan in some mysterious manner + managed to borrow enough money to parallel the Laguna Grande Lumber + Company's logging-road, and was he disguising it as a common carrier? + </p> + <p> + The trail was growing hot; the Colonel mopped his brow and concentrated + further. If the N. C. O. was really going to start operations, in order to + move its material from the Cardigan dock to the scene of operations it + would have to cut his (the Colonel's) tracks somewhere on Water Street. + Damnation! That was it. They were trying to slip one over on him. They + were planning to get a jump-crossing in before he should awake to the + situation; they were planning, too, to have the city council slip through + the franchise when nobody was looking, and once the crossing should be in, + they could laugh at Colonel Pennington! + </p> + <p> + “The scoundrels!” he murmured. “I'm on to them! Cardigan is playing the + game with them. That's why he bought those rails from the old Laurel Creek + spur! Oh, the sly young fox—quoting that portion of our hauling + contract which stipulates that all spurs and extensions of my road, once + it enters Cardigan's lands, must be made at Cardigan's expense! And all to + fool me into thinking he wanted those rails for an extension of his + logging-system. Oh, what a blithering idiot I have been! However, it's not + too late yet. Poundstone is coming over to dinner Thursday night, and I'll + wring the swine dry before he leaves the house. And as for those rails + Cardigan managed to hornswoggle me out of—” + </p> + <p> + He seized the telephone and fairly shouted to his exchange operator to get + his woods-foreman Jules Rondeau on the line. + </p> + <p> + “That you, Rondeau?” he shouted when the big French Canadian responded. + “Pennington talking. What has young Cardigan done about those rails I sold + him from the abandoned spur up Laurel Creek?” + </p> + <p> + “He have two flat-cars upon ze spur now. Dose woods-gang of hees she tear + up dose rails from ze head of ze spur and load in ze flat-cars.” + </p> + <p> + “The ears haven't left the Laurel Creek spur, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she don't leave yet.” + </p> + <p> + “See to it, Rondeau, that they do not leave until I give the word. + Understand? Cardigan's woods-boss will call you up and ask you to send a + switch-engine tip to snake them out late this afternoon or to-morrow + afternoon. Tell him the switch-engine is in the shop for repairs or is + busy at other work—anything that will stall him off and delay + delivery.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose Bryce Cardigan, he comes around and say 'Why?'” Rondeau queried + cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “Kill him,” the Colonel retorted coolly. “It strikes me you and the Black + Minorca are rather slow playing even with young Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + Rondeau grunted. “I theenk mebbe so you kill heem yourself, boss,” he + replied enigmatically, and hung up. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + The dictograph which Shirley had asked Bryce to obtain for her in San + Francisco arrived on the regular passenger-steamer on Thursday morning and + Bryce called her up to ask when she desired it sent over. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mr. Cardigan,” she greeted him cheerily. “How do you feel + this morning? Any the worse for having permitted yourself to be a human + being last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I feel pretty fine, Shirley. I think it did me a lot of good to + crawl out of my shell last night.” + </p> + <p> + “You feel encouraged to go on living, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And fighting?” + </p> + <p> + “By all means.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, something has occurred of late to give you new courage?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, many things. Didn't I give an exhibition of my courage in accepting + Ogilvy's invitation to dinner, knowing you were going to be there?” + </p> + <p> + She did not like that. “You carry your frankness to extremes, my friend,” + she retorted. “I'm sure I've always been much nicer to you than you + deserve.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless there wasn't any valid reason why I should tantalize myself + last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you come?” He had a suspicion that she was laughing silently + at him. + </p> + <p> + “Partly to please Ogilvy, who has fallen head over heels in love with + Moira; partly to please Moira, who wanted me to meet you, but mostly to + please myself, because, while I dreaded it, nevertheless I wanted to see + you again. I comforted myself with the thought that for the sake of + appearances we dared not quarrel in the presence of Moira and my friend + Ogilvy, and I dare say you felt the same way. At any rate, I have seldom + had more enjoyment when partaking of a meal with an enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “Please do not say that,” she answered. “I am your opponent, but not your + enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “That's nice of you. By the way, Shirley, you may inform your uncle at + breakfast Friday morning about my connection with the N. C. O. In fact, I + think it would be far better for you if you made it a point to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because both Ogilvy and myself have a very strong suspicion that your + uncle has a detective or two on our trails. There was a strange man rather + prevalent around him all day yesterday and I noticed a fellow following my + car last night. He was on a bicycle and followed me home. I communicated + my suspicions to Ogilvy, and this morning he spent two hours trying to + shake the same man off his trail—and couldn't. So I judge your uncle + will learn to-day that you dined with Ogilvy, Moira, and me last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! That's terrible.” He could sense her distress. + </p> + <p> + “Ashamed of having been seen in my company, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Please don't. Are you quite serious in this matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Seth will think it so—so strange.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll probably tell you about it. Better beat him to the issue by + 'fessing up, Shirley. Doubtless his suspicions are already aroused, and if + you inform him that you know I am the real builder of the N. C. O., he'll + think you're a smart woman and that you've been doing a little private + gum-shoe work of your own on behalf of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is exactly what I have been doing,” she reminded him. + </p> + <p> + “I know. But then, I'm not afraid of you, Shirley—that is, any more. + And after Friday morning I'll not be afraid of your uncle. Do tell him at + breakfast. Then watch to see if it affects his appetite.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! I feel as if I were a conspirator.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are one. Your dictograph has arrived. Shall I send George + Sea Otter over with it? And have you somebody to install it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bother! Does it have to be installed?” + </p> + <p> + “It does. You place the contraption—hide it, rather—in the + room where the conspirators conspire; then you run wires from it into + another room where the detectives listen in on the receivers.” + </p> + <p> + “Could George Sea Otter install it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he could. There is a printed card of instructions, and I dare say + George would find the job no more baffling than the ignition-system on the + Napier.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he tell anybody?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if you ask him not to.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not even a whisper to himself, Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. Please send him over. Thank you so much, Bryce Cardigan. + You're an awful good old sort, after all. Really, it hurts me to have to + oppose you. It would be so much nicer if we didn't have all those redwood + trees to protect, wouldn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us not argue the question, Shirley. I think I have my redwood trees + protected. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + He had scarcely finished telephoning his home to instruct George Sea Otter + to report with the express package to Shirley when Buck Ogilvy strolled + into the office and tossed a document on his desk. “There's your little + old temporary franchise, old thing,” he announced; and with many a hearty + laugh he related to Bryce the ingenious means by which he had obtained it. + “And now if you will phone up to your logging-camp and instruct the + woods-boss to lay off about fifty men to rest for the day, pending a hard + night's work, and arrange to send them down on the last log-train to-day, + I'll drop around after dinner and we'll fly to that jump-crossing. Here's + a list of the tools we'll need.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll telephone Colonel Pennington's manager and ask him to kick a + switch-engine in on the Laurel Creek spur and snake those flat-cars with + my rails aboard out to the junction with the main line,” Bryce replied. + And he called up the Laguna Grande Lumber Company—only to be + informed by no less a person than Colonel Pennington himself that it would + be impossible to send the switch-engine in until the following afternoon. + The Colonel was sorry, but the switch-engine was in the shop having the + brick in her fire-box renewed, while the mogul that hauled the log trams + would not have time to attend to the matter, since the flats would have to + be spotted on the sidetrack at Cardigan's log-landing in the woods, and + this could not be done until the last loaded log-train for the day had + been hauled out to make room. + </p> + <p> + “Why not switch back with the mogul after the logtrain has been hauled out + on the main line?” Bryce demanded pointedly. + </p> + <p> + Pennington, however, was not trapped. “My dear fellow,” he replied + patronizingly, “quite impossible, I assure you. That old trestle across + the creek, my boy—it hasn't been looked at for years. While I'd send + the light switch-engine over it and have no fears—” + </p> + <p> + “I happen to know, Colonel, that the big mogul kicked those flats in to + load the rails!” + </p> + <p> + “I know it. And what happened? Why, that old trestle squeaked and shook + and gave every evidence of being about to buckle in the centre. My + engineer threatened to quit if I sent him in again.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I suppose I'll have to wait until the switch-engine comes out + of the shop,” Bryce replied resignedly, and hung up. He turned a troubled + face to Ogilvy. “Checkmated!” he announced. “Whipped to a frazzle. The + Colonel is lying, Buck, and I've caught him at it. As a matter of fact, + the mogul didn't kick those flats in at all. The switch-engine did—and + I know it. Now I'm going to send a man over to snoop around Pennington's + roundhouse and verify his report about the switch-engine being in the + shop.” + </p> + <p> + He did so. Half an hour later the messenger returned with the information + that not only was the switch-engine not in the shop but her fire-box had + been overhauled the week before and was reported to be in excellent + condition. + </p> + <p> + “That settles it,” Buck Ogilvy mourned. “He had gum-shoe men on my trail, + after all; they have reported, and the Colonel is as suspicious as a + rhino. He doesn't know anything, but he smells danger just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, Buck. So he is delaying the game until he can learn something + definite.” He drummed idly on his desk for several minutes. Then: + </p> + <p> + “Buck, can you run a locomotive?” + </p> + <p> + “With one hand, old man.” + </p> + <p> + “Fine business! Well, I guess we'll put in that crossing to-morrow night. + The switch-engine will be in the roundhouse at Pennington's mill to-morrow + night so we can't steal that; but we can steal the mogul. I'll just send + word up to my woods-boss not to have his train loaded when the mogul comes + up late to-morrow afternoon to haul it down to our log-landing. He will + explain to the engineer and fireman that our big bull donkey went out and + we couldn't get our logs down to the landing in time to get them loaded + that day. Of course, the engine-crew won't bother to run down to Sequoia + for the night—that is, they won't run the mogul down. They'll just + leave her at our log-landing all night and put up for the night at our + camp. However, if they should be forced, because of their private affairs, + to return to Sequoia, they'll borrow my trackwalker's velocipede. I have + one that is driven with a small gasolene engine—I use it in running + back and forth to the logging-camp in case I fail to connect with a + log-train.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you know they will put up at your camp all night, Bryce?” + </p> + <p> + “My men will make them comfortable, and it means they can lie abed until + seven o'clock instead of having to roll out at five o'clock, which would + be the case if they spent the night at this end of the line. If they do + not stay at our logging-camp, the mogul will stay there, provided my + woods-foreman lends them my velocipede. The fireman would prefer that to + firing that big mogul all the way back to Sequoia.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Buck agreed, “I think he would.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a slight grade at our log-landing. I know that, because the air + leaked out of the brakes on a log-train I was on a short time ago, and the + train ran away with me. Now, the engine-crew will set the airbrakes on the + mogul and leave her with steam up to throb all night; they'll not blow her + down, for that would mean work firing her in the morning. Our task, Buck, + will be to throw off the airbrakes and let her glide silently out of our + log-landing. About a mile down the road we'll stop, get up steam, run down + to the junction with the main line, back in on the Laurel Creek spur, + couple on to those flat-cars and breeze merrily down to Sequoia with them. + They'll be loaded waiting for us; our men will be congregated in our + dry-yard just off Water Street near B, waiting for us to arrive with the + rails—and bingo—we go to it. After we drop the flats, we'll + run the engine back to the woods, leave it where we found it, return + a-flying on the velocipede, if it's there, or in my automobile, if it + isn't there. You can get back in ample time to superintend the cutting of + the crossing!” + </p> + <p> + “Spoken like a man!” quoth Buck Ogilvy. “You're the one man in this world + for whom I'd steal a locomotive. 'At-a boy!” + </p> + <p> + Had either of the conspirators known of Pennington's plans to entertain + Mayor Poundstone at dinner on Thursday night, it is probable they would + not have cheered until those flat-cars were out of the woods. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <p> + Mayor Poundstone and his wife arrived at the Pennington home in Redwood + Boulevard at six forty-five Thursday evening. It was with a profound + feeling of relief that His Honour lifted the lady from their modest little + “flivver,” for once inside the Pennington house, he felt, he would be free + from a peculiarly devilish brand of persecution inaugurated by his wife + about three months previously. Mrs. Poundstone wanted a new automobile. + And she had entered upon a campaign of nagging and complaint; hoping to + wear Poundstone's resistance down to the point where he would be willing + to barter his hope of salvation in return for a guarantee of peace on + earth. + </p> + <p> + “I feel like a perfect fool, calling upon these people in this filthy + little rattletrap,” Mrs. Poundstone protested as they passed up the cement + walk toward the Pennington portal. + </p> + <p> + Mayor Poundstone paused. Had he been Medusa, the glance he bent upon his + spouse would have transformed her instantly into a not particularly + symmetrical statue of concrete. He had reached the breaking-point. + </p> + <p> + “In pity's name, woman,” he growled, “talk about something else. Give me + one night of peace. Let me enjoy my dinner and this visit.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it,” Mrs. P. retorted with asperity. She pointed to Shirley + Sumner's car parked under the porte-cochere. “If I had a sedan like that, + I could die happy. And it only cost thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “I paid six hundred and fifty for the rattletrap, and I couldn't afford + that,” he almost whimpered. “You were happy with it until I was elected + mayor.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget our social position, my dear,” she purred sweetly. + </p> + <p> + He could have struck her. “Hang your social position,” he gritted + savagely. “Shut up, will you? Social position in a sawmill town! Rats!” + </p> + <p> + “Sh—sh! Control yourself, Henry!” She plucked gently at his arm; + with her other hand she lifted the huge knocker on the front door. + </p> + <p> + “Dammit, you'll drive me crazy yet,” Poundstone gurgled, and subsided. + </p> + <p> + The Pennington butler, a very superior person, opened the door and swept + them with a faintly disapproving glance. It is possible that he found + Mayor Poundstone, who was adorned with a white string tie, a soft slouch + hat, a Prince Albert coat, and horseshoe cut vest, mildly amusing. + </p> + <p> + The Poundstones entered. At the entrance to the living room the butler + announced sonorously: “Mayor Poundstone and Mrs. Poundstone.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see you aboard the ship,” Colonel Pennington boomed with his best + air of hearty expansiveness. “Well, well,” he continued, leading Mrs. + Poundstone to a divan in front of the fire, “this is certainly delightful. + My niece will be down in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Have a cigarette, + Mr. Poundstone.” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the commonplace chatter incident to such occasions, + Shirley entered the room; and the Colonel, leaving her to entertain the + guests, went to a small sideboard in one corner and brought forth the + “materials,” as he jocularly termed them. James appeared like magic with a + tray, glasses, and tiny serviettes, and the Colonel's elixir was passed to + the company. + </p> + <p> + “To your beautiful eyes, Mrs. Poundstone,” was Pennington's debonair toast + as he fixed Mrs. P.'s green orbs with his own. “Poundstone, your very good + health, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Dee-licious,” murmured Mrs. Poundstone. “Perfectly dee-licious. And not a + bit strong!” + </p> + <p> + “Have another,” her hospitable host suggested, and he poured it, quite + oblivious of the frightened wink which the mayor telegraphed his wife. + </p> + <p> + “I will, if Miss Sumner will join me,” Mrs. P. acquiesced. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I seldom drink a cocktail, and one is always my limit,” Shirley + replied smilingly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” the Colonel retorted agreeably, “we'll make it a + three-cornered festival. Poundstone, smoke up.” + </p> + <p> + They “smoked up,” and Poundstone prayed to his rather nebulous gods that + Mrs. P. would not discuss automobiles during the dinner. + </p> + <p> + Alas! The Colonel's cocktails were not unduly fortified, but for all that, + the two which Mrs. Poundstone had assimilated contained just sufficient + “kick” to loosen the lady's tongue without thickening it. Consequently, + about the time the piece de resistance made its appearance, she threw + caution to the winds and adverted to the subject closest to her heart. + </p> + <p> + “I was telling Henry as we came up the walk how greatly I envied you that + beautiful sedan, Miss Sumner,” she gushed. “Isn't it a perfectly stunning + car?” + </p> + <p> + Poundstone made one futile attempt to head her off. “And I was telling + Mrs. Poundstone,” he struck in with a pathetic attempt to appear humorous + and condescending, “that a little jitney was our gait, and that she might + as well abandon her passionate yearning for a closed car. Angelina, my + dear, something tells me I'm going to enjoy this dinner a whole lot more + if you'll just make up your mind to be real nice and resign yourself to + the inevitable.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, my dear, never.” She shook a coy finger at him. “You dear old + tightie,” she cooed, “you don't realize what a closed car means to a + woman.” She turned to Shirley. “How an open car does blow one around, my + dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed,” said Shirley innocently. + </p> + <p> + “Heard the McKinnon people had a man killed up in their woods yesterday, + Colonel,” Poundstone remarked, hoping against hope to divert the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The fellow's own fault,” Pennington replied. “He was one of those + employees who held to the opinion that every man is the captain of his own + soul and the sole proprietor of his own body—hence that it behooved + him to look after both, in view of the high cost of safety-appliances. He + was warned that the logging-cable was weak at that old splice and liable + to pull out of the becket—and sure enough it did. The free end of + the cable snapped back like a whip, and—” + </p> + <p> + “I hold to the opinion,” Mrs. Poundstone interrupted, “that if one wishes + for a thing hard enough and just keeps on wishing, one is bound to get + it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Mr. Poundstone impressively, “if you would only confine + yourself to wishing, I assure you your chances for success would be + infinitely brighter.” + </p> + <p> + There was no mistaking this rebuke; even two cocktails were powerless to + render Mrs. Poundstone oblivious to it. Shirley and her uncle saw the + Mayor's lady flush slightly; they caught the glint of murder in His + Honour's eye; and the keen intelligence of each warned them that closed + cars should be a closed topic of conversation with the Poundstones. With + the nicest tact in the world, Shirley adroitly changed the subject to some + tailored shirt-waists she had observed in the window of a local dry-goods + emporium that day, and Mrs. Poundstone subsided. + </p> + <p> + About nine o'clock, Shirley, in response to a meaning glance from her + relative, tactfully convoyed Mrs. Poundstone upstairs, leaving her uncle + alone with his prey. Instantly Pennington got down to business. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he queried, apropos of nothing, “what do you hear with reference + to the Northern-California-Gregon Railroad?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the usual amount of wind, Colonel. Nobody knows what to make of that + outfit.” + </p> + <p> + Pennington studied the end of his cigar a moment. “Well, I don't know what + to think of that project either,” he admitted presently, “But while it + looks like a fake, I have a suspicion that where there's so much smoke, + one is likely to discover a little fire. I've been waiting to see whether + or not they will apply for a franchise to enter the city, but they seem to + be taking their time about it.” + </p> + <p> + “They certainly are a deliberate crowd,” the Mayor murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Have they made any move to get a franchise?” Pennington asked bluntly. + “If they have, I suppose you would be the first man to hear about it. I + don't mean to be impertinent,” he added with a gracious smile, “but the + fact is I noticed that windbag Ogilvy entering your office in the city + hall the other afternoon, and I couldn't help wondering whether his visit + was social or official.” + </p> + <p> + “Social—so far as I could observe,” Poundstone replied truthfully, + wondering just how much Pennington knew, and rather apprehensive that he + might get caught in a lie before the evening was over. + </p> + <p> + “Preliminary to the official visit, I dare say.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel puffed thoughtfully for a while—for which the Mayor was + grateful, since it provided time in which to organize himself. Suddenly, + however, Pennington turned toward his guest and fixed the latter with a + serious glance. + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't anticipated discussing this matter with you, Poundstone, and you + must forgive me for it; but the fact is—I might as well be frank + with you—I am very greatly interested in the operation of this + proposed railroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! Financially?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but not in the financial way you think. If that railroad is built, + it will have a very distinct effect on my finances.” + </p> + <p> + “In just what way?” + </p> + <p> + “Disastrous.” + </p> + <p> + “I am amazed, Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't if you had given the subject very close consideration. The + logical route for this railroad is from Willits north to Sequoia, not from + Sequoia north to Grant's Pass, Oregon. Such a road as the N.C.O. + contemplates will tap about one third of the redwood belt only, while a + line built in from the south will tap two thirds of it. The remaining + third can be tapped by an extension of my own logging-road; when my own + timber is logged out, I will want other business for my road, and if the + N.C.O. parallels it, I will be left with two streaks of rust on my hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I perceive. So it will, so it will!” + </p> + <p> + “You agree with me, then, Poundstone, that the N.C.O. is not designed to + foster the best interests of the community. Of course you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hadn't given the subject very mature thought, Colonel, but in the + light of your observations it would appear that you are quite right.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am right. I take it, therefore, that when the N.C.O. applies + for its franchise to run through Sequoia, neither you nor your city + council will consider the proposition at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot, of course, speak for the city council—” Poundstone began, + but Pennington's cold, amused smile froze further utterance. + </p> + <p> + “Be frank with me, Poundstone. I am not a child. What I would like to know + is this: will you exert every effort to block that franchise in the firm + conviction that by so doing you will accomplish a laudable public + service?” + </p> + <p> + Poundstone squirmed. “I should not care, at this time, to go on record,” + he replied evasively. “When I have had time to look into the matter more + thoroughly—” + </p> + <p> + “Tut-tut, my dear man! Let us not straddle the fence. Business is a game, + and so is politics. Neither knows any sentiment. Suppose you should favour + this N.C.O. crowd in a mistaken idea that you were doing the right thing, + and that subsequently numberless fellow-citizens developed the idea that + you had not done your public duty? Would some of them not be likely to + invoke a recall election and retire you and your city council—in + disgrace?” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt if they could defeat me, Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no such doubt,” Pennington replied pointedly. + </p> + <p> + Poundstone looked up at him from under lowered lids. “Is that a threat?” + he demanded tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow! Threaten my guest!” Pennington laughed patronizingly. “I + am giving you advice, Poundstone—and rather good advice, it strikes + me. However, while we're on the subject, I have no hesitancy in telling + you that in the event of a disastrous decision on your part, I should not + feel justified in supporting you.” + </p> + <p> + He might, with equal frankness, have said: “I would smash you.” To his + guest his meaning was not obscure. Poundstone studied the pattern of the + rug, and Pennington, watching him sharply, saw that the man was + distressed. Then suddenly one of those brilliant inspirations, or flashes + of rare intuition, which had helped so materially to fashion Pennington + into a captain of industry, came to him. He resolved on a bold stroke. + </p> + <p> + “Let's not beat about the bush, Poundstone,” he said with the air of a + father patiently striving to induce his child to recant a lie, tell the + truth, and save himself from the parental wrath. “You've been doing + business with Ogilvy; I know it for a fact, and you might as well admit + it.” + </p> + <p> + Poundstone looked up, red and embarrassed. “If I had known—” he + began. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly! I realize you acted in perfect good faith. You're + like the majority of people in Sequoia. You're all so crazy for + rail-connection with the outside world that you jump at the first plan + that seems to promise you one. Now, I'm as eager as the others, but if we + are going to have a railroad, I, for one, desire the right kind of + railroad; and the N.C.O. isn't the right kind—that is, not for the + interests I represent. Have you promised Ogilvy a franchise?” + </p> + <p> + There was no dodging that question. A denial, under the present + circumstances, would be tantamount to an admission; Poundstone could not + guess just how much the Colonel really knew, and it would not do to lie to + him, since eventually the lie must be discovered. Caught between the horns + of a dilemma, Poundstone only knew that Ogilvy could never be to him such + a powerful enemy as Colonel Seth Pennington; so, after the fashion of his + kind, he chose the lesser of two evils. He resolved to “come clean.” + </p> + <p> + “The city council has already granted the N.C.O. a temporary franchise,” + he confessed. + </p> + <p> + Pennington sprang furiously to his feet. “Dammit.” he snarled, “why did + you do that without consulting me?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't know you were remotely interested.” Now that the ice was broken, + Poundstone felt relieved and was prepared to defend his act vigorously. + “And we did not commit ourselves irrevocably,” he continued. “The + temporary franchise will expire in twenty-eight days—and in that + short time the N.C.O. cannot even get started.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any understanding as to an extension of that temporary + franchise, in case the N.C.O. desires it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes—not in writing, however. I gave Ogilvy to understand that + if he was not ready in thirty days, an extension could readily be + arranged.” + </p> + <p> + “Any witnesses?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not such a fool, sir,” Poundstone declared with asperity. “I had a + notion—I might as well admit it—that you would have serious + objection to having your tracks cut by a jump-crossing at B and Water + streets.” And for no reason in life except to justify himself and + inculcate in Pennington an impression that the latter was dealing with a + crafty and far-seeing mayor, Poundstone smiled boldly and knowingly. “I + repeat,” he said, “that I did not put it in writing.” He leaned back + nonchalantly and blew smoke at the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “You oily rascal!” Pennington soliloquized. “You're a smarter man than I + thought. You're trying to play both ends against the middle.” He recalled + the report of his private detective and the incident of Ogilvy's visit to + young Henry Poundstone's office with a small leather bag; he was more than + ever convinced that this bag had contained the bribe, in gold coin, which + had been productive of that temporary franchise and the verbal + understanding for its possible extension. + </p> + <p> + “Ogilvy did business with you through your son Henry,” he challenged. + Poundstone started violently. “How much did Henry get out of it?” + Pennington continued brutally. + </p> + <p> + “Two hundred and fifty dollars retainer, and not a cent more,” Poundstone + protested virtuously—and truthfully. + </p> + <p> + “You're not so good a business man as I gave you credit for being,” the + Colonel retorted mirthfully “Two hundred and fifty dollars! Oh, Lord! + Poundstone, you're funny. Upon my word, you're a scream.” And the Colonel + gave himself up to a sincerely hearty laugh. “You call it a retainer,” he + continued presently, “but a grand jury might call it something else. + However,” he went on after a slight pause, “you're not in politics for + your health; so let's get down to brass tacks. How much do you want to + deny the N.C.O. not only an extension of that temporary franchise but also + a permanent franchise when they apply for it?” + </p> + <p> + Poundstone rose with great dignity. “Colonel Pennington, sir,” he said, + “you insult me.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down. You've been insulted that way before now. Shall we say one + thousand dollars per each for your three good councilmen and true, and for + yourself that sedan of my niece's? It's a good car. Last year's model, but + only run about four thousand miles and in tiptop condition. It's always + had the best of care, and I imagine it will please Mrs. P. immensely and + grant you surcease from sorrow. Of course, I will not give it to you. I'll + sell it to you—five hundred down upon the signing of the agreement, + and in lieu of the cash, I will take over that jitney Mrs. Poundstone + finds so distasteful. Then I will employ your son Henry as the attorney + for the Laguna Grande Lumber Company and give him a retainer of + twenty-five hundred dollars for one year. I will leave it to you to get + this twenty-five hundred dollars from Henry and pay my niece cash for the + car. Doesn't that strike you as a perfectly safe and sane proposition?” + </p> + <p> + Had a vista of paradise opened up before Mr. Poundstone, he could not have + been more thrilled. He had been absolutely honest in his plea to Mrs. + Poundstone that he could not afford a thirty-two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar + sedan, much as he longed to oblige her and gain a greatly to be desired + peace. And now the price was dangling before his eyes, so to speak. At any + rate it was parked in the porte-cochere not fifty feet distant! + </p> + <p> + For the space of a minute the Mayor weighed his son's future as a + corporation attorney against his own future as mayor of Sequoia—and + Henry lost. + </p> + <p> + “It might be arranged, Colonel,” he murmured in a low voice—the + voice of shame. + </p> + <p> + “It is already arranged,” the Colonel replied cheerfully. “Leave your jit + at the front gate and drive home in Shirley's car. I'll arrange matters + with her.” He laughed shortly. “It means, of course, that I'll have to + telegraph to San Francisco to-morrow and buy her a later model. Thank + goodness, she has a birthday to-morrow! Have a fresh cigar, Mayor.” + </p> + <p> + Riding home that night in Shirley Sumner's car Mrs. Poundstone leaned + suddenly toward her husband, threw a fat arm around his neck and kissed + him. “Oh, Henry, you darling!” she purred. “What did I tell you? If a + person only wishes hard enough—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go to the devil!” he roared angrily. “You've nagged me into it. Shut + up and take your arm away. Do you want me to wreck the car before we've + had it an hour?” + </p> + <p> + As for Colonel Pennington, he had little difficulty in explaining the deal + to Shirley, who was sleepy and not at all interested. The Poundstones had + bored her to extinction, and upon her uncle's assurance that she would + have a new car within a week, she thanked him and for the first time + retired without offering her cheek for his good-night kiss. Shortly + thereafter the Colonel sought his own virtuous couch and prepared to + surrender himself to the first good sleep in three weeks. He laid the + flattering unction to his soul that Bryce Cardigan had dealt him a poor + hand from a marked deck and he had played it exceedingly well. “Lucky I + blocked the young beggar from getting those rails out of the Laurel Creek + spur,” he mused, “or he'd have had his jump-crossing in overnight—and + then where the devil would I have been? Up Salt Creek without a paddle—and + all the courts in Christendom would avail me nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He was dozing off, when a sound smote upon his ears. Instantly he was wide + awake, listening intently, his head cocked on one side. The sound grew + louder; evidently it was approaching Sequoia—and with a bound the + Colonel sat up in bed, trembling in every limb. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, out of the deep, rumbling diapason he heard a sharp click—then + another and another. He counted them—six in all. + </p> + <p> + “A locomotive and two flat-cars!” he murmured. “And they just passed over + the switch leading from the main-line tracks out to my log-dump. That + means the train is going down Water Street to the switch into Cardigan's + yard. By George, they've outwitted me!” + </p> + <p> + With the agility of a boy he sprang into his clothes, raced downstairs, + and leaped into Mayor Poundstone's jitney, standing in the darkness at the + front gate. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <p> + The success of Bryce Cardigan's plan for getting Ms rails down from Laurel + Creek depended entirely upon the whimsy which might seize the crew of the + big mogul that hauled the last load of logs out of Cardigan's redwoods on + Thursday afternoon. Should the engineer and fireman decide to leave the + locomotive at the logging-camp for the night, Bryce's task would be as + simple as turning a hose down a squirrel-hole. On the other hand, should + they run back to Sequoia with the engine, he and Ogilvy faced the + alternative of “borrowing” it from the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's + roundhouse; and that operation, in view of the fact that Pennington's + night watchman would be certain to hear the engine leaving, offered + difficulties. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the afternoon, after having sent his orders in writing to the + woods-boss, via George Sea Otter (for he dared not trust to the + telephone), be waited in his office for a telephone-call from the + logging-camp as to what action the engine-crew had taken. He could not + work; he could not think. He only knew that all depended upon the success + of his coup to-night. Finally, at a quarter of six, Curtis, his woods-boss + rang in. + </p> + <p> + “They're staying here all night, sir,” he reported. + </p> + <p> + “House them as far from the log-landing as possible, and organize a + poker-game to keep them busy in case they don't go to bed before eight + o'clock,” Bryce ordered. “In the meantime, send a man you can trust—Jim + Harding, who runs the big bull-donkey, will do—down to the + locomotive to keep steam up until I arrive.” + </p> + <p> + He had scarcely hung up, when Buck Ogilvy came into the office. “Well?” he + queried casually. + </p> + <p> + “Safe-o, Buck!” replied Bryce. “How about your end of the contract?” + </p> + <p> + “Crowbars, picks, shovels, hack-saws to cut the rails, lanterns to work + by, and men to do the work will be cached in your lumber-yard by nine + o'clock, waiting for the rails to arrive.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded his approval, “Then I suppose there's nothing to do but get a + bite of dinner and proceed to business.” + </p> + <p> + Buck insisted on keeping an engagement to dine with Moira, and Bryce + agreed to call for him at the Bon Gusto restaurant. Then Bryce went home + to dine with his father. Old Cardigan was happier than his son had seen + him since the return of the latter to Sequoia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sonny, I've had a mighty pleasant afternoon,” he declared as Bryce + led him to the dinner-table. “I've been up to the Valley of the Giants.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was amazed. “Why, how could you?” he demanded. “The old skid-road is + impassable, and after you leave the end of the skid-road, the trail in to + Mother's grave is so overgrown with buckthorn and wild lilac I doubt if a + rabbit could get through it comfortably.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it,” the old man replied. “Somebody has gone to work and + planked that old skid-road and put up a hand-railing on each side, while + the trail through the Giants has been grubbed out and smoothed over. All + that old logging-cable I abandoned in those choppings has been strung from + tree to tree alongside the path on both sides. I can go up there alone + now, once George sets me on the old skid-road; I can't get lost.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you discover this?” Bryce demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Judge Moore, representing the new owner, called round this morning and + took me in tow. He said his client knew the property held for me a certain + sentimental value which wasn't transferred in the deed, and so the Judge + had been instructed to have the skid-road planked and the forest trail + grubbed out—for me. It appears that the Valley is going to be a + public park, after all, but for the present and while I live, it is my + private park.” + </p> + <p> + “This is perfectly amazing, partner.” + </p> + <p> + “It's mighty comforting,” his father admitted. “Guess the new owner must + be one of my old friends—perhaps somebody I did a favour for once—and + this is his way of repaying. Remember the old sugar-pine windfall we used + to sit on? Well, it's rotted through, and bears have clawed it into chips + in their search for grubs, but the new owner had a seat put in there for + me—just the kind of seat I like—a lumberjack's rocking-chair + made from an old vinegar-barrel. I sat in it, and the Judge left me, and I + did a right smart lot o' thinking. And while it didn't lead me anywhere, + still I—er—” + </p> + <p> + “You felt better, didn't you?” his son suggested. + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan nodded. “I'd like to know the name of the owner,” he said + presently. “I'd like mighty well to say thank you to him. It isn't usual + for people nowadays to have as much respect for sentiment in an old duffer + like me as the fellow has. He sort of makes me feel as if I hadn't sold at + all.” + </p> + <p> + Buck Ogilvy came out of the Bon Gusto restaurant with Moira, just as + Bryce, with George Sea Otter at the wheel of the Napier, drove up to the + curb. They left Moira at her boarding-house, and rolled noiselessly away. + </p> + <p> + At nine o'clock they arrived at Cardigan's log-landing and found Jim + Harding, the bull-donkey engineer, placidly smoking his pipe in the cab. + Bryce hailed him. + </p> + <p> + “That you, Jim?” + </p> + <p> + “You bet.” + </p> + <p> + “Run up to Jabe Curtis's shanty, and tell him we're here. Have him gather + his gang and bring two pairs of overalls and two jumpers—large size—with + him when he comes.” + </p> + <p> + Harding vanished into the darkness, and Buck Ogilvy climbed up into the + cab and glanced at the steam-gauge. “A hundred and forty,” he announced. + “Good enough!” + </p> + <p> + Presently the woods-boss, accompanied by thirty of his best men, came down + to the log-landing. At Bryce's order they clambered aboard the engine and + tender, hanging on the steps, on the roof of the cab, on the cowcatcher—anywhere + they could find a toe-hold. Harding cast aside the two old ties which the + careful engine-crew had placed across the tracks in front of the drivers + as additional precaution; Buck Ogilvy cut off the air, and the locomotive + and tender began to glide slowly down the almost imperceptible grade. With + a slight click it cleared the switch and slid out onto the Cardigan + lateral, swiftly gathering speed. A quarter of a mile down the line Buck + Ogilvy applied the brakes and eased her down to twenty miles per hour. + </p> + <p> + At the junction with the main line Buck backed briskly up into the Laguna + Grande woods, and coupled to the two loaded flat-cars. The woods-gang + scrambled aboard the flats, and the train pulled out for Sequoia. Forty + minutes later they rumbled down Water Street and slid to a grinding halt + at the intersection of B Street. + </p> + <p> + From the darkness of Cardigan's drying-yard, where they had been waiting, + twenty picked men of the mill-crew now emerged, bearing lanterns and + tools. Under Buck Ogilvy's direction the dirt promptly began to fly, while + the woods-crew unloaded the rails and piled them close to the sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a voice, harsh and strident with passion, rose above the thud of + the picks and the clang of metal. + </p> + <p> + “Who's in charge here, and what in blazes do you mean by cutting my + tracks?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned in time to behold Colonel Seth Pennington leap from an + automobile and advance upon Buck Ogilvy. Ogilvy held a lantern up to the + Colonel's face and surveyed Pennington calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel,” he began with exasperating politeness, “—I presume you + are Colonel Pennington—my name is Buchanan P. Ogilvy, and I am in + charge of these operations. I am the vice-president and general manager of + the N.C.O., and I am engaged in the blithe task of making a jump-crossing + of your rails. I had hoped to accomplish this without your knowledge or + consent, but now that you are here, that hope, of course, has died + a-bornin'. Have a cigar.” And he thrust a perfecco under the Colonel's + nose. Pennington struck it to the ground, and on the instant, half a dozen + rough rascals emptied their shovels over him. He was deluged with dirt. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back, Colonel, stand back, if you please. You're in the way of the + shovellers,” Buck Ogilvy warned him soothingly. + </p> + <p> + Bryce Cardigan came over, and at sight of him Pennington choked with fury. + “You—you—” he sputtered, unable to say more. + </p> + <p> + “I'm the N.C.O.,” Bryce replied. “Nice little fiction that of yours about + the switch-engine being laid up in the shops and the Laurel Creek bridge + being unsafe for this big mogul.” He looked Pennington over with frank + admiration. “You're certainly on the job, Colonel. I'll say that much for + you. The man who plans to defeat you must jump far and fast, or his tail + will be trod on.” + </p> + <p> + “You've stolen my engine,” Pennington almost screamed. “I'll have the law + on you for grand larceny.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut-tut! You don't know who stole your engine. For all you know, your own + engine-crew may have run it down here.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll attend to you, sir,” Pennington replied, and he turned to enter + Mayor Poundstone's little flivver. + </p> + <p> + “Not to-night, at least,” Bryce retorted gently. “Having gone this far, I + would be a poor general to permit you to escape now with the news of your + discovery. You'd be down here in an hour with a couple of hundred members + of your mill-crew and give us the rush. You will oblige me, Colonel + Pennington, by remaining exactly where you are until I give you permission + to depart.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I refuse—” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall manhandle you, truss you up like a fowl in the tonneau of + your car, and gag you.” + </p> + <p> + To Bryce's infinite surprise the Colonel smiled. “Oh, very well!” he + replied. “I guess you've got the bulge on me, young man. Do you mind if I + sit in the warm cab of my own engine? I came away in such a hurry I quite + forgot my overcoat.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I'll sit up there and keep you company.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour passed. An automobile came slowly up Water Street and paused + half a block away, evidently reconnoitering the situation. Instantly the + Colonel thrust his head out the cab window. + </p> + <p> + “Sexton!” he shouted. “Cardigan's cutting in a crossing. He's holding me + here against my will. Get the mill-crew together and phone for Rondeau and + his woods-crew. Send the switch-engine and a couple of flats up for them. + Phone Poundstone. Tell him to have the chief of police—” + </p> + <p> + Bryce Cardigan's great hand closed over the Colonel's neck, while down + Water Street a dark streak that was Buck Ogilvy sped toward the + automobile, intending to climb in and make Pennington's manager a prisoner + also. He was too late, however. Sexton swung his car and departed at full + speed down Water Street, leaving the disappointed Buck to return panting + to the scene of operations. + </p> + <p> + Bryce Cardigan released his hold on Pennington's neck. “You win, Colonel,” + he announced. “No good can come of holding you here any longer. Into your + car and on your way.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, young man,” the Colonel answered, and there was a metallic + ring in his voice. He looked at his watch in the glare of a torch. “Plenty + of time,” he murmured. “Curfew shall not ring to-night.” Quite + deliberately he climbed into the Mayor's late source of woe and breezed + away. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pennington did not at once return to his home, however. Instead, + he drove up to the business centre of the town. The streets were deserted, + but one saloon—the Sawdust Pile—was still open. + </p> + <p> + Pennington strode through the bar and into the back room, where a number + of poker-games were in progress. For a moment he stood, his cold, ophidian + glance circling the room until it came to rest on no less a personage than + the Black Minorca, an individual with whom the reader has already had some + slight acquaintance. It will be recalled that the Black Minorca led the + futile rush against Bryce Cardigan that day in Pennington's woods. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel approached the table where the Black Minorca sat thumbing the + edges of his cards, and touched the cholo on the shoulder. The Black + Minorca turned, and Pennington nodded to him to follow; whereupon the + latter cashed in his chips and joined his employer on the sidewalk. Here a + whispered conversation ensued, and at its conclusion the Black Minorca + nodded vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “Sure!” he assured the Colonel. “I'll fix 'em good and plenty.” + </p> + <p> + Together Pennington and the Black Minorca entered the automobile and + proceeded swiftly to the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's mill-office. From + a locker the Colonel produced a repeating rifle and three boxes of + cartridges, which he handed to the cholo, who departed without further ado + into the night. + </p> + <p> + Twenty minutes later, from the top of a lumber-pile in Cardigan's + drying-yard, Bryce Cardigan saw the flash of a rifle and felt a sudden + sting on his left forearm. He leaped around in front of the cowcatcher to + gain the shelter of the engine, and another bullet struck at his feet and + ricocheted off into the night. It was followed by a fusillade, the bullets + kicking up the freshly disturbed earth among the workers and sending them + scurrying to various points of safety. In an instant the crossing was + deserted, and work had been stopped, while from the top of the adjacent + lumber-pile the Black Minorca poured a stream of lead and filthy invective + at every point which he suspected of harbouring a Cardigan follower. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think he's hurt anybody,” Buck Ogilvy whispered as he crouched + with Bryce beside the engine, “but that's due to his marksmanship rather + than his intentions.” + </p> + <p> + “He tried hard enough to plug me,” Bryce declared, and showed the hole + through his sleeve. “They call him the Black Minorca, and he's a mongrel + greaser who'd kill his own mother for a fifty-dollar bill.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to plug him,” Buck murmured regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “What would be the use? This will be his last night in Humboldt County—” + </p> + <p> + A rifle shot rang out from the side of B Street; from the lumber-pile + across the street, Bryce and Ogilvy heard a suppressed grunt of pain, and + a crash as of a breaking board. Instantly out of the shadows George Sea + Otter came padding on velvet feet, rifle in hand—and then Bryce + understood. + </p> + <p> + “All right, boss,” said George simply as he joined Bryce and Ogilvy under + the lee of the locomotive. “Now we get busy again.” + </p> + <p> + “Safe-o, men,” Ogilvy called. “Back to the job.” And while Bryce, followed + by the careless George Sea Otter, went into the lumber-yard to succour the + enemy, Ogilvy set an example to the men by stepping into the open and + starting briskly to work with a shovel. + </p> + <p> + At the bottom of the pile of lumber the Black Minorca was discovered with + a severe flesh-wound in his right hip; also he was suffering from numerous + bruises and contusions. George Sea Otter possessed himself of the fallen + cholo's rifle, while Bryce picked the wretch up and carried him to his + automobile. + </p> + <p> + “Take the swine over to the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's hospital and + tell them to patch him up,” he ordered George Sea Otter. “I'll keep both + rifles and the ammunition here for Jules Rondeau and his woods-gang. + They'll probably be dropping in on us about two a.m., if I know anything + about Colonel Pennington's way of doing things.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <p> + Having dispatched the Black Minorca to hold up the work until the arrival + of reinforcements, Colonel Pennington fairly burned the streets en route + to his home. He realized that there would be no more sleep for him that + night, and he was desirous of getting into a heavy ulster before venturing + forth again into the night air. + </p> + <p> + The violent slam with which he closed the front door after him brought + Shirley, in dressing-gown and slippers, to the staircase. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Seth!” she called. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” he replied from the hall below. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “There's the devil to pay,” he answered. “That fellow Cardigan is back of + the N.C.O., after all, and he and Ogilvy have a gang of fifty men down at + the intersection of Water and B streets, cutting in a jump-crossing of our + line.” + </p> + <p> + He dashed into the living room, and she heard him calling frantically into + the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “At last!” she murmured, and crept down the stairs, pausing behind the + heavy portieres at the entrance to the living room. + </p> + <p> + “That you, Poundstone?” she heard him saying rapidly into the transmitter. + “Pennington speaking. Young Bryce Cardigan is behind that N.C.O. outfit, + and it's a logging-road and not intended to build through to Grant's Pass + at all. Cardigan and Ogilvy are at Water and B streets this very instant + with a gang of fifty men cutting in a jump-crossing of my line, curse + them! They'll have it in by six o'clock to-morrow morning if something + isn't done—and once they get it in, the fat's in the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Telephone the chief of police and order him to take his entire force down + there, if necessary, and stop that work. To blazes with that temporary + franchise! You stop that work for two hours, and I'll do the rest. Tell + the chief of police not to recognize that temporary franchise. He can be + suspicious of it, can't he, and refuse to let the work go on until he + finds you? And you can be hard to find for two hours, can you not? Delay, + delay, man! That's all I want... Yes, yes, I understand. You get down + about daylight and roast the chief of police for interfering, but in the + meantime!... Thank you, Poundstone, thank you. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + He stood at the telephone, the receiver still held to his ear and his + right forefinger holding down the hook while the line cleared. When he + spoke again, Shirley knew he was calling his mill-office. He got a + response immediately, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. + </p> + <p> + “Sexton? Pennington speaking. I've sent over the Black Minorca with a + rifle and sixty rounds of ammunition... What? You can hear him shooting + already? Bully boy with a crockery eye! He'll clean that gang out and keep + them from working until the police arrive. You've telephoned Rondeau, have + you?... Good! He'll have his men waiting at the log-landing, and there'll + be no delay. As soon as you've seen the switch-engine started for the + woods, meet me down at Water and B streets. Sexton, we've got to block + them. It means a loss of millions to me if we fail!” + </p> + <p> + Shirley was standing in the doorway as he faced about from the telephone. + “Uncle Seth,” she said quietly, “use any honourable method of defeating + Bryce Cardigan, but call off the Black Minorca. I shall hold you + personally responsible for Bryce Cardigan's life, and if you fail me, I + shall never forgive you.” + </p> + <p> + “Silly, silly girl!” he soothed her. “Don't you know I would not stoop to + bush-whacking? There's some shooting going on, but its wild shooting, just + to frighten Cardigan and his men off the job.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't frighten him,” she cried passionately, “You know you can't. + He'll kill the Black Minorca, or the Black Minorca will kill him. Go + instantly and stop it.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, all right!” he said rather humbly, and sprang down the front + steps into the waiting car. “I'll play the game fairly, Shirley, never + fear.” + </p> + <p> + She stood in the doorway and watched the red tail-light, like a malevolent + eye, disappear down the street. And presently as she stood there, down the + boulevard a huge gray car came slipping noiselessly—so noiselessly, + in fact, that Shirley recognized it by that very quality of silence. It + was Bryce Cardigan's Napier. + </p> + <p> + “George!” she called. “Come here.” + </p> + <p> + The car slid over to the gate and stopped at the sight of the slim white + figure running down the garden walk. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. Cardigan hurt?” she demanded in an agony of suspense. + </p> + <p> + George Sea Otter grunted contemptuously. “Nobody hurt 'cept the Black + Minorca. I am taking him to your company hospital, miss. He tried to shoot + my boss, so I shoot him myself once through the leg. Now my boss says: + 'Take him to the Laguna Grande hospital, George.' Me, I would drop this + greaser in the bay if I was the boss.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed hysterically. “On your way back from the hospital stop and + pick me up, George,” she ordered. “This senseless feud has gone far + enough. I must stop it—at once.” + </p> + <p> + He touched his broad hat, and she returned to the house to dress. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Colonel Pennington had reached the crossing once more, + simultaneously with the arrival of Sam Perkins, the chief of police, + accompanied by two automobiles crammed with patrolmen. Perkins strutted up + to Bryce Cardigan and Buck Ogilvy. + </p> + <p> + “What's the meaning of all this row, Mr. Cardigan?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Something has slipped, Sam,” Bryce retorted pleasantly. “You've been + calling me Bryce for the past twenty years, and now you're mistering me! + The meaning of this row, you ask?” Bryce continued. “Well, I'm engaged in + making a jump-crossing of Colonel Pennington's tracks, under a temporary + franchise granted me by the city of Sequoia. Here's the franchise.” And he + thrust the document under the police chief's nose. + </p> + <p> + “This is the first I've heard about any franchise,” Sam Perkins replied + suspiciously. “Seems to me you been mighty secret about this job. How do I + know this ain't a forgery?” + </p> + <p> + “Call up the mayor and ask him,” Bryce suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I'll do that,” quoth Mr. Perkins ponderously. “And in the meantime, don't + do any more digging or rail-cutting.” He hurried away to his automobile, + leaving a lieutenant in charge of the squad. + </p> + <p> + “Also in the meantime, young man,” Colonel Pennington announced, “you will + pardon me if I take possession of my locomotive and flat-cars. I observe + you have finished unloading those rails.” + </p> + <p> + “Help yourself, Colonel,” Bryce replied with an assumption of heartiness + he was far from feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much, Cardigan.” With the greatest good nature in life, + Pennington climbed into the cab, reached for the bell-cord, and rang the + bell vigorously. Then he permitted himself a triumphant toot of the + whistle, after which he threw off the air and gently opened the throttle. + He was not a locomotive-engineer but he had ridden in the cab of his own + locomotive and felt quite confident of his ability in a pinch. + </p> + <p> + With a creak and a bump the train started, and the Colonel ran it slowly + up until the locomotive stood on the tracks exactly where Buck Ogilvy had + been cutting in his crossing; whereupon the Colonel locked the brakes, + opened his exhaust, and blew the boiler down. And when the last ounce of + steam had escaped, he descended and smilingly accosted Bryce Cardigan. + </p> + <p> + “That engine being my property,” he announced, “I'll take the short end of + any bet you care to make, young man, that it will sit on those tracks + until your temporary franchise expires. I'd give a good deal to see + anybody not in my employ attempt to get up steam in that boiler until I + give the word. Cut in your jump-crossing now, if you can, you whelp, and + be damned to you. I've got you blocked!” + </p> + <p> + “I rather imagine this nice gentleman has it on us, old dear,” chirped + Buck Ogilvy plaintively. “Well! We did our damndest, which angels can't do + no more. Let us gather up our tools and go home, my son, for something + tells me that if I hang around here I'll bust one of two things—this + sleek scoundrel's gray head or one of my bellicose veins! Hello! Whom have + we here?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned and found himself facing Shirley Sumner. Her tender lip was + quivering, and the tears shone in her eyes like stars. He stared at her in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” she murmured tremulously, “didn't I tell you I would not + permit you to build the N.C.O.?” + </p> + <p> + He bowed his head in rage and shame at his defeat. Buck Ogilvy took him by + the arm. “''Tis midnight's holy hour,'” he quoted, “'and silence now is + brooding like a gentle spirit o'er a still and pulseless world.' Bryce, + old chap, this is one of those occasions where silence is golden. Speak + not. I'll do it for you. Miss Sumner,” he continued, bowing graciously, + “and Colonel Pennington,” favouring that triumphant rascal with an equally + gracious bow, “we leave you in possession of the field—temporarily. + However, if anybody should drive up in a hack and lean out and ask you, + just tell him Buck Ogilvy has another trump tucked away in his kimono.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned to go, but with a sudden impulse Shirley laid her hand on his + arm—his left arm. “Bryce!” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + He lifted her hand gently from his forearm, led her to the front of the + locomotive, and held her hand up to the headlight. Her fingers were + crimson with blood. + </p> + <p> + “Your uncle's killer did that, Shirley,” he said ironically. “It's only a + slight flesh-wound, but that is no fault of your allies. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + And he left her standing, pale of face and trembling, in the white glare + of the headlight. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <p> + Shirley made no effort to detain Bryce Cardigan as he walked to his car + and climbed into it. Ogilvy remained merely long enough to give orders to + the foreman to gather up the tools, store them in the machine-shop of + Cardigan's mill, and dismiss his gang; then he, too, entered the + automobile, and at a word from Bryce, the car slid noiselessly away into + the darkness. The track-cutting crew departed a few minutes later, and + when Shirley found herself alone with her uncle, the tumult in her heart + gave way to the tears she could no longer repress. Pennington stood by, + watching her curiously, coldly. + </p> + <p> + Presently Shirley mastered her emotion and glanced toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear?” he queried nervously. + </p> + <p> + “I—I think I had better go home,” she said without spirit. + </p> + <p> + “I think so, too,” he answered. “Get into the Mayor's flivver, my dear, + and I'll drive you. And perhaps the least said about this affair the + better, Shirley. There are many things that you do not understand and + which cannot be elucidated by discussion.” + </p> + <p> + “I can understand an attempt at assassination, Uncle Seth.” + </p> + <p> + “That blackguard Minorca! I should have known better than to put him on + such a job. I told him to bluff and threaten; Cardigan, I knew, would + realize the grudge the Black Minorca has against him, and for that reason + I figured the greaser was the only man who could bluff him. While I gave + him orders to shoot, I told him distinctly not to hit anybody. Good Lord, + Shirley, surely you do not think I would wink at a murder!” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” she answered passionately. “With Bryce Cardigan out of the way, + you would have a clear field before you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, my dear! Surely you do not realize what you are saying. You + are beside yourself, Shirley. Please—please do not wound me so—so + horribly. You do not—you cannot realize what a desperate fight I + have been putting up for both our sakes. I am surrounded by enemies—the + most implacable enemies. They force me to fight the devil with fire—and + here you are, giving them aid and comfort.” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to defeat Bryce Cardigan, if you can do it fairly.” + </p> + <p> + “At another time and in a calmer mood we will discuss that villain,” he + said authoritatively. “If we argue the matter now, we are liable to + misunderstandings; we may quarrel, and that is something neither of us can + afford. Get into the car, and we will go home. There is nothing more to be + done to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Your sophistry does not alter my opinion,” she replied firmly. “However, + as you say, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it.” + </p> + <p> + They drove home in silence. Shirley went at once to her room. For the + Colonel, however, the night's work had scarcely begun. The instant he + heard the door to his niece's room shut, he went to the telephone and + called up the Laguna Grande roundhouse. Sexton, his manager, answered. + </p> + <p> + “Have you sent the switch-engine to the woods for Rondeau and his men?” + </p> + <p> + “Just left.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Now, then, Sexton, listen to me: As you know, this raid of + Cardigan's has developed so suddenly I am more or less taken by surprise + and have had no time to prepare the kind of counter-attack that will be + most effective. However, with the crossing blocked, I gain time in which + to organize—only there must be no weak point in my organization. In + order to insure that, I am proceeding to San Francisco to-night by motor, + via the coast road. I will arrive late to-morrow night, and early Saturday + morning I will appear in the United States District Court with our + attorneys and file a complaint and petition for an order temporarily + restraining the N.C.O. from cutting our tracks. + </p> + <p> + “I will have to make an affidavit to support the complaint, so I had + better be Johnny-on-the-spot to do it, rather than risk the delay of + making the affidavit tomorrow morning here and forwarding it by mail to + our attorneys. The judge will sign a restraining order, returnable in from + ten to thirty days—I'll try for thirty, because that will knock out + the N.C.O.'s temporary franchise—and after I have obtained the + restraining order, I will have the United States marshal telegraph it to + Ogilvy and Cardigan!” + </p> + <p> + “Bully!” cried Sexton heartily. “That will fix their clock.” + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime,” Pennington continued, “logs will be glutting our + landings. We need that locomotive for its legitimate purposes. Take all + that discarded machinery and the old boiler we removed from the mill last + fall, dump it on the tracks at the crossing, and get the locomotive back + on its run. Understand? The other side, having no means of removing these + heavy obstructions, will be blocked until I return; by that time the + matter will be in the District Court, Cardigan will be hung up until his + temporary franchise expires—and the city council will not renew it. + Get me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be back Sunday forenoon. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + He hung up, went to his chauffeur's quarters over the garage, and routed + the man out of bed. Then he returned quietly to his room, dressed and + packed a bag for his journey, left a brief note for Shirley notifying her + of his departure, and started on his two-hundred-and-fifty mile trip over + the mountains to the south. As his car sped through sleeping Sequoia and + gained the open country, the Colonel's heart thrilled pleasurably. He held + cards and spades, big and little casino, four aces and the joker; + therefore he knew he could sweep the board at his pleasure. And during his + absence Shirley would have opportunity to cool off, while he would find + time to formulate an argument to lull her suspicions upon his return. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII + </h2> + <p> + Quite oblivious of her uncle's departure for San Francisco, Shirley lay + awake throughout the remainder of the night, turning over and over in her + mind the various aspects of the Cardigan-Fennington imbroglio. Of one + thing she was quite certain; peace must be declared at all hazards. She + had been obsessed of a desire, rather unusual in her sex, to see a fight + worth while; she had planned to permit it to go to a knockout, to use + Bryce Cardigan's language, because she believed Bryce Cardigan would be + vanquished—and she had desired to see him smashed—but not + beyond repair, for her joy in the conflict was to lie in the task of + putting the pieces together afterward! She realized now, however, that she + had permitted matters to go too far. A revulsion of feeling toward her + uncle, induced by the memory of Bryce Cardigan's blood on her white + finger-tips, convinced the girl that, at all hazards to her financial + future, henceforth she and her uncle must tread separate paths. She had + found him out at last, and because in her nature there was some of his own + fixity of purpose, the resolution cost her no particular pang. + </p> + <p> + It was rather a relief, therefore, when the imperturbable James handed her + at breakfast the following note: + </p> + <p> + Shirley, Dear + </p> + <p> + After leaving you last night, I decided that in your present frame of mind + my absence for a few days might tend to a calmer and clearer perception, + on your part, of the necessary tactics which in a moment of desperation, I + saw fit, with regret, to pursue last night. And in the hope that you will + have attained your old attitude toward me before my return, I am leaving + in the motor for San Francisco. Your terrible accusation has grieved me to + such an extent that I do not feel equal to the task of confronting you + until, in a more judicial frame of mind, you can truly absolve me of the + charge of wishing to do away with young Cardigan. Your affectionate Uncle + Seth. + </p> + <p> + Shirley's lip curled. With a rarer, keener intuition than she had hitherto + manifested, she sensed the hypocrisy between the lines; she was not + deceived. + </p> + <p> + “He has gone to San Francisco for more ammunition,” she soliloquized. + “Very well, Unkie-dunk! While you're away, I shall manufacture a few bombs + myself.” + </p> + <p> + After breakfast she left the house and walked to the intersection of B + with Water Street. Jules Rondeau and his crew of lumberjacks were there, + and with two policemen guarded the crossing. + </p> + <p> + Rondeau glanced at Shirley, surprised, then lifted his hat. Shirley looked + from the woods bully to the locomotive and back to Rondeau. + </p> + <p> + “Rondeau,” she said, “Mr. Cardigan is a bad man to fight. You fought him + once. Are you going to do it again?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “By whose orders?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Sexton, he tell me to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Rondeau, some day I'll be boss of Laguna Grande and there'll be no + more fighting,” she replied, and passed on down B Street to the office of + the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company. Moira McTavish looked up as she + entered. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he, dear?” Shirley asked. “I must see him.” + </p> + <p> + “In that office, Miss Shirley,” Moira replied, and pointed to the door. + Shirley stepped to the door, knocked, and then entered. Bryce Cardigan, + seated at his desk, looked up as she came in. His left arm was in a sling, + and he looked harassed and dejected. + </p> + <p> + “Don't get up, Bryce,” she said as he attempted to rise. “I know you're + quite exhausted. You look it.” She sat down. “I'm so sorry,” she said + softly. + </p> + <p> + His dull glance brightened. “It doesn't amount to that, Shirley.” And he + snapped his fingers. “It throbs a little and it's stiff and sore, so I + carry it in the sling. That helps a little. What did you want to see me + about?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to tell you,” said Shirley, “that—that last night's affair + was not of my making.” He smiled compassionately. “I—I couldn't bear + to have you think I'd break my word and tell him.” + </p> + <p> + “It never occurred to me that you had dealt me a hand from the bottom of + the deck, Shirley. Please don't worry about it. Your uncle has had two + private detectives watching Ogilvy and me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she breathed, much relieved. A ghost of the old bantering smile + lighted her winsome features. “Well, then,” she challenged, “I suppose you + don't hate me.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I love you,” he answered. “However, since you must have + known this for some time past, I suppose it is superfluous to mention it. + Moreover, I haven't the right—yet.” + </p> + <p> + She had cast her eyes down modestly. She raised them now and looked at him + searchingly. “I suppose you'll acknowledge yourself whipped at last, + Bryce?” she ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Would it please you to have me surrender?” He was very serious. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it would, Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm tired of fighting. I want peace. I'm—I'm afraid to let + this matter go any further. I'm truly afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I want peace, too,” he answered wearily. “I'd be glad to quit—with + honour. And I'll do it, too, if you can induce your uncle to give me the + kind of logging contract I want with his road.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't do that, Bryce. He has you whipped—and he is not + merciful to the fallen. You'll have to—surrender unconditionally.” + Again she laid her little hand timidly on his wounded forearm. “Please + give up, Bryce—for my sake. If you persist, somebody will get + killed.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I'll have to,” he murmured sadly. “I dare say you're right, + though one should never admit defeat until he is counted out. I suppose,” + he continued bitterly, “your uncle is in high feather this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Bryce. He left in his motor for San Francisco about one + o'clock this morning.” + </p> + <p> + For an instant Bryce Cardigan stared at her; then a slow, mocking little + smile crept around the corners of his mouth, and his eyes lighted with + mirth. + </p> + <p> + “Glorious news, my dear Shirley, perfectly glorious! So the old fox has + gone to San Francisco, eh? Left in a hurry and via the overland route! + Couldn't wait for the regular passenger-steamer to-morrow, eh? Great + jumping Jehoshaphat! He must have had important business to attend to.” + And Bryce commenced to chuckle. “Oh, the poor old Colonel,” he continued + presently, “the dear old pirate! What a horrible right swing he's running + into! And you want me to acknowledge defeat! My dear girl, in the language + of the classic, there is nothing doing. I shall put in my crossing Sunday + morning, and if you don't believe it, drop around and see me in action.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't try,” protested Shirley. “Rondeau is there with his crew—and + he has orders to stop you. Besides, you can't expect help from the police. + Uncle Seth has made a deal with the Mayor,” Shirley pleaded frantically. + </p> + <p> + “That for the police and that venal Mayor Poundstone!” Bryce retorted, + with another snap of his fingers. “I'll rid the city of them at the fall + election.” + </p> + <p> + “I came prepared to suggest a compromise, Bryce,” she declared, but he + interrupted her with a wave of his hand. + </p> + <p> + “You can't effect a compromise. You've been telling me I shall never build + the N.C.O. because you will not permit me to. You're powerless, I tell + you. I shall build it.” + </p> + <p> + “You shan't!” she fired back at him, and a spot of anger glowed in each + cheek. “You're the most stubborn and belligerent man I have ever known. + Sometimes I almost hate you.” + </p> + <p> + “Come around at ten to-morrow morning and watch me put in the crossing—watch + me give Rondeau and his gang the run.” He reached over suddenly, lifted + her hand, and kissed it. “How I love you, dear little antagonist!” he + murmured. + </p> + <p> + “If you loved me, you wouldn't oppose me,” she protested softly. “I tell + you again, Bryce, you make it very hard for me to be friendly with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to be friendly with you. You're driving me crazy, Shirley. + Please run along home, or wherever you're bound. I've tried to understand + your peculiar code, but you're too deep for me; so let me go my way to the + devil. George Sea Otter is outside asleep in the tonneau of the car. Tell + him to drive you wherever you're going. I suppose you're afoot to-day, for + I noticed the Mayor riding to his office in your sedan this morning.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to look outraged, but for the life of her she could not take + offense at his bluntness; neither did she resent a look which she detected + in his eyes, even though it told her he was laughing at her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well,” she replied with what dignity she could muster. “Have it + your own way. I've tried to warn you. Thank you for your offer of the car. + I shall be glad to use it. Uncle Seth sold my car to Mayor Poundstone last + night. Mrs. P. admired it so!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then it was that rascally Poundstone who told your uncle about the + temporary franchise, thus arousing his suspicions to such an extent that + when he heard his locomotive rumbling into town, he smelled a rat and + hurried down to the crossing?” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly. The Poundstones dined at our house last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty hard on you, I should say. But then I suppose you have to play the + game with Uncle Seth. Well, good morning, Shirley. Sorry to hurry you + away, but you must remember we're on a strictly business basis—yet; + and you mustn't waste my time.” + </p> + <p> + “You're horrid, Bryce Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “You're adorable. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be sorry for this,” she warned him. “Good morning.” She passed out + into the general office, visited with Moira about five minutes, and drove + away in the Napier. Bryce watched her through the window. She knew he was + watching her, but nevertheless she could not forbear turning round to + verify her suspicions. When she did, he waved his sound arm at her, and + she flushed with vexation. + </p> + <p> + “God bless her!” he murmured. “She's been my ally all along, and I never + suspected it! I wonder what her game can be.” + </p> + <p> + He sat musing for a long time. “Yes,” he concluded presently, “old + Poundstone has double-crossed us—and Pennington made it worth his + while. And the Colonel sold the Mayor his niece's automobile. It's worth + twenty-five hundred dollars, at least, and since old Poundstone's finances + will not permit such an extravagance, I'm wondering how Pennington expects + him to pay for it. I smell a rat as big as a kangaroo. In this case two + and two don't make four. They make six! Guess I'll build a fire under old + Poundstone.” + </p> + <p> + He took down the telephone-receiver and called up the Mayor. “Bryce + Cardigan speaking, Mr. Poundstone,” he greeted the chief executive of + Sequoia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hello, Bryce, my boy,” Poundstone boomed affably. “How's tricks?” + </p> + <p> + “So-so! I hear you've bought that sedan from Colonel Pennington's niece. + Wish I'd known it was for sale. I'd have outbid you. Want to make a profit + on your bargain?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not this morning, Bryce. I think we'll keep it. Mrs. P. has been + wanting a closed car for a long time, and when the Colonel offered me this + one at a bargain, I snapped it up. Couldn't afford a new one, you know, + but then this one's just as good as new.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't care to get rid of it at a profit?” Bryce repeated. + </p> + <p> + “No, sirree!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you're mistaken, Mr. Mayor. I think you do. I would suggest that you + take that car back to Pennington's garage and leave it there. That would + be the most profitable thing you could do.” + </p> + <p> + “Wha—what—what in blue blazes are you driving at?” the Mayor + sputtered. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't care to discuss it over the telephone. I take it, however, + that a hint to the wise is sufficient; and I warn you, Mayor, that if you + keep that car it will bring you bad luck. To-day is Friday, and Friday is + an unlucky day. I'd get rid of that sedan before noon if I were you.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long, fateful silence. Then in a singularly small, quavering + voice: “You think it best, Cardigan?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. Return it to No. 38 Redwood Boulevard, and no questions will be + asked. Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + When Shirley reached home at noon, she found her car parked in front of + the porte cochere; and a brief note, left with the butler, informed her + that after thinking the matter over, Mrs. Poundstone had decided the + Poundstone family could not afford such an extravagance, and accordingly + the car was returned with many thanks for the opportunity to purchase it + at such a ridiculously low figure. Shirley smiled, and put the car up in + the garage. When she returned to the house her maid Thelma informed her + that Mr. Bryce Cardigan had been calling her on the telephone. So she + called Bryce up at once. + </p> + <p> + “Has Poundstone returned your car?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. What makes you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I had a suspicion he might. You see, I called him up and suggested + it; somehow His Honour is peculiarly susceptible to suggestions from me, + and—” + </p> + <p> + “Bryce Cardigan,” she declared, “you're a sly rascal—that's what you + are. I shan't tell you another thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you had a stenographer at the dictograph when the Mayor and your + uncle cooked up their little deal,” he continued. “That was thoughtful of + you, Shirley. It was a bully club to have up your sleeve at the final + show-down, for with it you can make Unkie-dunk behave himself and force + that compromise you spoke of. Seriously, however, I don't want you to use + it, Shirley. We must avoid a scandal by all means; and praise be, I don't + need your club to beat your uncle's brains out. I'm taking HIS club away + from him to use for that purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, I believe you're happy to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Happy? I should tell a man! If the streets of Sequoia were paved with + eggs, I could walk them all day without making an omelette.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be nice to feel so happy, after so many months of the blues.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it is, Shirley. You see until very recently I was very much + worried as to your attitude toward me. I couldn't believe you'd so far + forget yourself as to love me in spite of everything—so I never took + the trouble to ask you. And now I don't have to ask you. I know! And I'll + be around to see you after I get that crossing in!” + </p> + <p> + “You're perfectly horrid,” she blazed, and hung up without the formality + of saying good-bye. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV + </h2> + <p> + Shortly after Shirley's departure from his office, Bryce had a visit from + Buck Ogilvy. The latter wore a neatly pressed suit of Shepherd plaid, with + a white carnation in his lapel, and he was, apparently, the most + light-hearted young man in Humboldt County. He struck an attitude and + demanded: + </p> + <p> + “Boss, what do you think of my new suit?” + </p> + <p> + “You lunatic! Don't you know red blonds should never wear light shades? + You're dressed like a Negro minstrel.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I feel as happy as an end-man. And by the way, you're all chirked + up yourself. Who's been helping you to the elixir of life. When we parted + last night, you were forty fathoms deep in the slough of despond.” + </p> + <p> + “No less a divinity than Miss Shirley Sumner! She called this morning to + explain that last night's fiasco was none of her making, and quite + innocently she imparted the information that old Pennington lighted out + for San Francisco at one o'clock this morning. Wherefore I laugh. Te-he! + Ha-hah!” + </p> + <p> + “Three long, loud raucous cheers for Uncle. He's gone to rush a + restraining order through the United States District Court. Wonder why he + didn't wire his attorneys to attend to the matter for him.” + </p> + <p> + “He has the crossing blocked, and inasmuch as the Mayor feeds out of + Pennington's hand, the Colonel is quite confident that said crossing will + remain blocked, As for the restraining order—well, if one wants a + thing well done, one should do it oneself.” + </p> + <p> + “All that doesn't explain your cheerful attitude, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it does. I've told you about old Duncan McTavish, Moira's father, + haven't I?” Ogilvy nodded, and Bryce continued: “When I fired the old + scoundrel for boozing, it almost broke his heart; he had to leave + Humboldt, where everybody knew him, so he wandered down into Mendocino + County and got a job sticking lumber in the drying-yard of the Willits + Lumber Company. He's been there two months now, and I am informed by his + employer that old Mac hasn't taken a drink in all that time. And what's + more, he isn't going to take one again.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I make it my business to find out. Mac was the finest woods-boss + this county ever knew; hence you do not assume that I would lose the old + scoundrel without making a fight for him, do you? Why, Buck, he's been on + the Cardigan pay-roll thirty years, and I only fired him in order to + reform him. Well, last week I sent one of Mac's old friends down to + Willits purposely to call on him and invite him out 'for a time'; but Mac + wouldn't drink with him. No, sir, he couldn't be tempted. On the contrary, + he told the tempter that I had promised to give him back his job if he + remained on the water wagon for one year; he was resolved to win back his + job and his self-respect.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what your plan is,” Ogilvy interrupted. “You're going to ask + Duncan McTavish to waylay Pennington on the road at some point where it + runs through the timber, kidnap him, and hold him until we have had time + to clear the crossing and cut Pennington's tracks. + </p> + <p> + “We will do nothing of the sort,” Buck continued seriously. “Listen, now, + to Father's words of wisdom. This railroad-game is an old one to me; I've + fought at crossings before now, and whether successful or defeated, I have + always learned something in battle. Didn't you hear me tell that girl and + her villainous avuncular relative last night that I had another ace up my + kimono?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That was not brag, old dear. I had the ace, and this morning I played it—wherefore + in my heart there is that peace that passeth understanding—particularly + since I have just had a telegram informing me that my ace took the odd + trick.” + </p> + <p> + He opened a drawer in Bryce's desk and reached for the cigars he knew were + there. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all a bad cigar for ten cents. However—you will recall that + from the very instant we decided to cut in that jump-crossing, we + commenced to plan against interference by Pennington; in consequence we + kept, or tried to keep, our decision a secret. However, there existed at + all times the possibility that Pennington might discover our benevolent + intentions and block us with his only weapon—a restraining order + issued by the judge of the United States District Court. + </p> + <p> + “Now, one of the most delightful things I know about a court is that it is + open to all men seeking justice—or injustice disguised as justice. + Also there is a wise old saw to the effect that battles are won by the + fellow who gets there first with the most men. The situation from the + start was absurdly simple. If Pennington got to the District Court first, + we were lost!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you got there first?” exclaimed Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I did—by the very simple method of preparing to get there first in + case anything slipped. Something did slip—last night! However, I was + ready; so all I had to do was press the button, for as Omar Khayyam + remarked: 'What shall it avail a man if he buyeth a padlock for his stable + after his favourite stallion hath been lifted?' Several days ago, my boy, + I wrote a long letter to our attorney in San Francisco explaining every + detail of our predicament; the instant I received that temporary franchise + from the city council, I mailed a certified copy of it to our attorney + also. Then, in anticipation of our discovery by Pennington, I instructed + the attorney to prepare the complaint and petition for a restraining order + against Seth Pennington et al. and stand by to rush the judge with it the + instant he heard from me! + </p> + <p> + “Well, about the time old Pennington started for San Francisco this + morning, I had our attorney out of bed and on the long-distance telephone; + at nine o'clock this morning he appeared in the United States District + Court; at nine-fifteen the judge signed a restraining order forbidding our + enemies to interfere with us in the exercise of a right legally granted us + by the city of Sequoia, and at nine-thirty a deputy United States marshal + started in an automobile for Sequoia, via the overland route. He will + arrive late to-morrow night, and on Sunday we will get that locomotive out + of our way and install our crossing.” + </p> + <p> + “And Pennington—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the poor Pennington! Mon pauvre Seth!” Buck sighed comically. “He + will be just twenty-four hours late.” + </p> + <p> + “You old he-fox!” Bryce murmured. “You wicked, wicked man!” + </p> + <p> + Buck Ogilvy lifted his lapel and sniffed luxuriously at his white + carnation, the while a thin little smile played around the corners of his + humorous mouth. “Ah,” he murmured presently, “life's pretty sweet, isn't + it!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV + </h2> + <p> + Events followed each other with refreshing rapidity. While the crew of the + big locomotive on the crossing busied themselves getting up steam, Sexton + and Jules Rondeau toiled at the loading of the discarded boiler and heavy + castings aboard two flat-cars. By utilizing the steel derrick on the + company's wrecking-car, this task was completed by noon, and after + luncheon the mogul backed up the main line past the switch into the Laguna + Grande yards; whereupon the switch-engine kicked the two flat-cars and the + wrecking-car out of the yard and down to the crossing, where the + obstructions were promptly unloaded. The police watched the operation with + alert interest but forebore to interfere in this high-handed closing of a + public thoroughfare. + </p> + <p> + To Sexton's annoyance and secret apprehension, Bryce Cardigan and Buck + Ogilvy promptly appeared on the scene, both very cheerful and lavish with + expert advice as to the best method of expediting the job in hand. To + Bryce's surprise Jules Rondeau appeared to take secret enjoyment of this + good-natured chaffing of the Laguna Grande manager. Occasionally he eyed + Bryce curiously but without animus, and presently he flashed the latter a + lightning wink, as if to say: “What a fool Sexton is to oppose you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Rondeau,” Bryce hailed the woods-boss cheerfully, “I see you have + quite recovered from that working over I gave you some time ago. No hard + feelings, I trust. I shouldn't care to have that job to do over again. + You're a tough one.” + </p> + <p> + “By gar, she don' pay for have hard feelings wiz you, M'sieur,” Rondeau + answered bluntly. “We have one fine fight, but”—he shrugged—“I + don' want some more.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by gar, an' she don' pay for cut other people's trees, M'sieur,” + Bryce mimicked him. “I shouldn't wonder if I took the value of that tree + out of your hide.” + </p> + <p> + “I t'enk so, M'sieur.” He approached Bryce and lowered his voice. “For one + month I am no good all ze tam. We don' fight some more, M'sieur. And I + have feel ashame' for dose Black Minorca feller. Always wiz him eet is ze + knife or ze club—and now eet is ze rifle. COCHON! W'en I fight, I + fight wiz what le bon Dieu give me.” + </p> + <p> + “You appear to have a certain code, after all,” Bryce laughed. “I am + inclined to like you for it. You're sporty in your way, you tremendous + scoundrel!” + </p> + <p> + “Mebbeso,” Rondeau suggested hopefully, “M'sieur likes me for woods-boss?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's the matter with Pennington? Is he tired of you?” + </p> + <p> + The colour mounted slowly to the woods bully's swarthy cheek. + “Mademoiselle Sumnair, he's tell me pretty soon he's goin' be boss of + Laguna Grande an' stop all thees fight. An' w'en Mademoiselle, he is in + the saddle, good-bye Jules Rondeau. Thees country—I like him. I feel + sad, M'sieur, to leave dose beeg trees.” He paused, looking rather + wistfully at Bryce. “I am fine woods-boss for somebody,” he suggested + hopefully. + </p> + <p> + “You think Miss Sumner dislikes you then, Rondeau?” + </p> + <p> + “I don' theenk. I know.” He sighed; his huge body seemed to droop. “I am + out of zee good luck now,” he murmured bitterly. “Everybody, she hate + Jules Rondeau. Colonel—she hate because I don' keel M'sieur + Cardigan; Mademoiselle, he hate because I try to keel M'sieur Cardigan; + M'sieur Sexton, she hate because I tell her thees mornin' she is one fool + for fight M'sieur Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + Again he sighed. “Dose beeg trees! In Quebec we have none. In zee woods, + M'sieur, I feel—here!” And he laid his great calloused, hairy hand + over his heart. “W'en I cut your beeg trees, M'sieur, I feel like hell.” + </p> + <p> + “That infernal gorilla of a man is a poet,” Buck Ogilvy declared. “I'd + think twice before I let him get out of the country, Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + “'Whose salt he eats, his song he sings,'” quoth Bryce. “I forgive you, + Rondeau, and when I need a woods-boss like you, I'll send for you.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI + </h2> + <p> + At eleven o'clock Saturday night the deputy United States marshal arrived + in Sequoia. Upon the advice of Buck Ogilvy, however, he made no attempt at + service that night, notwithstanding the fact that Jules Rondeau and his + bullies still guarded the crossing. At eight o'clock Sunday morning, + however, Bryce Cardigan drove him down to the crossing. Buck Ogilvy was + already there with his men, superintending the erection of a huge derrick + close to the heap of obstructions placed on the crossing. Sexton was + watching him uneasily, and flushed as Ogilvy pointed him out to the + marshal. + </p> + <p> + “There's your meat, Marshal,” he announced. The marshal approached and + extended toward Sexton a copy of the restraining order. The latter struck + it aside and refused to accept it—whereupon the deputy marshal + tapped him on the shoulder with it. “Tag! You're out of the game, my + friend,” he said pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + As the document fluttered to Sexton's feet, the latter turned to Jules + Rondeau. “I can no longer take charge here, Rondeau,” he explained. “I am + forbidden to interfere.” + </p> + <p> + “Jules Rondeau can do ze job,” the woods-boss replied easily. “Ze law, she + have not restrain' me. I guess mebbeso you don' take dose theengs away, + eh, M'sieur Cardigan. Myself, I lak see.” + </p> + <p> + The deputy marshal handed Rondeau a paper, at the same time showing his + badge. “You're out, too, my friend,” he laughed. “Don't be foolish and try + to buck the law. If you do, I shall have to place a nice little pair of + handcuffs on you and throw you in jail—and if you resist arrest, I + shall have to shoot you. I have one of these little restraining orders for + every able-bodied man in the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's employ—thanks + to Mr. Ogilvy's foresight; so it is useless to try to beat this game on a + technicality.” + </p> + <p> + Sexton, who still lingered, made a gesture of surrender. “Dismiss your + crew, Rondeau,” he ordered. “We're whipped to a frazzle.” + </p> + <p> + A gleam of pleasure, not unmixed with triumph, lighted the dark eyes of + the French-Canadian. “I tol' M'sieur Sexton she cannot fight M'sieur + Cardigan and win,” he said simply, “Now mebbe he believe that Jules + Rondeau know somet'ing.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up,” Sexton roared petulantly. Rondeau shrugged contemptuously, + turned, and with a sweep of his great arm indicated to his men that they + were to go; then, without a backward glance to see that they followed, the + woods-boss strode away in the direction of the Laguna Grande mill. Arrived + at the mill-office, he entered, took down the telephone, and called up + Shirley Sumner. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he said, “Jules Rondeau speaks to you. I have for you zee + good news. Bryce Cardigan, she puts in the crossing to-day. One man of the + law she comes from San Francisco with papers, and M'sieur Sexton say to + me: 'Rondeau, we are whip'. Deesmess your men.' So I have deesmess doze + men, and now I deesmess myself. Mebbeso bimeby I go to work for M'sieur + Cardigan. For Mademoiselle I have no weesh to make trouble to fire me. I + queet. I will not fight dose dirty fight some more. Au revoir, + mademoiselle. I go.” + </p> + <p> + And without further ado he hung up. + </p> + <p> + “What's this, what's this?” Sexton demanded. “You re going to quit? + Nonsense, Rondeau, nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “I will have my time, M'sieur,” said Jules Rondeau. “I go to work for a + man. Mebbeso I am not woods-boss for heem, but—I work.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to wait until the Colonel returns, Rondeau.” + </p> + <p> + “I will have my time,” said Jules Rondeau patiently. + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll wait till pay-day for it, Rondeau. You know our rules. Any + man who quits without notice waits until the regular pay-day for his + money.” + </p> + <p> + Jules advanced until he towered directly over the manager. “I tol' M'sieur + I would have my time,” he repeated once more. “Is M'sieur deaf in zee + ears?” He raised his right hand, much as a bear raises its paw; his blunt + fingers worked a little and there was a smoldering fire in his dark eyes. + </p> + <p> + Without further protest Sexton opened the safe, counted out the wages due, + and took Rondeau's receipt. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, M'sieur,” the woods-boss growled as he swept the coin into his + pocket. “Now I work for M'sieur Cardigan; so, M'sieur, I will have zee + switchengine weeth two flat-cars and zee wrecking-car. Doze dam trash on + zee crossing—M'sieur Cardigan does not like, and by gar, I take heem + away. You onderstand, M'sieur? I am Jules Rondeau, and I work for M'sieur + Cardigan. La la, M'sieur!” The great hand closed over Sexton's collar. + “Not zee pistol—no, not for Jules Rondeau.” + </p> + <p> + Quite as easily as a woman dresses a baby, he gagged Sexton with Sexton's + own handkerchief, laid him gently on the floor and departed, locking the + door behind him and taking the key. At the corner of the building, where + the telephone-line entered the office, he paused, jerked once at the wire, + and passed on, leaving the broken ends on the ground. + </p> + <p> + In the round-house he found the switch-engine crew on duty, waiting for + steam in the boiler. The withdrawal of both locomotives, brief as had been + their absence, had caused a glut of logs at the Laguna Grande landings, + and Sexton was catching up with the traffic by sending the switch-engine + crew out for one train-load, even though it was Sunday. The crew had been + used to receiving orders from Rondeau, and moreover they were not aware of + his recent action; hence at his command they ran the switch-engine out of + the roundhouse, coupled up the two flat-cars and the wrecking-car, and + backed down to the crossing. Upon arrival, Jules Rondeau leaned out of the + cab window and hailed Bryce. “M'sieur,” he said, “do not bozzer to make + zee derrick. I have here zee wrecking-car—all you need; pretty soon + we lift him off zee crossing, I tell you, eh, M'sieur Cardigan?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce stepped over to the switch-engine and looked up at his late enemy. + “By whose orders is this train here?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “Mine,” Rondeau answered. “M'sieur Sexton I have tie like one leetle pig + and lock her in her office. I work now for M'sieur.” + </p> + <p> + And he did. He waited not for a confirmation from his new master but + proceeded to direct operations like the born driver and leader of men that + he was. With his late employer's gear he fastened to the old castings and + the boiler, lifted them with the derrick on the wrecking-car, and swung + them up and around onto the flat-cars. By the middle of the afternoon the + crossing was once more clear. Then the Cardigan crew fell upon it while + Jules Rondeau ran the train back to the Laguna Grande yards, dismissed his + crew, returned to the mill-office, and released the manager. + </p> + <p> + “You'll pay through the nose for this, you scoundrel,” Sexton whimpered. + “I'll fix you, you traitor.” + </p> + <p> + “You feex nothing, M'sieur Sexton,” Rondeau replied imperturbably. “Who is + witness Jules Rondeau tie you up? Somebody see you, no? I guess you don' + feex me. Sacre! I guess you don' try.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII + </h2> + <p> + Colonel Pennington's discovery at San Francisco that Bryce Cardigan had + stolen his thunder and turned the bolt upon him, was the hardest blow Seth + Pennington could remember having received throughout thirty-odd years of + give and take. He was too old and experienced a campaigner, however, to + permit a futile rage to cloud his reason; he prided himself upon being a + foeman worthy of any man's steel. + </p> + <p> + On Tuesday he returned to Sequoia. Sexton related to him in detail the + events which had transpired since his departure, but elicited nothing more + than a noncommittal grunt. + </p> + <p> + “There is one more matter, sir, which will doubtless be of interest to + you,” Sexton continued apologetically. “Miss Sumner called me on the + telephone yesterday and instructed me formally to notify the board of + directors of the Laguna Grande Company of a special meeting of the board, + to be held here at two o'clock this afternoon. In view of the + impossibility of communicating with you while you were en route, I + conformed to her wishes. Our by-laws, as you know, stipulate that no + meeting of the board shall be called without formal written notice to each + director mailed twenty-four hours previously.” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil do you mean, Sexton, by conforming to her wishes? Miss + Sumner is not a director of this company.” Pennington's voice was harsh + and trembled with apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Sumner controls forty per cent. of the Laguna Grande stock, sir. I + took that into consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” Pennington all but screamed. “You took into consideration your + job as secretary and general manager. Damnation!” + </p> + <p> + He rose and commenced pacing up and down his office. Suddenly he paused. + Sexton still stood beside his desk, watching him respectfully. “You fool!” + he snarled. “Get out of here and leave me alone.” + </p> + <p> + Sexton departed promptly, glancing at his watch as he did so. It lacked + five minutes of two. He passed Shirley Sumner in the general office. + </p> + <p> + “Shirley,” Pennington began in a hoarse voice as she entered his office, + “what is the meaning of this directors' meeting you have requested?” + </p> + <p> + “Be seated, Uncle Seth,” the girl answered quietly. “If you will only be + quiet and reasonable, perhaps we can dispense with this directors' meeting + which appears to frighten you so.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down promptly, a look of relief on his face. + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely know how to begin, Uncle Seth,” Shirley commenced sadly. “It + hurts me terribly to be forced to hurt you, but there doesn't appear to be + any other way out of it. I cannot trust you to manage my financial affairs + in the future—this for a number of reasons, the principal one being—” + </p> + <p> + “Young Cardigan,” he interrupted in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” she answered, “although I did think until very recently + that it was those sixteen townships of red cedar—that crown grant in + British Columbia in which you induced me to invest four hundred thousand + dollars. You will remember that you purchased that timber for me from the + Caribou Timber Company, Limited. You said it was an unparalleled + investment. Quite recently I learned—no matter how—that you + were the principal owner of the Caribou Timber Company, Limited! Smart as + you are, somebody swindled you with that red cedar. It was a wonderful + stand of timber—so read the cruiser's report—but fifty per + cent. of it, despite its green and flourishing appearance, is + hollow-butted! And the remaining fifty per cent. of sound timber cannot be + logged unless the rotten timber is logged also and gotten out of the way + also. And I am informed that logging it spells bankruptcy.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed upon him steadily, but without malice; his face crimsoned and + then paled; presently his glance sought the carpet. While he struggled to + formulate a verbal defense against her accusation Shirley continued: + </p> + <p> + “You had erected a huge sawmill and built and equipped a logging-road + before you discovered you had been swindled. So, in order to save as much + as possible from the wreck, you decided to unload your white elephant on + somebody else. I was the readiest victim. You were the executor of my + father's estate—you were my guardian and financial adviser, and so + you found it very, very easy to swindle me!” + </p> + <p> + “I had my back to the wall,” he quavered. “I was desperate—and it + wasn't at all the bad investment you have been told it is. You had the + money—more money than you knew what to do with—and with the + proceeds of the sale of those cedar lands, I knew I could make an + investment in California redwood and more than retrieve my fortunes—make + big money for both of us.” + </p> + <p> + “You might have borrowed the money from me. You know I have never + hesitated to join in your enterprises.” + </p> + <p> + “This was too big a deal for you, Shirley. I had vision. I could see + incalculable riches in this redwood empire, but it was a tremendous gamble + and required twenty millions to swing it at the very start. I dreamed of + the control of California redwood; and if you will stand by me, Shirley, I + shall yet make my dream come true—and half of it shall be yours. It + has always been my intention to buy back from you secretly and at a nice + profit to you that Caribou red cedar, and with the acquisition of the + Cardigan properties I would have been in position to do so. Why, that + Cardigan tract in the San Hedrin which we will buy in within a year for + half a million is worth five millions at least. And by that time, I feel + certain—in fact, I know—the Northern Pacific will commence + building in from the south, from Willits.” + </p> + <p> + She silenced him with a disdainful gesture. “You shall not smash the + Cardigans,” she declared firmly. + </p> + <p> + “I shall—” he began, but he paused abruptly, as if he had suddenly + remembered that tact and not pugnacity was the requirement for the + handling of this ticklish situation. + </p> + <p> + “You are devoid of mercy, of a sense of sportsmanship. Now, then, Uncle + Seth, listen to me: You have twenty-four hours in which to make up your + mind whether to accept my ultimatum or refuse it. If you refuse, I shall + prosecute you for fraud and a betrayal of trust as my father's executor on + that red-cedar timber deal.” + </p> + <p> + He brightened a trifle. “I'm afraid that would be a long, hard row to hoe, + my dear, and of course, I shall have to defend myself.” + </p> + <p> + “In addition,” the girl went on quietly, “the county grand jury shall be + furnished with a stenographic report of your conversation of Thursday + night with Mayor Poundstone. That will not be a long, hard row to hoe, + Uncle Seth, for in addition to the stenographer, I have another very + reliable witness, Judge Moore. Your casual disposal of my sedan as a bribe + to the Mayor will be hard to explain and rather amusing, in view of the + fact that Bryce Cardigan managed to frighten Mr. Poundstone into returning + the sedan while you were away. And if that is not sufficient for my + purposes, I have the sworn confession of the Black Minorca that you gave + him five hundred dollars to kill Bryce Cardigan. Your woods-boss, Rondeau, + will also swear that you approached him with a proposition to do away with + Bryce Cardigan. I think, therefore, that you will readily see how + impossible a situation you have managed to create and will not disagree + with me when I suggest that it would be better for you to leave this + county.” + </p> + <p> + His face had gone gray and haggard. “I can't,” he murmured, “I can't leave + this great business now. Your own interests in the company render such a + course unthinkable. Without my hand at the helms, things will go to + smash.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll risk that. I want to get rid of that worthless red-cedar timber; so + I think you had better buy it back from me at the same figure at which, + you sold it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven't the money and I can't borrow it. I—I—-” + </p> + <p> + “I will have the equivalent in stock of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company. + You will call on Judge Moore to complete the transaction and leave with + him your resignation as president of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel raised his glance and bent it upon her in cold appraisal. She + met it with firmness, and the thought came to him: “She is a Pennington!” + And hope died out in his heart. He began pleading in maudlin fashion for + mercy, for compromise. But the girl was obdurate. + </p> + <p> + “I am showing you more mercy than you deserve—you to whom mercy was + ever a sign of weakness, of vacillation. There is a gulf between us, Uncle + Seth—a gulf which for a long time I have dimly sensed and which, + because of my recent discoveries, has widened until it can no longer be + bridged.” + </p> + <p> + He wrung his hands in desperation and suddenly slid to his knees before + her; with hypocritical endearments he strove to take her hand, but she + drew away from him. “Don't touch me,” she cried sharply and with a + breaking note in her voice. “You planned to kill Bryce Cardigan! And for + that—and that alone—I shall never forgive you.” + </p> + <p> + She fled from the office, leaving him cringing and grovelling on the + floor. “There will be no directors' meeting, Mr. Sexton,” she informed the + manager as she passed through the general office. “It is postponed.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII + </h2> + <p> + That trying interview with her uncle had wrenched Shirley's soul to a + degree that left her faint and weak. She at once set out on a long drive, + in the hope that before she turned homeward again she might regain + something of her customary composure. + </p> + <p> + Presently the asphaltum-paved street gave way to a dirt road and + terminated abruptly at the boundaries of a field that sloped gently upward—a + field studded with huge black redwood stumps showing dismally through + coronets of young redwoods that grew riotously around the base of the + departed parent trees. From the fringe of the thicket thus formed, the + terminus of an old skid-road showed and a signboard, freshly painted, + pointed the way to the Valley of the Giants. + </p> + <p> + Shirley had not intended to come here, but now that she had arrived, it + occurred to her that it was here she wanted to come. Parking her car by + the side of the road, she alighted and proceeded up the old skid, now + newly planked and with the encroaching forestration cut away so that the + daylight might enter from above. On over the gentle divide she went and + down toward the amphitheatre where the primeval giants grew. And as she + approached it, the sound that is silence in the redwoods—the + thunderous diapason of the centuries—wove its spell upon her; + quickly, imperceptibly there faded from her mind the memory of that + grovelling Thing she had left behind in the mill-office, and in its place + there came a subtle peace, a feeling of awe, of wonder—such a + feeling, indeed, as must come to one in the realization that man is + distant but God is near. + </p> + <p> + A cluster of wild orchids pendent from the great fungus-covered roots of a + giant challenged her attention. She gathered them. Farther on, in a spot + where a shaft of sunlight fell, she plucked an armful of golden California + poppies and flaming rhododendron, and with her delicate burden she came at + length to the giant-guarded clearing where the halo of sunlight fell upon + the grave of Bryce Cardigan's mother. There were red roses on it—a + couple of dozen, at least, and these she rearranged in order to make room + for her own offering. + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear!” she murmured audibly. “God didn't spare you for much + happiness, did He?” + </p> + <p> + A voice, deep, resonant, kindly, spoke a few feet away. “Who is it?” + </p> + <p> + Shirley, startled, turned swiftly. Seated across the little amphitheatre + in a lumberjack's easy-chair fashioned from an old barrel, John Cardigan + sat, his sightless gaze bent upon her. “Who is it?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Shirley Sumner,” she answered. “You do not know me, Mr. Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied he, “I do not. That is a name I have heard, however. You are + Seth Pennington's niece. Is someone with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite alone, Mr. Cardigan.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did you come here alone?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “I—I wanted to think.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you wanted to think clearly, my dear. Ah, yes, this is the place + for thoughts.” He was silent a moment. Then: “You were thinking aloud, + Miss Shirley Sumner. I heard you. You said: 'Poor dear, God didn't spare + you for much happiness, did He?' And I think you rearranged my roses. + Didn't I have them on her grave?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Cardigan. I was merely making room for some wild flowers I had + gathered.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed. Then you knew—about her being here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Some ten years ago, when I was a very little girl, I met your + son Bryce. He gave me a ride on his Indian pony, and we came here. So I + remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I declare! Ten years ago, eh? You've met, eh? You've met Bryce + since his return to Sequoia, I believe. He's quite a fellow now.” + </p> + <p> + “He is indeed.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan nodded sagely. “So that's why you thought aloud,” he + remarked impersonally. “Bryce told you about her. You are right, Miss + Shirley Sumner. God didn't give her much time for happiness—just + three years; but oh, such wonderful years! Such wonderful years! + </p> + <p> + “It was mighty fine of you to bring flowers,” he announced presently. “I + appreciate that. I wish I could see you. You must be a dear, nice, + thoughtful girl. Won't you sit down and talk to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be glad to,” she answered, and seated herself on the brown + carpet of redwood twigs close to his chair. + </p> + <p> + “So you came up here to do a little clear thinking,” he continued in his + deliberate, amiable tones. “Do you come here often?” + </p> + <p> + “This is the third time in ten years,” she answered. “I feel that I have + no business to intrude here. This is your shrine, and strangers should not + profane it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I should have resented the presence of any other person, Miss + Sumner. I resented you—until you spoke.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you said that, Mr. Cardigan. It sets me at ease.” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't been up here for nearly two years until recently. You see I—I + don't own the Valley of the Giants any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed. To whom have you sold it?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know, Miss Sumner. I had to sell; there was no other way out of + the jam Bryce and I were in; so I sacrificed my sentiment for my boy. + However, the new owner has been wonderfully kind and thoughtful. She + reorganized that old skid-road so even an old blind duffer like me can + find his way in and out without getting lost—and she had this + easy-chair made for me. I have told Judge Moore, who represents the + unknown owner, to extend my thanks to his client. But words are so empty, + Shirley Sumner. If that new owner could only understand how truly grateful + I am—how profoundly her courtesy touches me—” + </p> + <p> + “HER courtesy?” Shirley echoed. “Did a woman buy the Giants?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled down at her. “Why, certainly. Who but a woman—and a dear, + kind, thoughtful woman—would have thought to have this chair made + and brought up here for me?” + </p> + <p> + Fell a long silence between them; then John Cardigan's trembling hand went + groping out toward the girl's. “Why, how stupid of me not to have guessed + it immediately!” he said. “You are the new owner. My dear child, if the + silent prayers of a very unhappy old man will bring God's blessing on you—there, + there, girl! I didn't intend to make you weep. What a tender heart it is, + to be sure!” + </p> + <p> + She took his great toil-worn hand, and her hot tears fell on it, for his + gentleness, his benignancy, had touched her deeply. “Oh, you must not tell + anybody! You mustn't,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + He put his hand on her shoulder as she knelt before him. “Good land of + love, girl, what made you do it? Why should a girl like you give a hundred + thousand dollars for my Valley of the Giants? Were you”—hesitatingly—“your + uncle's agent?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I bought it myself—with my own money. My uncle doesn't know I + am the new owner. You see, he wanted it—for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes. I suspected as much a long time ago. Your uncle is the modern + type of business man. Not very much of an idealist, I'm afraid. But tell + me why you decided to thwart the plans of your relative.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it hurt you terribly to sell your Giants; they were dear to you + for sentimental reasons. I understood, also, why you were forced to sell; + so I—well, I decided the Giants would be safer in my possession than + in my uncle's. In all probability he would have logged this valley for the + sake of the clear seventy-two-inch boards he could get from these trees.” + </p> + <p> + “That does not explain satisfactorily, to me, why you took sides with a + stranger against your own kin,” John Cardigan persisted. “There must be a + deeper and more potent reason, Miss Shirley Sumner.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Shirley made answer, glad that he could not see the flush of + confusion and embarrassment that crimsoned her cheek, “when I came to + Sequoia last May, your son and I met, quite accidentally. The stage to + Sequoia had already gone, and he was gracious enough to invite me to make + the journey in his car. Then we recalled having met as children, and + presently I gathered from his conversation that he and his John-partner, + as he called you, were very dear to each other. I was witness to your + meeting that night—I saw him take you in his big arms and hold you + tight because you'd—gone blind while he was away having a good time. + And you hadn't told him! I thought that was brave of you; and later, when + Bryce and Moira McTavish told me about you—how kind you were, how + you felt your responsibility toward your employees and the community—well, + I just couldn't help a leaning toward John-partner and John-partner's boy, + because the boy was so fine and true to his father's ideals.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, he's a man. He is indeed,” old John Cardigan murmured proudly. “I + dare say you'll never get to know him intimately, but if you should—” + </p> + <p> + “I know him intimately,” she corrected him. “He saved my life the day the + log-train ran away. And that was another reason. I owed him a debt, and so + did my uncle; but Uncle wouldn't pay his share, and I had to pay for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful,” murmured John Cardigan, “wonderful! But still you haven't + told me why you paid a hundred thousand dollars for the Giants when you + could have bought them for fifty thousand. You had a woman's reason, I + dare say, and women always reason from the heart, never the head. However, + if you do not care to tell me, I shall not insist. Perhaps I have + appeared, unduly inquisitive.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather not tell you,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + A gentle, prescient smile fringed his old mouth; he wagged his leonine + head as if to say: “Why should I ask, when I know?” Fell again a restful + silence. Then: + </p> + <p> + “Am I allowed one guess, Miss Shirley Sumner?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you would never guess the reason.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a very wise old man. When one sits in the dark, one sees much that + was hidden from him in the full glare of the light. My son is proud, + manly, independent, and the soul of honour. He needed a hundred thousand + dollars; you knew it. Probably your uncle informed you. You wanted to loan + him some money, but—you couldn't. You feared to offend him by + proffering it; had you proffered it, he would have declined it. So you + bought my Valley of the Giants at a preposterous price and kept your + action a secret.” And he patted her hand gently, as if to silence any + denial, while far down the skid-road a voice—a half-trained baritone—floated + faintly to them through the forest. Somebody was singing—or rather + chanting—a singularly tuneless refrain, wild and barbaric. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” Shirley cried. + </p> + <p> + “That is my son, coming to fetch his old daddy home,” replied John + Cardigan. “That thing he's howling is an Indian war-song or paean of + triumph—something his nurse taught him when he wore pinafores. If + you'll excuse me, Miss Shirley Sumner, I'll leave you now. I generally + contrive to meet him on the trail.” + </p> + <p> + He bade her good-bye and started down the trail, his stick tapping against + the old logging-cable stretched from tree to tree beside the trail and + marking it. + </p> + <p> + Shirley was tremendously relieved. She did not wish to meet Bryce Cardigan + to-day, and she was distinctly grateful to John Cardigan for his nice + consideration in sparing her an interview. She seated herself in the + lumberjack's easy-chair so lately vacated, and chin in hand gave herself + up to meditation on this extraordinary old man and his extraordinary son. + </p> + <p> + A couple of hundred yards down the trail Bryce met his father. “Hello, + John Cardigan!” he called. “What do you mean by skallyhooting through + these woods without a pilot? Eh? Explain your reckless conduct.” + </p> + <p> + “You great overgrown duffer,” his father retorted affectionately, “I + thought you'd never come.” He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, + but failed to find it and searched through another pocket and still + another. “By gravy, son,” he remarked presently, “I do believe I left my + silk handkerchief—the one Moira gave me for my last birthday—up + yonder. I wouldn't lose that handkerchief for a farm. Skip along and find + it for me, son. I'll wait for you here. Don't hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be back in a pig's whisper,” his son replied, and started briskly up + the trail, while his father leaned against a madrone tree and smiled his + prescient little smile. + </p> + <p> + Bryce's brisk step on the thick carpet of withered brown twigs aroused + Shirley from her reverie. When she looked up, he was standing in the + centre of the little amphitheatre gazing at her. + </p> + <p> + “You—you!” she stammered, and rose as if to flee from him. + </p> + <p> + “The governor sent me back to look for his handkerchief, Shirley,” he + explained. “He didn't tell me you were here. Guess he didn't hear you.” He + advanced smilingly toward her. “I'm tremendously glad to see you to-day, + Shirley,” he said, and paused beside her. “Fate has been singularly kind + to me. Indeed, I've been pondering all day as to just how I was to arrange + a private and confidential little chat with you, without calling upon you + at your uncle's house.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't feel like chatting to-day,” she answered a little drearily—and + then he noted her wet lashes. Instantly he was on one knee beside her; + with the amazing confidence that had always distinguished him in her eyes, + his big left arm went around her, and when her hands went to her face, he + drew them gently away. + </p> + <p> + “I've waited too long, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Thank God, I can tell + you at last all the things that have been accumulating in my heart. I love + you, Shirley. I've loved you from that first day we met at the station, + and all these months of strife and repression have merely served to make + me love you the more. Perhaps you have been all the dearer to me because + you seemed so hopelessly unattainable.” + </p> + <p> + He drew her head down on his breast; his great hand patted her hot cheek; + his honest brown eyes gazed earnestly, wistfully into hers. “I love you,” + he whispered. “All that I have—all that I am—all that I hope + to be—I offer to you, Shirley Sumner; and in the shrine of my heart + I shall hold you sacred while life shall last. You are not indifferent to + me, dear. I know you're not; but tell me—answer me—” + </p> + <p> + Her violet eyes were uplifted to his, and in them he read the answer to + his cry. “Ah, may I?” he murmured, and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, impulsive, gentle big sweetheart,” she whispered—and + then her arms went around his neck, and the fullness of her happiness + found vent in tears he did not seek to have her repress. In the safe haven + of his arms she rested; and there, quite without effort or distress, she + managed to convey to him something more than an inkling of the thoughts + that were wont to come to her whenever they met. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my love!” he cried happily, “I hadn't dared dream of such happiness + until to-day. You were so unattainable—the obstacles between us were + so many and so great—” + </p> + <p> + “Why to-day, Bryce?” she interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + He took her adorable little nose in his great thumb and forefinger and + tweaked it gently. “The light began to dawn yesterday, my dear little + enemy, following an interesting half-hour which I put in with His Honour + the Mayor. Acting upon suspicion only, I told Poundstone I was prepared to + send him to the rock-pile if he didn't behave himself in the matter of my + permanent franchise for the N.C.O.—and the oily old invertebrate + wept and promised me anything if I wouldn't disgrace him. So I promised I + wouldn't do anything until the franchise matter should be definitely + settled—after which I returned to my office, to find awaiting me + there no less a person than the right-of-way man for the Northwestern + Pacific. He was a perfectly delightful young fellow, and he had a + proposition to unfold. It seems the Northwestern Pacific has decided to + build up from Willits, and all that powwow and publicity of Buck Ogilvy's + about the N.C.O. was in all probability the very thing that spurred them + to action. They figured the C.M. & St.P. was back of the N.C.O.—that + it was to be the first link of a chain of coast roads to be connected + ultimately with the terminus of the C.M. & St.P. on Gray's Harbour, + Washington, and if the N.C.O. should be built, it meant that a rival road + would get the edge on them in the matter of every stick of Humboldt and + Del Norte redwood—and they'd be left holding the sack.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did they think that, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “That amazing rascal Buck Ogilvy used to be a C. M. me that the money had + been deposited in escrow there awaiting formal deed. That money puts the + Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company in the clear—no receivership for us + now, my dear one. And I'm going right ahead with the building of the + N.C.O.—while our holdings down on the San Hedrin double in value, + for the reason that within three years they will be accessible and can be + logged over the rails of the Northwestern Pacific!” + </p> + <p> + “Bryce,” Shirley declared, “haven't I always told you I'd never permit you + to build the N.C.O.?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he replied, “but surely you're going to withdraw your + objections now.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not. You must choose between the N.C.O. and me.” And she met his + surprised gaze unflinchingly. + </p> + <p> + “Shirley! You don't mean it?” + </p> + <p> + “I do mean it. I have always meant it. I love you, dear, but for all that, + you must not build that road.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up and towered above her sternly. “I must build it, Shirley. I've + contracted to do it, and I must keep faith with Gregory of the Trinidad + Timber Company. He's putting up the money, and I'm to do the work and + operate the line. I can't go back on him now.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for my sake?” she pleaded. He shook his head. “I must go on,” he + reiterated. + </p> + <p> + “Do you realize what that resolution means to us?” The girl's tones were + grave, her glance graver. + </p> + <p> + “I realize what it means to me!” + </p> + <p> + She came closer to him. Suddenly the blaze in her violet eyes gave way to + one of mirth. “Oh, you dear big booby!” she cried. “I was just testing + you.” And she clung to him, laughing. “You always beat me down—you + always win. Bryce, dear, I'm the Laguna Grande Lumber Company—at + least, I will be to-morrow, and I repeat for the last time that you shall + NOT build the N.C.O.—because I'm going to—oh, dear, I shall + die laughing at you—because I'm going to merge with the Cardigan + Redwood Lumber Company, and then my railroad shall be your railroad, and + we'll extend it and haul Gregory's logs to tidewater for him also. And—silly, + didn't I tell you you'd never build the N.C.O.?” + </p> + <p> + “God bless my mildewed soul!” he murmured, and drew her to him. + </p> + <p> + In the gathering dusk they walked down the trail. Beside the madrone tree + John Cardigan waited patiently. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he queried when they joined him, “did you find my handkerchief for + me, son?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't find your handkerchief, John Cardigan,” Bryce answered, “but I + did find what I suspect you sent me back for—and that is a perfectly + wonderful daughter-in-law for you.” + </p> + <p> + John Cardigan smiled and held out his arms for her. “This,” he said, “is + the happiest day that I have known since my boy was born.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX + </h2> + <p> + Colonel Seth Pennington was thoroughly crushed. Look which way he would, + the bedevilled old rascal could find no loophole for escape. + </p> + <p> + “You win, Cardigan,” he muttered desperately as he sat in his office after + Shirley had left him. “You've had more than a shade in every round thus + far, and at the finish you've landed a clean knockout. If I had to fight + any man but you—” + </p> + <p> + He sighed resignedly and pressed the push-button on his desk. Sexton + entered. “Sexton,” he said bluntly and with a slight quiver in his voice, + “my niece and I have had a disagreement. We have quarrelled over young + Cardigan. She's going to marry him. Now, our affairs are somewhat + involved, and in order to straighten them out, we spun a coin to see + whether she should sell her stock in Laguna Grande to me or whether I + should sell mine to her—and I lost. The book-valuation of the stock + at the close of last year's business, plus ten per cent. will determine + the selling price, and I shall resign as president. You will, in all + probability, be retained to manage the company until it is merged with the + Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company—when, I imagine, you will be given + ample notice to seek a new job elsewhere. Call Miss Sumner's attorney, + Judge Moore, on the telephone and ask him to come to the office at nine + o'clock to-morrow, when the papers can be drawn up and signed. That is + all.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel did not return to his home in Redwood Boulevard that night. He + had no appetite for dinner and sat brooding in his office until very late; + then he went to the Hotel Sequoia and engaged a room. He did not possess + sufficient courage to face his niece again. + </p> + <p> + At four o'clock the next day the Colonel, his baggage, his automobile, his + chauffeur, and the solemn butler James, boarded the passenger steamer for + San Francisco, and at four-thirty sailed out of Humboldt Bay over the + thundering bar and on into the south. The Colonel was still a rich man, + but his dream of a redwood empire had faded, and once more he was taking + up the search for cheap timber. Whether he ever found it or not is a + matter that does not concern us. + </p> + <p> + At a moment when young Henry Poundstone's dream of legal opulence was + fading, when Mayor Poundstone's hopes for domestic peace had been + shattered beyond repair, the while his cheap political aspirations had + been equally devastated because of a certain damnable document in the + possession of Bryce Cardigan, many events of importance were transpiring. + On the veranda of his old-fashioned home, John Cardigan sat tapping the + floor with his stick and dreaming dreams which, for the first time in many + years, were rose-tinted. Beside him Shirley sat, her glance bent musingly + out across the roofs of Sequoia and on to the bay shore, where the smoke + and exhaust-steam floated up from two sawmills—her own and Bryce + Cardigan's. To her came at regularly spaced intervals the faint whining of + the saws and the rumble of log-trains crawling out on the log-dumps; high + over the piles of bright, freshly sawed lumber she caught from time to + time the flash of white spray as the great logs tossed from the trucks, + hurtled down the skids, and crashed into the Bay. At the docks of both + mills vessels were loading, their tall spars cutting the skyline above and + beyond the smokestacks; far down the Bay a steam schooner, loaded until + her main-deck was almost flush with the water, was putting out to sea, and + Shirley heard the faint echo of her siren as she whistled her intention to + pass to starboard of a wind-jammer inward bound in tow of a Cardigan tug. + </p> + <p> + “It's wonderful,” she said presently, apropos of nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” he replied in his deep, melodious voice, “I've been sitting here, + my dear, listening to your thoughts. You know something, now, of the tie + that binds my boy to Sequoia. This”—he waved his arm abroad in the + darkness—“this is the true essence of life—to create, to + develop the gifts that God has given us—to work and know the + blessing of weariness—to have dreams and see them come true. That is + life, and I have lived. And now I am ready to rest.” He smiled wistfully. + “'The king is dead. Long live the king.' I wonder if you, raised as you + have been, can face life in Sequoia resolutely with my son. It is a dull, + drab sawmill town, where life unfolds gradually without thrill—where + the years stretch ahead of one with only trees, among simple folk. The + life may be hard on you, Shirley; one has to acquire a taste for it, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “I have known the lilt of battle, John-partner,” she answered; “hence I + think I can enjoy the sweets of victory. I am content.” + </p> + <p> + “And what a run you did give that boy Bryce!” + </p> + <p> + She laughed softly. “I wanted him to fight; I had a great curiosity to see + the stuff that was in him,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL + </h2> + <p> + Next day Bryce Cardigan, riding the top log on the end truck of a long + train just in from Cardigan's woods in Township Nine, dropped from the end + of the log as the train crawled through the mill-yard on its way to the + log-dump. He hailed Buck Ogilvy, where the latter stood in the door of the + office. + </p> + <p> + “Big doings up on Little Laurel Creek this morning, Buck.” + </p> + <p> + “Do tell!” Mr. Ogilvy murmured morosely. + </p> + <p> + “It was great,” Bryce continued. “Old Duncan McTavish returned. I knew he + would. His year on the mourner's-bench expired yesterday, and he came back + to claim his old job of woods-boss.” + </p> + <p> + “He's one year too late,” Ogilvy declared. “I wouldn't let that big + Canadian Jules Rondeau quit for a farm. Some woods-boss, that—and + his first job with this company was the dirtiest you could hand him—smearing + grease on the skid-road at a dollar and a half a day and found. He's made + too good to lose out now. I don't care what his private morals may be. He + CAN get out the logs, hang his rascally hide, and I'm for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you haven't anything to say about it, Buck,” Bryce replied + dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't, eh? Well, any time you deny me the privilege of hiring and + firing, you're going to be out the service of a rattling good general + manager, my son. Yes, sir! If you hold me responsible for results, I must + select the tools I want to work with.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well,” Bryce laughed. “Have it your own way. Only if you can + drive Duncan McTavish out of Cardigan's woods, I'd like to see you do it. + Possession is nine points of the law, Buck—and Old Duncan is in + possession.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean—in possession?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that at ten o'clock this morning Duncan McTavish appeared at our + log-landing. The whisky-fat was all gone from him, and he appeared forty + years old instead of the sixty he is. With a whoop he came jumping over + the logs, straight for Jules Rondeau. The big Canuck saw him coming and + knew what his visit portended—so he wasn't taken unawares. It was a + case of fight for his job—and Rondeau fought.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil you say!” + </p> + <p> + “I do—and there was the devil to pay. It was a rough and tumble and + no grips barred—just the kind of fight Rondeau likes. Nevertheless + old Duncan floored him. While he's been away somebody taught him the + hammer-lock and the crotch-hold and a few more fancy ones, and he got to + work on Rondeau in a hurry. In fact, he had to, for if the tussle had gone + over five minutes, Rondeau's youth would have decided the issue.” + </p> + <p> + “And Rondeau was whipped?” + </p> + <p> + “To a whisper. Mac floored him, climbed him, and choked him until he beat + the ground with his free hand in token of surrender; whereupon old Duncan + let him up, and Rondeau went to his shanty and packed his turkey. The last + I saw of him he was headed over the hill to Camp Two on Laguna Grande. + He'll probably chase that assistant woods-boss I hired after the + consolidation, out of Shirley's woods and help himself to the fellow's + job. I don't care if he does. What interests me is the fact that the old + Cardigan woods-boss is back on the job in Cardigan's woods, and I'm mighty + glad of it. The old horsethief has had his lesson and will remain sober + hereafter. I think he's cured.” + </p> + <p> + “The infamous old outlaw!” + </p> + <p> + “Mac knows the San Hedrin as I know my own pocket. He'll be a tower of + strength when we open up that tract after the railroad builds in. By the + way, has my dad been down this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Moira read the mail to him and then took him up to the Valley of the + Giants. He said he wanted to do a little quiet figuring on that new steam + schooner you're thinking of building. He thinks she ought to be bigger—big + enough to carry two million feet.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce glanced at his watch. “It's half after eleven,” he said. “Guess I'll + run up to the Giants and bring him home to luncheon.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped into the Napier standing outside the office and drove away. + Buck Ogilvy waited until Bryce was out of sight; then with sudden + determination he entered the office. + </p> + <p> + “Moira,” he said abruptly, approaching the desk where she worked, “your + dad is back, and what's more, Bryce Cardigan has let him have his old job + as woods-boss. And I'm here to announce that you're not going back to the + woods to keep house for him. Understand? Now, look here, Moira. I've + shilly-shallied around you for months, protesting my love, and I haven't + gotten anywhere. To-day I'm going to ask you for the last time. Will you + marry me? I need you worse than that rascal of a father of yours does, and + I tell you I'll not have you go back to the woods to take care of him. + Come, now, Moira. Do give me a definite answer.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I don't love you well enough to marry you, Mr. Ogilvy,” Moira + pleaded. “I'm truly fond of you, but—” + </p> + <p> + “The last boat's gone,” cried Mr. Ogilvy desperately. “I'm answered. Well, + I'll not stick around here much longer, Moira. I realize I must be a + nuisance, but I can't help being a nuisance when you're near me. So I'll + quit my good job here and go back to my old game of railroading.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you wouldn't quit a ten-thousand-dollar job,” Moira cried, aghast. + </p> + <p> + “I'd quit a million-dollar job. I'm desperate enough to go over to the + mill and pick a fight with the big bandsaw. I'm going away where I can't + see you. Your eyes are driving me crazy.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want you to go, Mr. Ogilvy.” + </p> + <p> + “Call me Buck,” he commanded sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want you to go, Buck,” she repeated meekly. “I shall feel guilty, + driving you out of a fine position.” + </p> + <p> + “Then marry me and I'll stay.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose I don't love you the way you deserve—” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose! Suppose!” Buck Ogilvy cried. “You're no longer certain of + yourself. How dare you deny your love for me? Eh? Moira, I'll risk it.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes turned to him timidly, and for the first time he saw in their + smoky depths a lambent flame. “I don't know,” she quavered, “and it's a + big responsibility in case—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the devil take the case!” he cried rapturously, and took her hands in + his. “Do I improve with age, dear Moira?” he asked with boyish eagerness; + then, before she could answer, he swept on, a tornado of love and + pleading. And presently Moira was in his arms, he was kissing her, and she + was crying softly because—well, she admired Mr. Buck Ogilvy; more, + she respected him and was genuinely fond of him. She wondered, and as she + wondered, a quiet joy thrilled her in the knowledge that it did not seem + at all impossible for her to grow, in time, absurdly fond of this + wholesome red rascal. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Buck, dear,” she whispered, “I don't know, I'm sure, but perhaps I've + loved you a little bit for a long time.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“I'm perfectly wild over you. You're the most wonderful woman I ever +heard of. Old rosy-cheeks!” And he pinched them just to see the colour +come and go. + + John Cardigan was seated in his lumberjack's easy-chair as his son +approached. His hat lay on the litter of brown twigs beside him; his +chin was sunk on his breast, and his head was held a little to one side +in a listening attitude; a vagrant little breeze rustled gently a lock +of his fine, long white hair. Bryce stooped over the old man and shook +him gently by the shoulder. +</pre> + <p> + “Wake up, partner,” he called cheerfully. But John Cardigan did not wake, + and again his son shook him. Still receiving no response, Bryce lifted the + leonine old head and gazed into his father's face. “John Cardigan!” he + cried sharply. “Wake up, old pal.” + </p> + <p> + The old eyes opened, and John Cardigan smiled up at his boy. “Good son,” + he whispered, “good son!” He closed his sightless eyes again as if the + mere effort of holding them open wearied him. “I've been sitting here—waiting,” + he went on in the same gentle whisper. “No, not waiting for you, boy—waiting—” + </p> + <p> + His head fell over on his son's shoulder; his hand went groping for + Bryce's. “Listen,” he continued. “Can't you hear it—the Silence? + I'll wait for you here, my son. Mother and I will wait together now—in + this spot she fancied. I'm tired—I want rest. Look after old Mac and + Moira—and Bill Dandy, who lost his leg at Camp Seven last fall—and + Tom Ellington's children—and—all the others, son. You know, + Bryce. They're your responsibilities. Sorry I can't wait to see the San + Hedrin opened up, but—I've lived my life and loved my love. Ah, yes, + I've been happy—so happy just doing things—and—dreaming + here among my Giants—and—” + </p> + <p> + He sighed gently. “Good son,” he whispered again; his big body relaxed, + and the great heart of the Argonaut was still. Bryce held him until the + realization came to him that his father was no more—that like a + watch, the winding of which has been neglected, he had gradually slowed up + and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, old John-partner!” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “You've escaped into the light at last. We'll go home together now, but + we'll come back again.” + </p> + <p> + And with his father's body in his strong arms he departed from the little + amphitheatre, walking lightly with his heavy burden down the old skid-road + to the waiting automobile. And two days later John Cardigan returned to + rest forever—with his lost mate among the Giants, himself at last an + infinitesimal portion of that tremendous silence that is the diapason of + the ages. + </p> + <p> + When the funeral was over, Shirley and Bryce lingered until they found + themselves alone beside the freshly turned earth. Through a rift in the + great branches two hundred feet above, a patch of cerulean sky showed + faintly; the sunlight fell like a broad golden shaft over the + blossom-laden grave, and from the brown trunk of an adjacent tree a gray + squirrel, a descendant, perhaps, of the gray squirrel that had been wont + to rob Bryce's pockets of pine-nuts twenty years before, chirped at them + inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “He was a giant among men,” said Bryce presently. “What a fitting place + for him to lie!” He passed his arm around his wife's shoulders and drew + her to him. “You made it possible, sweetheart.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed up at him in adoration. And presently they left the Valley of + the Giants to face the world together, strong in their faith to live their + lives and love their loves, to dream their dreams and perchance when life + should be done with and the hour of rest at hand, to surrender, sustained + and comforted by the knowledge that those dreams had come true. + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Valley of the Giants, by Peter B. 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