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.
Presently Shirley mastered her emotion and glanced toward him.
“Well, my dear?” he queried nervously.
“I—I think I had better go home,” she said without spirit.
“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.”
“I can understand an attempt at assassination, Uncle Seth.”
“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!”
“I do,” she answered passionately. “With Bryce Cardigan out of the way, you would have a clear field before you—”
“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.”
“I want you to defeat Bryce Cardigan, if you can do it fairly.”
“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.”
“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.”
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.
“Have you sent the switch-engine to the woods for Rondeau and his men?”
“Just left.”
“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.
“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!”
“Bully!” cried Sexton heartily. “That will fix their clock.”
“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?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I'll be back Sunday forenoon. Good-bye.”
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.
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.
It was rather a relief, therefore, when the imperturbable James handed her at breakfast the following note:
Shirley, Dear
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.
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.
“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.”
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.
Rondeau glanced at Shirley, surprised, then lifted his hat. Shirley looked from the woods bully to the locomotive and back to Rondeau.
“Rondeau,” she said, “Mr. Cardigan is a bad man to fight. You fought him once. Are you going to do it again?”
He nodded.
“By whose orders?”
“Mr. Sexton, he tell me to do it.”
“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.
“Where is he, dear?” Shirley asked. “I must see him.”
“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.
“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.
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?”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
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.
“Would it please you to have me surrender?” He was very serious.
“Indeed it would, Bryce.”
“Why?”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“I don't know, Bryce. He left in his motor for San Francisco about one o'clock this morning.”
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.
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
“I came prepared to suggest a compromise, Bryce,” she declared, but he interrupted her with a wave of his hand.
“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.”
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
“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.”
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.
“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!”
“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?”
“Possibly. The Poundstones dined at our house last night.”
“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.”
“You're horrid, Bryce Cardigan.”
“You're adorable. Good morning.”
“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.
“God bless her!” he murmured. “She's been my ally all along, and I never suspected it! I wonder what her game can be.”
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.”
He took down the telephone-receiver and called up the Mayor. “Bryce Cardigan speaking, Mr. Poundstone,” he greeted the chief executive of Sequoia.
“Oh, hello, Bryce, my boy,” Poundstone boomed affably. “How's tricks?”
“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?”
“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.”
“And you don't care to get rid of it at a profit?” Bryce repeated.
“No, sirree!”
“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.”
“Wha—what—what in blue blazes are you driving at?” the Mayor sputtered.
“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.”
There was a long, fateful silence. Then in a singularly small, quavering voice: “You think it best, Cardigan?”
“I do. Return it to No. 38 Redwood Boulevard, and no questions will be asked. Good-bye!”
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.
“Has Poundstone returned your car?” he queried.
“Why, yes. What makes you ask?”
“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—”
“Bryce Cardigan,” she declared, “you're a sly rascal—that's what you are. I shan't tell you another thing.”
“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.”
“Really, I believe you're happy to-day.”
“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.”
“It must be nice to feel so happy, after so many months of the blues.”
“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!”
“You're perfectly horrid,” she blazed, and hung up without the formality of saying good-bye.
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:
“Boss, what do you think of my new suit?”
“You lunatic! Don't you know red blonds should never wear light shades? You're dressed like a Negro minstrel.”
“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.”
“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!”
“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.”
“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.”
“All that doesn't explain your cheerful attitude, though.”
“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.”
“How do you know?”
“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.”
“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.
“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?”
Bryce nodded.
“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.”
He opened a drawer in Bryce's desk and reached for the cigars he knew were there.
“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.
“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!”
“You mean you got there first?” exclaimed Bryce.
“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!
“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.”
“And Pennington—”
“Ah, the poor Pennington! Mon pauvre Seth!” Buck sighed comically. “He will be just twenty-four hours late.”
“You old he-fox!” Bryce murmured. “You wicked, wicked man!”
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!”
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.
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!”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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!”
“Mebbeso,” Rondeau suggested hopefully, “M'sieur likes me for woods-boss?”
“Why, what's the matter with Pennington? Is he tired of you?”
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.
“You think Miss Sumner dislikes you then, Rondeau?”
“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.”
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.”
“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.”
“'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.”
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.
“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.
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.”
“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.”
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.”
Sexton, who still lingered, made a gesture of surrender. “Dismiss your crew, Rondeau,” he ordered. “We're whipped to a frazzle.”
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.”
“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.
“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.”
And without further ado he hung up.
“What's this, what's this?” Sexton demanded. “You re going to quit? Nonsense, Rondeau, nonsense!”
“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.”
“You'll have to wait until the Colonel returns, Rondeau.”
“I will have my time,” said Jules Rondeau patiently.
“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.”
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.
Without further protest Sexton opened the safe, counted out the wages due, and took Rondeau's receipt.
“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.”
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.
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?”
Bryce stepped over to the switch-engine and looked up at his late enemy. “By whose orders is this train here?” he queried.
“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.”
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.
“You'll pay through the nose for this, you scoundrel,” Sexton whimpered. “I'll fix you, you traitor.”
“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.”
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.
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.
“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.”
“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.
“Miss Sumner controls forty per cent. of the Laguna Grande stock, sir. I took that into consideration.”
“You lie!” Pennington all but screamed. “You took into consideration your job as secretary and general manager. Damnation!”
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.”
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.
“Shirley,” Pennington began in a hoarse voice as she entered his office, “what is the meaning of this directors' meeting you have requested?”
“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.”
He sat down promptly, a look of relief on his face.
“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—”
“Young Cardigan,” he interrupted in a low voice.
“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.”
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:
“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!”
“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.”
“You might have borrowed the money from me. You know I have never hesitated to join in your enterprises.”
“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.”
She silenced him with a disdainful gesture. “You shall not smash the Cardigans,” she declared firmly.
“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.
“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.”
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.”
“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.”
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.”
“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.”
“But I haven't the money and I can't borrow it. I—I—-”
“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.”
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.
“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.”
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.”
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.”