CHAPTER XXX
"Hullo, Ducrot!"
At the sound of Owen's voice the man who was carrying the boards across the lumber yard came to a sudden halt. He looked at the speaker in astonishment and his face fell.
"So we meet again, eh?" went on Owen. "You didn't expect it—away out here, did you?"
"I—I—not know you," stammered Baptiste Ducrot, trying to recover his self-possession.
"Don't know me? Well, I know you well enough, Ducrot."
"Why you call me Ducrot? Dat ees not my name. My name Derande—Pierre Derande."
"Not much—you are Baptiste Ducrot, plain and simple."
By this time Philip Rice had come up, and so had several of the workmen. All gazed curiously at Owen and Ducrot.
"I not know you!" growled the French-Canadian. "You t'ink you make fool me, hey?"
"You will think I am making a fool of you when you are behind the bars, Baptiste Ducrot."
"Is it possible there is some mistake?" questioned Philip Rice anxiously. "This man may simply resemble somebody else."
"I know him well," answered Owen. "There is a scar on his left hand, where he got hit with an ax one day. Another man wouldn't have just such a scar."
"Who dis feller?" demanded Ducrot insolently. "I not know him 'tall. Why he bodder me?"
"Can you prove that this man is the fellow you take him to be?" went on Philip Rice, to Owen. "Remember, his word here is as good as yours."
Owen thought rapidly. If he said yes, he would not be able to touch Ducrot until he had brought Dale to the scene to identify the man. Dale could not be brought at once, and in the meantime, if Ducrot was not held, he might take time by the fore-lock and run away. On the other hand, if the French-Canadian was allowed to have his own way he might remain in the lumber yard until Owen was in a position to notify the Maine authorities.
"I could prove it if we were in Maine," answered the young lumberman.
"But we are not in Maine," said the mill owner.
"Then I guess I'll have to let it pass, Mr. Rice. Besides, I may be mistaken after all," went on Owen.
At these last words Baptiste Ducrot looked much relieved.
"Sure, you mak meestake," he said. "Dat udder feller he mus' look lak me, dat's all."
"Well, let it go," said Owen lightly, and motioned for Mr. Rice to move away with him. They walked off, and after a few minutes Baptiste Ducrot resumed his labor.
"He is my man," whispered Owen. "There isn't the least bit of a mistake. I can prove it, but not right away. I wish you'd keep him here until I can let the authorities know."
"I don't want a thief in my employ," returned Philip Rice.
"Can't you keep him until I send word to the Maine authorities and to Mr. Wilbur?"
"Yes—if he'll stay."
"All right; and if he goes away, kindly try to find out where he goes to," concluded Owen.
The young lumberman was soon on the return to Tunley. He saw Baptiste Ducrot watch his departure eagerly, but did not let on that he noticed this.
"He's a slippery customer," thought Owen. "I'll have to work quickly if he is to be captured."
When he arrived at the camp he had several things to do before the day came to an end and he could tell Dale of his discovery, and of what Philip Rice had said about Ulmer Balasco and Foxy Hildan. Dale listened eagerly.
"Oh, Owen, we ought to send a letter to Mr. Wilbur at once, and another to the authorities in Maine!" cried the young lumberman. "It might be criminal to delay."
"We'll write the letters now," answered Owen. "And I'll post them myself to-morrow, before the mail train reaches Tunley."
The young lumbermen had pens, ink, and a large writing pad with them, and sitting close to where Dale rested, Owen wrote two communications. The one was short and to the point, notifying the sheriff of the county at home that Baptiste Ducrot was working at Philip Rice's yard and could be identified by himself and Dale. The second was to Jefferson Wilbur, and told of everything that had happened at the camp bearing on the railroad contract, and of what they had heard concerning Ulmer Balasco and Foxy Hildan. In this communication Owen laid particular stress on what Mr. Rice had said about Mr. Wilbur coming out to Oregon to look after his interests.
"That will give him a good idea of how matters stand," said Owen, when he had finished, and added a few lines that Dale had suggested. "I have an idea it will bring him on in a hurry."
"If he does come on, I'll wager he and Mr. Balasco have a quarrel over that railroad contract. But for the life of me, I can't see why Mr. Balasco should hold back as he is doing. His interest in that contract is the same as that of Mr. Wilbur."
"Perhaps not—we don't know the particulars of that contract, Dale. I have an idea this Foxy Hildan comes in on it somewhere."
"Well, we'll know later."
Owen slept "with one eye open" that night, and long before the sun was up he had dressed and was on his way to Tunley railroad station. Only a few of the loggers were astir, and all the locomotives on the little yard line were still housed for the night. Not wishing to walk the entire distance, the young lumberman persuaded a stable hand to loan him a horse for a couple of hours.
"All right, Webb, you can have him, but be sure and come back before the whistle blows," said the hostler, and Owen promised.
A ride on horseback in the cool, bracing mountain air of the early morning just suited the young lumberman, and he made good time down to Tunley station. Here he found the station master just opening up for business. He had a pouch of letters going out on the train, and after stamping Owen's communications placed them among the rest. Then the train came along, and the pouch sped on its long journey eastward.
Feeling that he had no time to spare, Owen started without delay for the camp again. He was still half a mile from where he had procured the horse, when he saw a well-dressed man coming toward him, down the creek trail. The man was also on horseback, and as he came closer Owen recognized Ulmer Balasco.
The young lumberman had no desire just then to meet his employer, and had he had the opportunity he would have taken to a side path. But there was no chance to do this, and in a moment more Ulmer Balasco confronted him.
"Hullo; where have you been?" demanded the part owner of the camp, frowning.
"I've been down to Tunley," answered Owen. "Had a little errand there."
"For your foreman?"
"No, sir; for myself."
"Hum!" The frown on Ulmer Balasco's face deepened. "Is that your horse?"
"No, he's yours—and Mr. Wilbur's," answered Owen, his face flushing. "I didn't think it would hurt him to go that far. They are hardly using the horses at our yard now—since we got that new donkey engine up there."
"I don't like my men to use the horses for private purposes," growled Ulmer Balasco. "After this, if you want to go down, ride as far as the railroad runs and then walk," and without another word the man pursued his journey.
An angry retort arose to Owen's lips, but he suppressed it, and moved away in silence.
"The bully!" he muttered, when out of hearing. "The big, overgrown bully! What a difference between him and Mr. Wilbur! It didn't hurt the horse one bit to use him—he really needed the exercise. I believe he is down on us, just because we were recommended by his partner. I hope Mr. Wilbur comes out here and gives him 'hail, Columbia'!"
As Ulmer Balasco rode down into Tunley his face was very thoughtful. Something in Owen's manner had aroused the suspicion that had been slumbering in his breast ever since the two young lumbermen had applied to him for work.
"I'd like to know what he went down to Tunley for," he mused. "Wonder if I can find out?"
At the depot he met the station master and asked him if he had seen Owen.
"Yes, he was here with a couple of letters," was the reply.
"Hum! Did he—er—did he mail that letter to—er—Portland?"
"Don't know as he did, Mr. Balasco. The two he gave me to stamp were for some sheriff in Maine and to Mr. Wilbur."
"Nothing for Portland?"
"Not that I saw."
"You are sure about the one to Mr. Wilbur?"
"Oh, yes! It was extra-heavy, and needed six cents in stamps."
"Hum! Has it gone yet?"
"Yes, he came down early, so that the letters would catch the first mail East."
"Then my letters must wait—if the train has gone," said Ulmer Balasco, producing several communications. "Well, it doesn't matter much. Have a cigar, Larry;" and then he produced the cigars and changed the subject. From the station he visited the hotel, and then started back to camp.
"The young spies!" he muttered, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I was afraid of it right along. Their coming here for work was only a blind. Wilbur sent them here to learn just what I was doing, and I've been fool enough to play into their hands right from the start. For all I know, they may know everything, and may be watching Foxy Hildan as well as myself. If that is so, I've put myself in a nice hole." He clenched his fists. "What had I best do next? Shall I lay low, or call them into the office and have it out with them?" He mused for several minutes, chewing his cigar-end viciously. "I reckon I'll call them up, and get clear of them. Perhaps after that I can doctor matters up before Wilbur gets on the ground and sees how things are going."