CHAPTER XXXI
The new donkey engine at the yard where Owen was employed was in charge of Bruce Howard, so the young lumberman now saw considerable of the young engineer, and quite a friendship sprang up between the pair.
"I'm not going to stay here very much longer," said Bruce.
"Don't like the work, I suppose," returned Owen.
"Oh, it's good enough, but I want to get into some big rolling mill or steel plant. What I would like best of all would be to study chemistry, with a view of becoming a high-grade steel maker. Such men are greatly in demand and they earn big salaries."
"Well, everybody to his own taste," came from Owen. "Now, I wouldn't like anything better than to be a part owner or boss at such a lumber plant as this, or own such a mill as Rice's, below here. I'm certain I'd never make a success of iron or steel working."
"I've been told that a fellow is only really successful in the line he likes," said Bruce. "Now, I've liked iron and steel working ever since I could remember. There used to be a small foundry near where I was born, and when I was only five or six years old, I sneaked down there and looked into the windows to see them cast things in the sand."
On the day that Ulmer Balasco made up his mind to interview Owen and Dale, and discharge them, he received an important telegram from Portland, and left for that city on the evening train. This gave him no chance to talk to the young lumbermen, and he did not return to the camp until three days later.
In the meantime Dale's hurts mended rapidly and on the third day he was able to be around again, although working was as yet out of the question. Larson had been transferred to the work on the flume, and the yard was now in charge of Andy Westmore.
"You jest take it easy," said the old lumberman from Maine. "Time enough to go to work when you're able."
"Providing Mr. Balasco doesn't kick," answered Dale.
"If he kicks, let him kick. I wouldn't kill myself for anybody."
"I'm not going to."
"Fact is, I don't know what to set you at, anyway," went on Andy Westmore, in a lower voice. "Mr. Balasco says not to cut this and not to cut that, and there is precious little left to bring down. I don't understand it at all."
"Perhaps the railroad contract has gone up the spout," suggested Owen, who stood near by.
The old lumberman shrugged his shoulders. "If that is true, I reckon this company is going to drop a lot of money," he said.
"Well, they can sell the lumber somewhere else," went on Dale.
"Yes, but what about the forfeit they put up to the railroad? They will lose that."
"Is there a forfeit?"
"To be sure there is. I don't know what amount, but it's pretty big, rest assured of that."
That afternoon Dale took a walk up to the flume. This was nothing more than a high trestle built of rough timber. At the top was a water-tight, V-shaped trough, sloping gradually from the top of one hill to the bottom of another, about a mile away. The sides of the trough were built of boards smoothed on the inner side, so that nothing might catch fast on them. When in use this flume would be almost filled with water, and any lumber floated in at the upper end would readily be carried to the lower.
"This is a small flume alongside of some," said the foreman in charge of the work. "Some of the camps have flumes five and ten miles long, and there is a flume in California about sixty miles long, running from the top of the Sierras, where there is nothing but ice and snow, to the valleys where it is summer nearly all the year around."
"It will be a great saving of money when they can float lumber from all parts of this camp right down to the Columbia," said Dale. "But there is a good deal to do before that happens."
"Well, we are rushing things all we can. Mr. Wilbur wanted us to wait with this flume until next year, but Mr. Balasco said to go ahead at once."
"Do you know Mr. Wilbur personally?"
"Yes, I've seen him two or three times—when I was in the East. He's a fine man. I wish he was out here now. He's a hustler."
"You are right there. I never saw him but that he was on the go," answered Dale, with a laugh. "I believe he hardly gives himself time to eat sometimes. He is chock-full of business."
"He came into this lumber company on the jump, and I doubt if he knows exactly what is doing here—he has so many other irons in the fire. I believe if he was up here he'd make some changes. I say this to you because I've heard that you know him pretty well," added the foreman, with a sharp look at Dale.
"I don't know him so very well, Mr. Gladstone. But he takes an interest in me and Owen Webb, because we once did him a couple of good turns while we were out in Maine at a lumber camp there."
"I see. Well, you stick to him, and he'll treat you well, mark my words," concluded Gladstone, as he turned away to give directions about the erection of additional timbers along the flume trestle.
On all sides were large lots of logs, varying from eighteen to forty inches in diameter. There seemed to be more sticks than could possibly be used on the flume, yet additional lumber was coming up every day—lumber that Dale felt should have gone down to the Columbia to help fill the all-important railroad contract.
"It's nothing short of criminal to send that lumber here," thought the young lumberman. "If the company has a forfeit up with the railroad company Mr. Balasco must be insane to do it."
It was on the following morning that Ulmer Balasco sent for Dale and Owen to come to his private office, a small structure built as an annex to the book-keeper's den. Mr. Balasco had sent the book-keeper off on an errand, so the young lumbermen found him alone when they called.
"Something is in the wind, that is certain," said Owen. "Perhaps he smells a mouse."
"I guess he'll smell more when we hear from Mr. Wilbur," answered Dale.
"We mustn't say much until we are sure of what we are doing."
Ulmer Balasco was walking up and down his office, puffing away furiously at a black-looking cigar. He looked sharply at each of them as they entered.
"You sent for us, I believe," began Dale.
"I did," was the short reply. "Sit down."
A bench was handy, and Dale dropped on this, while Owen took a chair. Ulmer Balasco continued to pace the floor for a few seconds, then sat down in the chair in front of his roller-top desk.
"Now, I want the truth out of you fellows," he said roughly. "The truth, do you hear?"
"The truth about what?" questioned Owen.
"I want to know just why Mr. Wilbur sent you here."
"He didn't send us," answered Dale truthfully. "We were out of a job, and he suggested we try you for an opening, and gave us a recommendation."
"You sent a long report to Mr. Wilbur a few days ago," said the lumber merchant, turning to Owen.
"I did," answered Owen, and went on shrewdly: "Did Mr. Rice tell you how I caught that thief?"
"Thief? What thief?"
"The fellow who tried to rob Mr. Wilbur's lodge in Maine. He got away from the authorities in Maine and drifted out here. I spotted him the day I went up there about the band saw."
"I haven't seen Mr. Rice."
"Oh! Well, we caught him—that is, I did—but he wouldn't own up that he was Baptiste Ducrot," went on Owen quickly. "But I know him by a scar he carries. I wrote to Mr. Wilbur about it, and I also sent a letter to the sheriff of the county in Maine. The sheriff was all cut up over Ducrot's getting away, and I know he'll want to bring him back."
Ulmer Balasco breathed deeply. He remembered that the station master had mentioned a letter to a sheriff in Maine. This story must be a true one. If so, perhaps after all his fears were groundless.
"Evidently you don't bear this Ducrot any good will," he ventured.
"Why should I?" answered Dale. "He once stole a horse from me, and knocked me into the water in the bargain."
"Then it's no wonder you want to catch him. Do you—er—do you suppose Mr. Wilbur will come on to see about it?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Did you ask him to come on?"
At this Dale remained silent. In the letter sent by himself and Owen they had urged Mr. Wilbur to come on—but not on Baptiste Ducrot's account.
"We told him he had best come West," said Owen boldly. "But he may not come—he is so busy."
There was an awkward pause. Ulmer Balasco hardly knew how to proceed. Then a sudden thought struck him. Even if these two young men were not spies, it might be as well to get rid of them.
"I suppose you want to know why I sent for you," he said slowly. "It is on account of that accident on the railroad. I have investigated further, and I am now convinced that both of you were guilty of gross negligence. That being so, I have resolved that I will dispense with your services after this week. I will pay you off next Saturday, and then you can look elsewhere for work."
It was a heavy blow and each of the young lumbermen felt it keenly. Each realized that Ulmer Balasco meant to get rid of them before Mr. Wilbur's arrival, when he would cook up such a story against them as pleased him.
"Mr. Balasco, don't you think you are rather hard on us?" said Owen.
"Not at all. In the first place, you had no business on the train. In the second place, having agreed to fasten the logs, you should have done the work in a proper manner. It was only by pure luck that the whole train wasn't wrecked and several lives lost."
"I did my full duty!" cried Dale. "And if you won't believe me, perhaps Mr. Wilbur will."
"I am manager here—not Mr. Wilbur," responded Ulmer Balasco, and showed his teeth very much after the manner of a wolf.
"Well, you don't manage any too well!" was Owen's parting shot, and then he arose and left, and Dale followed him.