King Spruce, A Novel

by Holman Day

  CHAPTER XII

  THE CODE OF LARRIGAN-LAND

  "Here's a good health to you, family man, From the depths of our hearts and the woods; Boughs for our bunks and salt hoss in junks Ain't hefty in way o' world's goods. Keep your neck near her arms and your cheek near her kiss, And don't ever come here to the troubles o' This! We've tasted of This and we know what it lacks-- We lonesome old baches-- Of peavies and patches, Bills, Tommies, and Jacks of the Axe."

  --The Family Man.

  Barrett was at the table, his back towards the door. He was filling apannikin with whiskey from a silver-mounted flask. The cook, who hadbeen silently admiring his smart suit of corduroy, was now more intentlyand longingly regarding the amber trickle from the mouth of the flask.But John Barrett was not a man to ask menials to share his bowl withhim. His shaven cheeks looked too hard even to permit the growth ofbeard.

  The cook, whirling at the sound of Lane's moccasins on the chip dirt,was officious according to his promulgated code of politeness.

  "Here's the warden from Jerusalem, Mr. Barrett. I done the honors ofcamp the best I could, seein' that you and Mr. Withee wa'n't here."In mentioning honors, the cook had one lingering hope that thestumpage-king would share his flask with a State employe, and thathe himself might participate as one present and one willing.

  But the timber baron did not turn his head. He stirred sugar in hiswhiskey and growled.

  "Do fire wardens up this way earn their pay, sleeping, like cats, inthe daytime?"

  Lane had stepped just inside the door, his moccasins noiseless on theshaved poles.

  "How near is that fire to the black growth, and how are they fightingit?" demanded Barrett.

  "It started on Misery"--Lane began, in the same tone that hadcharacterized his former reports.

  But at his first word Barrett jerked his head around, stared wildly,stood up, and then sat down astride the wooden bench. With his eyesstill on the man at the door, he fumbled for the pannikin of whiskey andgulped it down. Lane went on talking.

  "And if they can get enough men ahead of it perhaps they can stop it inPogey Notch," Lane concluded.

  The hands that clutched the gun trembled, but his eyes were steady, witha red sparkle in them. The lumber king endured that stare for a fewmoments, like one writhing under the torture of a focussed sun-glass. Heglanced to right and left, as though seeking a chance for flight. Theonly exit was the door, and the tall, grim man stood there with hisrifle across his arm.

  "Say it, Lane! Say it!" hoarsely cried Barrett, at last, unable toendure the silence and the doubt.

  "I have nothing to say--not now," said Lane. "I'll wait here until youeat your supper. My lantern is hanging on the nail there, cook. Will youfill it and light it?"

  There was a subtle, strange menace in his bearing that the cook andWithee, staring, their mouths gaping, could not understand. But it wasplain that the man at the table understood all too well.

  "Why didn't you take it when I sent you the offer?" asked Barrett, hisvoice beginning to tremble. "I wanted to settle. It was up to me tosettle. It was a bad business, Lane, but I--"

  "It's a private matter you're opening up here before listeners, Mr.Barrett," broke in Lane. "It's my business with you, and you haven't gotthe right to do it. Just now you go ahead and eat your supper. You'llneed it, for you're going to take a walk with me."

  In his perturbation, forced to eat, as it seemed, by the quietinsistence of the warden, Barrett swallowed a few mouthfuls of food. Buthe cowered, with side glances at the grim man by the door. Then hepushed his plate away, choking. Maddened by the silent watchfulness, hestood up.

  "I'll see you in the office," he muttered. "I'll tell you now and beforewitnesses that I'm ready to settle. I've always been ready to settle. Itwould have been settled long ago if you had let my man talk with you.Now, let's not have any trouble, Lane, over what's past and gone. I'lldo anything that's reasonable."

  He shot an appealing glance at Withee.

  "We'll take Withee with us," he declared. "We'll talk in the office."

  "We'll talk under no roof of yours and on no land belonging to you,"answered Lane, firmly. "We'll talk private matters before no thirdparty. If you're done your supper, Mr. Barrett, you'll come with mewhere we can stand out man to man in God's open country with no peekersand listeners--and that's more for your sake than it is for mine. I'vedone nothing in this life that I'm ashamed of."

  "Do you take me for a fool?" roared the land baron, hiding fear under anassumption of his usual manner. "Do you think I'm going into the woodsalone with you?"

  "You are, Mr. Barrett."

  "By ----, I won't!"

  "I'm no hand for a threat," grated Lane, in a low, strange voice, "butyou'll come with me. You know why you'll come with me, because you knowwhat I'm likely to do to you if you don't come."

  Barrett looked past the man at the door. The dingle was full of crowdingfaces, for the altercation had called every man out. There was someconsolation for Barrett in the spectacle of this silent, wondering mob.After all, he was on his own land, and these men must acknowledge him astheir master.

  "Here! a hundred dollars apiece to the men who grab that lunatic andtake that rifle away from him!" he shouted, darting a quivering fingerat the warden. But before any one made a move Withee stepped forwardinto the lamplight. With open, waving palm he imposed non-interferenceon his crew.

  "Hold on, Mr. Barrett," said he. "Before we run into trouble byarresting a man that's an officer, we want to know whys and wherefores."

  "Don't you know why he wants to make me go away into the woods?" bawledthe lumber king.

  "We can't very well know without bein' told," replied Withee, and ananswering grumble from his men indorsed him.

  "He wants to murder me--murder me in cold blood!" Barrett fairlyscreamed this. "I know what his reason is," he added, seeing that theirfaces showed no conviction.

  "I've known Linus Lane ever since he came into this region," saidWithee, breaking the awed hush that followed the baron's startlingwords. "I never knew him to be anything but peaceable and square. Alittle speck odd, maybe, but quiet and peaceable and square. Most of themen here know him that way, too."

  Another answering mumble of assent.

  "Odd!" echoed Barrett, grasping at the suggestion. "You've said it. He'sa lunatic. He will kill me."

  "What for?" called the chopping-boss, bluntly. His natural desire to getat the meat of things quickly was stimulated by ardent curiosity.

  "You are all sticking your noses into a matter that doesn't belong toyou!" cried Lane, his well-known crustiness showing itself, though itwas evident that he was hiding some deeper emotion. "I want this man togo with me. It's business. And he's going!" His voice was almost asnarl, but there was a resoluteness in the tone that awed them more thanviolence would have done.

  "Are you going to give me up to a murderer?" bleated Barrett, for hisstudy of the faces in the lamplight did not reassure him.

  "Hadn't you better let us step out, and you talk your business over withhim right here, Linus?" inquired Withee, conciliatingly.

  "He's going with me, and he's going now!" shouted Lane, his repressionbreaking. "The man that gets in our way will get hurt."

  He banged his rifle-butt on the floor, and those who looked on himshrank before his awful rage.

  "Put on your hat, Barrett, and walk out!" he shrilled. "Make way, there!This is my man, by ---- and he knows in his dirty heart why he's mine."

  But Barnum Withee's quiet woodsman's soul was not of a nature to beintimidated, and his instincts of fairness, when it was between man andman, had been made acute by many years of woods adjudication.

  "Hold on a minute, Linus!" he entreated, stepping between the two menwith upraised hand. "You are both under my roof, and you've both eatenmy bread to-day. I never got between men in a fair, square quarrel. Iwon't now. But you've got a gun, and he hasn't. I don't want to know
your business. But if there's trouble between you it's got to be settledfair. You can't drag a man out of my camp to do him dirty--and it wouldbe the same if it was only young Harry there that you were tryin' totake."

  "Good talk!" yelled the boss.

  "I'll give a hundred dollars--" began Barrett, seeing the advantageswinging his way; but Withee broke in with indignation.

  "No more of that talk, Mr. Barrett!" he cried. "I'll run my own crewwhen it comes to pay or to orders. Now, Warden Lane, what are you goingto do with this man when you get him where you want to take him?"

  "I don't know!" snapped Lane, to the amazement of his listeners. And headded, enigmatically, "I can tell better after I've asked him somequestions."

  "Ain't you ready to tell us that you'll use him man-fashion?" persistedWithee.

  The deep emotion which "Ladder" Lane had been trying to hide whetted thebitterness of his usual attitude towards mankind.

  "I'm not ready to let any fool mix himself into my affairs. We've arguedthis question long enough, John Barrett. Now you--step--out!" He leapedaside from the door, cocked the rifle, and motioned angrily with itsmuzzle.

  "Stay right where you are, Mr. Barrett," said the old operator,resolutely. "I'll stand for fair play."

  "And you'll get your pay for it, Withee, my friend!" stuttered hiscreditor, eagerly. "I don't forget favors. You stand by me, and you'llget your pay."

  "I haven't anything to sell, Mr. Barrett," said Withee, doggedly.

  "But I've got something to give you," persisted the frightened magnate,edging near him, and striving to hint confidentially. "You stand by me,and when it comes to contracts--"

  "I'm not buyin' anything, Mr. Barrett!" He signalled the lumber kingback with protesting palm. "I'm simply tellin' Lane that he can't take aman out of my camp to do him dirty. And in that there's no fear and nofavor!"

  Lane gazed at the determined face of the operator and at the massing menwho crowded at the door, and whose nods gave emphatic approval ofWithee's dictum. No one knew better than he the code of the woods; noone understood more thoroughly the quixotic prejudices and simpleimpulses which moved the isolated communities of the camps. Just thenthey would not have surrendered Barrett to an army, and Lane realizedit.

  The eyes focussed on him saw the tense ridges of his seamed face tightenand the gray of an awful passion settle there.

  "After all the rest of it, you're forcing me to stand here and put it inwords, are you, you sneak?" he yelped, thrusting that boding visagetowards the timber baron. "You're hiding behind these men! Well, let'ssee how long they'll stand in front of you! You've got to have 'em hearit, eh? Then you listen to it, woodsmen!" His voice broke suddenly intoa frightful yell. "He stole my wife! He stole her! I say he stole her!That's what I want of him, now that he's here where I can meet him inGod's open country, plain man to plain man!"

  "He's lying to you," quavered Barrett. But his eyes shifted, and thekeen and candid gaze of the woodsmen detected his paltering.

  "I was away earning an honest living, and he came along with his airsand his money and fooled her and stole her--stole her and threw heraway. It was play for him; it was death for her, and damnation for me.I ain't blaming her, men"--his voice had a sob in it--"she was tooyoung for me. I ought to have known better. Our little house was on hisland that he had stolen from the people of this State. Then he came andstole _her_!"

  He was now close to Barrett, his bony fist slashing the air over thebaron's shrinking head.

  "It wasn't that way," stammered Barrett. "I was up there with somefriends fishing and exploring on my lands. It was years ago. The youngwoman cooked meals for us. I went farther north to some other townshipsof mine, and she went along to take care of camp. That's all there wasto it, men!" He spread out his palms and tried to smile.

  "You stole her!" iterated Lane. "I came home, men, and she was gone outof our little house. I found just four walls, cold and empty, the keyunder the rug, and a letter on the table--and I've got that letter, JohnBarrett! And when you were tired of her up there in the woods you tossedher away like you tossed the lemon-skins out of your whiskey-glass. Youdidn't wait to see where she fell--she and your child--your child! Curseyou, Barrett, I've never wanted to meet you! I sent word to you to keepout of these woods. I sent that word by the man you asked to bribeme--as though your money could do everything for you in this world! Youthought you could sneak in here after all these years, because I wastied on the top of Jerusalem. But I'm here! What do you think, men? Thefire that is roaring up from Misery township was set by this man's owndaughter--the child that he tossed away in the woods. You that know theSkeets and Bushees know her. She set the fire! That's why I'm here. It'shis child--his and hers. I don't know whether heaven or hell planned it,but now that I've met you, Barrett, you're going with me!"

  He strode back to the door and stood there, the rifle again across thehook of his arm. His flaming eyes swept the faces in the dingle. Theireyes gave him a message that his woodsman's soul interpreted.

  "There's the truth for you, men, since you had to have it!" he shouted."Once more I'm going to say to John Barrett--'Step out.' And if there'sstill a man among you that wants to keep that hound in this camp I'dlike to have that man stand out and say why."

  There was not a whisper from the throng. They stood gazing into the doorwith lips apart. Silently they crowded back, as though to afford freepassage.

  Barrett noted the movement and wailed his terror.

  "It means trouble for you, Withee, if you let him take me."

  The old operator surveyed him with a lowering and disgusted stare.

  "Mr. Barrett," he said, "I've told you that I have nothing to sell. Allthat I want to buy of you is stumpage, and I've got your figures on thatand your opinion of me. I don't ask you to change anything." He turnedaway, muttering, "He'll have to think pretty hard if he can do anythingmore to me than what he's already threatened to do."

  Calm once more, and inexorable as fate, Lane motioned towards the door.

  "My final word, Barrett: March!"

  As he gazed into the faces about him, not one gleam of friendlinessanywhere, desperation or a flicker of courage spurred the magnate. Inthat moment John Barrett had none of the adventitious aids of hisautocracy--none of the bulwarks of "Castle Cut 'Em." He was only a manamong them--fairly demanded by another man to settle a matter of thesort where primordial instinct prompts a universal code. He drove hishat on his head and strode through the door, his head bent.

  Lane took his lighted lantern from the cook's hand and followed. He hadhis teeth set tight, as though resolved to say no more. But at the edgeof the camp's lamplight he whirled and faced the crew. Barrett halted,too, as though hoping for some intervention.

  "Look here, men," said Lane, "I want to thank you for being men in thisthing. And seeing that you've been square with me I don't want to goaway from here leaving any wrong idea behind me. I don't know justwhat's going to happen between this man and me, for a good deal dependson him. But you've known me long enough to know that I'm not thecrust-hunting kind that cuts a deer's throat when he's helpless. You putyour confidence in me when you put this man in my hands. And I'll say toyou, I'll do the best I know!"

  "We ain't givin' any advice to you that knows your business better'n wedo," called out the boss of the choppers. "But let it be man toman--good woods style!"

  "Good woods style!" echoed the crew, in hoarse chorus. It was plain thattheir minds were dwelling on only one solution of the difficulty.

  Lane stepped back and set the rifle against the log wall. "I was nearforgetting," he said, apologetically. "I'm so used to carrying a rifle.This belongs here."

  "Take it," suggested Withee, with a touch of grimness in his tones.

  "I don't need it," Lane answered, quietly. He whirled and started away,and Barrett sullenly preceded him. They clambered up the valley wall,the pale lantern-light tossing against the hemlock boughs. The crew of"Lazy Tom" watched in silence until the last flicker vanished among t
hetrees of the Jerusalem trail.

  "Well," said the chopping-boss, drawing a long breath, "it appears to methat there are some things that money can't do for old 'Stumpage John,'big as he is in this world! One is, he's found he can't buy up the'Lazy Tom' crew to back him in a dirty job of woman-stealin'."

  "I'd like to be there when it happens," panted "Dirty-apron Harry,"excitedly.

  "When what happens?" demanded the boss.

  "Well--well--I--I dunno!" confessed Harry.

  "Umph!" snorted the boss, "now you're talkin' as though you know'Ladder' Lane as well as I know him. The man who can stand here and tellwhat old Lane is goin' to do next can prophesy earthquakes and have 'emhappen."

  He pulled out his watch.

  "Nine o'clock!" he roared. "Lights out and turn in!"