The Rules of the Game
Page 31
VI
The full situation, as far as the wires could tell it, was laid beforeJack Orde in Washington. A detailed letter followed. Toward evening ofthat day the mill crews began to come in with the four and six-horseteams provided for their transportation. They were a dusty but hilariouslot. The teams drew up underneath the solitary sycamore tree that gavethe place its name, and at once went into camp. Bob strolled down tolook them over.
They proved to be fresh-faced, strong farm boys, for the most part, witha fair sprinkling of older mountaineers, and quite a contingent of halfand quarter-bred Indians. All these people worked on ranches or in thetowns during the off season when the Sierras were buried under wintersnows. Their skill at woodsmanship might be undoubted, but theintermittent character of their work precluded any development ofindividual type, like the rivermen and shanty boys of the vanishedNorth. For a moment Bob experienced a twinge of regret that the old,hard, picturesque days of his Northern logging were indeed gone. Thenthe interest of this great new country with its surging life and its newproblems gripped him hard. He left these decent, hard-working,self-respecting ranch boys, these quiet mountaineers, these stolid,inscrutable breeds to their flickering camp fire. Next morning themany-seated vehicles filled early and started up the road. But within amile Welton and Bob in their buckboard came upon old California Johnsquare in the middle of the way. Star stood like a magnificent statueexcept that slowly over and over, with relish, he turned the wheel ofthe silver-mounted spade-bit under his tongue. As the ranger showed noindication of getting out of the way, Welton perforce came to a halt.
"Road closed to trespass by the Wolverine Company," the ranger statedimpassively.
Welton whistled.
"That mean I can't get to my own property?" he asked.
"My orders are to close this road to the Wolverine Company."
"Well, you've obeyed orders. Now get out the way. Tell your chief he cango ahead on a trespass suit."
But the old man shook his head.
"No, you don't understand," he repeated patiently. "My orders were to_close_ the road to the Company, not just to give notice."
Without replying Welton picked up his reins and started his horses. Theman seemed barely to shift his position, but from some concealment heproduced a worn and shiny Colt's. This he laid across the horn of hissaddle.
"Stop," he commanded, and this time his voice had a bite to it.
"Millions for defence," chuckled Welton, who recognized perfectly thetone, "and how much did you say for tribute?"
"What say?" inquired the old man.
"What sort of a hold-up is this? We certainly can't do this road anydamage driving over it once. How much of an inducement does Plant want,anyway?"
"This department is only doing its sworn duty," replied the old man. Hisblue eyes met Welton's steadily; not a line of his weatherbeaten facechanged. For twenty seconds the lumberman tried to read his opponent'smind.
"Well," he said at last. "You can tell your chief that if he thinks hecan annoy and harass me into bribing him to be decent, he's left."
By this time the dust and creek of the first heavily laden vehicle hadlaboured up to within a few hundred yards.
"I have over a hundred men there," said Welton, "that I've hired towork for me at the top of that mountain. It's damn foolishness thatanybody should stop their going there; and I'll bet they won't losetheir jobs. My advice to you is to stand one side. You can't stop ahundred men alone."
"Yes, I can," replied the old man calmly. "I'm not alone."
"No?" said Welton, looking about him.
"No; there's eighty million people behind that," said California John,touching lightly the shield of his Ranger badge. The simplicity of theact robbed it of all mock-heroics.
Welton paused, a frown of perplexity between his brows. California Johnwas watching him calmly.
"Of course, the _public_ has a right to camp in all ForestReserves--subject to reg'lation," he proffered.
Welton caught at this.
"You mean--"
"No, you got to turn back, and your Company's rigs have got to turnback," said California John. "But I sure ain't no orders to stop nocampers."
Welton nodded briefly; and, after some difficulty, succeeding in turningaround, he drove back down the grade. After he had bunched the wagons headdressed the assembled men.
"Boys," said he, "there's been some sort of a row with the Government,and they've closed this road to us temporarily. I guess you'll have tohoof it the rest of the way."
This was no great and unaccustomed hardship, and no one objected.
"How about our beds?" inquired some one.
This presented a difficulty. No Western camp of any description--lumber,mining, railroad, cow--supplies the bedding for its men. Camp blanketsas dealt out in our old-time Northern logging camp are unknown. Each manbrings his own blankets, which he further augments with a pair ofquilts, a pillow and a heavy canvas. All his clothing and personalbelongings he tucks inside; the canvas he firmly lashes outside. Thusinstead of his "turkey"--or duffle-bag--he speaks of his "bed roll,"and by that term means not only his sleeping equipment but often all hisworldly goods.
"Can't you unhitch your horses and pack them?" asked Bob.
"Sure," cried several mountaineers at once.
Welton chuckled.
"That sounds like it," he approved; "and remember, boys, you're allinnocent campers out to enjoy the wonders and beauties of nature."
The men made short work of the job. In a twinkling the horses wereunhitched from the vehicles. Six out of ten of these men were more orless practised at throwing packing hitches, for your Californian broughtup in sight of mountains is often among them. Bob admired the dexteritywith which some of the mountaineers improvised slings and drew tight thebulky and cumbersome packs. Within half an hour the long procession wasunder way, a hundred men and fifty horses. They filed past CaliforniaJohn, who had drawn one side.
"Camping, boys?" he asked the leader.
The man nodded and passed on. California John sat at ease, his elbow onthe pommel, his hand on his chin, his blue eyes staring vacantly at thesilent procession filing before him. Star stood motionless, his headhigh, his small ears pricked forward. The light dust peculiar to themountain soils of California, stirred by many feet, billowed and rolledupward through the pines. Long rays of sunlight cut through it likeswords.
"Now did you ever see such utter damn foolishness?" growled Welton."Make that bunch walk all the way up that mountain! What on earth is thedifference whether they walk or ride?"
But Bob, examining closely the faded, old figure on the magnificenthorse, felt his mind vaguely troubled by another notion. He could notseize the thought, but its influence was there. Somehow the irritationand exasperation had gone from the episode.
"I know that sort of crazy old mossback," muttered Welton as he turneddown the mountain. "Pin a tin star on them and they think they're asimportant as hell!"
Bob looked back.
"I don't know," he said vaguely. "I'm kind of for that old coon."
The bend shut him out. After the buckboard had dipped into the horseshoeand out to the next point, they again looked back. The smoke of marchingrose above the trees to eddy lazily up the mountain. California John, atiny figure now, still sat patiently guarding the portals of an emptyduty.