She shook her head. “No. Let’s call it a matter of principle. I want this country to belong to the people.”
Lee had never heard a woman talk that way before. To him a woman was to be pursued, to be caught and kissed and forgotten when the loving was done. Life was a matter of greeting a new day, a new fight, a new woman. It was an exciting and eternal game, was this business of Lee Dawes’s living. And here beside him was a woman well graced for his kind of life, yet talking in terms that both interested and puzzled him.
“There is no peace here in the Northwest,” Hanna went on. “In Crook County, where I live, sheepmen and cattlemen still fight, and settlers try to make a living on new irrigation projects, while they keep their hopes for a railroad.” She shook her head. “It’s a land bright with promise, but it has the shadow of selfish men across it.”
“Maybe we should cut those men down to size,” Lee said lightly. “Then their shadow wouldn’t be so long.”
Lee stood smiling at her, thinking how different this girl’s attitude was from anyone else’s he had heard talk, and so utterly different from his own. He had never ducked a fight, and had at times gone out of his way to find one. He drew a deep breath into his great lungs. Six feet one, one hundred and eighty pounds of hard bone and muscle, Lee Dawes was built for conflict, to seek it, to thrive upon it. He was lithe and rugged and swift moving, and yet this slim, assured girl frightened him a little.
“It’s not so easy to cut them down,” Hanna said.
Lee was aware that she was irritated by the lightness of his manner, and he was aware, too, that the Inland Belle had kept traveling, that his personal problem was as big as ever. Examining his watch, he said: “It has been a pleasure, Miss Racine.” He lifted his derby, and smiled. “I hope we meet again.” Nodding, he replaced his hat, and walked swiftly away.
Lee turned forward and rounded the deckhouse, coming back on the port side. Then abruptly he was hurrying his steps, for Deborah Haig had come out of a stateroom down deck, had glanced at him impersonally, and turned away. Lee came up to her, and succeeded in maneuvering her against the rail.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.
“I have to see the purser, Mister Dawes.”
“He’ll wait. It’s more important that you tell me where you live and where I can find you.”
“Why is that important?”
Her smile was quick and tantalizing, her dark eyes reflective, and Lee felt that she was measuring him. He had a naked sense, then, as if she had gained an insight into the secret places of his mind. He said a little roughly: “You know what we could mean to each other.”
“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of . . .”
The steward who had come from the main cabin paused. “Mister Dawes,” he said.
Lee frowned, knowing that opportunity had slipped away again, and that he still had gained nothing. “Yes?”
“The gentleman in S-Eight wants to see you at once, sir. He said to make it clear that he means right now.”
Lee nodded, but before the steward had left, Deborah Haig had slipped away, her lips holding a soft, triumphant smile. Lee turned down the deck, and then it was that he saw Hanna Racine. She had crossed to this side of the boat, and had watched, smiling in dry amusement.
Chapter Two
The gentleman in S-8 was an average-sized man, perhaps sixty, his mustache more gray than black, and the rugged quality of his face did not conceal a sense of force and quick, keen intelligence. It was a practical intelligence, but there was also a sensitiveness about him, of one whose vision ranges beyond habitual horizons. He was a man who could not only plan but accomplish—abilities that had prompted James J. Hill to call him the greatest location engineer in the world.
John F. Stevens had helped Jim Hill throw the steel bands of the Great Northern across the vast Northwest to Puget Sound. His discovery of Marias Pass, north of Butte, had lopped off seventy miles of the distance traveled by the rival Northern Pacific. And he had been chief engineer of the Panama Canal.
Stevens waved Lee to a chair, and studied him thoughtfully. Lee, looking at Stevens, felt the excitement that was in the engineer. Again the warning suspicion rose in Lee’s mind that the new enterprise was far bigger than he had been led to believe.
“I’m afraid I was delayed by the beauties of the gorge,” Lee said guiltily.
“The one I noticed you with was a real beauty. I saw you helping her walk a dog.” Stevens jerked a thumb toward the slatted cabin window through which the outer light painted bars of gold and black shadow across the deck and up onto the bunk. “When I was watching you, Dawes, I wished I was thirty years younger and as handsome.” He paused, and added with thin irony: “But, in case you’ve forgotten, we’re here to build a railroad.”
Lee shifted uncomfortably and waited. His one previous talk with Stevens had gone only into the matter of Lee’s availability and his acceptance of this job. Now the details would come.
“The North Bank was no Sunday school picnic,” Stevens went on, “but this one will be tougher. Absolute secrecy is essential at the moment. You’re working for the Oregon Trunk. Beyond that you know nothing.”
Lee grinned. “I savvy, but there’s plenty of talk about Hill backing the Oregon Trunk.”
“There’d have been more if we’d come by train. We stole a march on the Harriman sleuths by coming this way. The point is we jumped the gun too soon on the North Bank. Let folks know ahead of time you want a right of way, and you have tripled the cost.” Stevens shrugged. “However, the cost of our right of way is the smallest of our problems. Right now I’d like to keep the Harriman people guessing. At the moment we admit we’re building to Madras, but the folks on south will continue to hope.”
Stevens smiled. “The stakes are high. For that reason, I won’t know you, or you me, after you leave this cabin. You’ll go to Shaniko by way of Harriman’s Columbia Southern. Take the southbound stage to Madras. Stay there a few days, and then go on to Bend.” Stevens leaned forward. “You don’t need to make a secret of the fact that you’re working for the Oregon Trunk. Encourage others to talk. Your part is to listen. Probably you’ll have some Harriman sleuths on your trail. I’ve had some on mine.”
“Sounds like fun.” Lee’s face was that of a small boy reaching ahead in his mind to a circus coming to town. “I like to fight.”
“We’ll have one, Dawes, but this business of your liking a fight is both a weakness and a strength in you. See that your fighting is limited to matters concerning the Oregon Trunk. A dead man won’t help us.”
“It can’t be that serious.”
“It can be exactly that.” Stevens began pacing the floor. “Some things have happened that don’t look like Harriman’s tricks. Let’s say there’s a clouded element somewhere, perhaps a third party who wants us and the Harriman people to cut each other’s throats.”
Lee canted his chair back against the wall, long legs bent, heels hooking a chair rung. “A three-cornered fight,” he murmured.
“It looks that way.” Stevens drew a map of Oregon from his pocket, and spread it out on the berth. “Before we talk about that, I want you to get a picture of the battleground in your mind.”
Lee rose and watched over Stevens’s shoulder while the engineer ran his finger along the Deschutes River, from its head in the high Cascades to where it emptied into the Columbia a dozen miles from The Dalles.
“The Deschutes drains a number of lakes and runs an even stream all year. The Metolius River and the Crooked River come in here. From there on down, the Deschutes twists through one of the most fantastic cañons in the world.” Stevens slid his finger upstream to Bend. “Here the altitude is thirty-six hundred feet. It’s nearly sea level where it comes into the Columbia. Now you can see why this cañon is the one good entry into central Oregon. Our control of this water grade is vital, and the outfit that controls it will be the one that establishes the principle of ‘first construction and use’ at the nar
row places where there is room for only one railroad.”
“So we’ll have railroad exploding all over the cañon.” Lee shook his head. “Doesn’t seem to be much sense in having a ruckus like this over a patch of sagebrush, if that’s all this is.”
Stevens glanced at him sharply. “You have the same mistaken idea a lot of people have, Dawes. Even if we go no farther than Bend, the resources in central Oregon are so staggering that a railroad would be worthwhile. It’s a cattle and sheep range. The desert east of Bend may become a wheat country. A number of irrigation projects are being developed around Bend. And”—Stevens tapped his finger on the map where the slope of the Cascades broke eastward toward the desert—“there is the largest stand of virgin pine in the United States.”
Lee showed his surprise. “Sounds like a treasure chest.”
“That’s what it is.” Stevens folded the map and slipped it into his pocket. “Now about your job. You have two major assignments. First, find out who this third party is, and do what needs to be done to checkmate him. Meanwhile, you’ll be a sort of general chore boy to cover your real business. You’ll buy some right of way between Madras and Bend, so that people will know who you are. It’s possible that as soon as your identity is established, our third party will make himself known. I have an idea what it is, but not who. If you’ve followed the papers, you’ve read of the state-owned railroad movement.”
“That’s a hell of an idea,” Lee said.
Stevens nodded. “It is from a railroad man’s standpoint. The thing that started it is the fact that large areas of Oregon, such as this Deschutes country, have no railroads. Harriman has made promises, and a dozen rumors have flooded the country. Harriman has even talked about extending his Columbia Southern south from Shaniko. Well”—Stevens spread his hands—“the people in the interior have seen no steel being laid. All the rumors have turned out to be hot air.”
“Harriman never did anything on the North Bank until Jim Hill moved in,” Lee said.
“And it’s Hill who’s starting him up the Deschutes.” Stevens tapped the map thoughtfully against a knee. “Not long ago I made a fishing trip into the Bend country and on down the Deschutes. I landed some rainbows.” He smiled. “I told one man I was going to start a fish hatchery at the mouth of Trout Creek. What’s more to the point is that I got a right of way. It’s a real trip down that river, Dawes . . . wild water, two thousand foot cliffs, rattlesnakes, and some stubborn ranchers who don’t think much of a railroad. The Oregon Trunk has a survey up the cañon, but it has done very little besides that. The controlling interest belonged to Billy Nelson, and I bought him out.”
“For Hill?”
Stevens’s eyes twinkled. “Keep guessing, Dawes. It’s just as well you don’t know everything right now. When the Oregon Trunk got serious about a railroad, it ran into trouble with the Bureau of Reclamation, which had an idea about building a power dam on the Deschutes. So we were hung up, and central Oregon still didn’t have a railroad.”
“Then that’s what is behind the state-owned railroad?”
Stevens nodded. “That’s part of it. We got the trouble with the Bureau of Reclamation straightened out, but the state-owned railroad proposal will be on the ballot at the next general election. Now Harriman has promised the governor they’ll get started, but he’s abandoned the Columbia Southern. The grade to the top of the plateau is too tough. They’ve formed the Deschutes Railroad Company, which will come up the cañon. When Porter Brothers moved a couple of barge loads of grading machinery for us across the Columbia to the mouth of the Deschutes, it was like setting off a charge of dynamite under Ed Harriman’s chair.”
Lee laughed. “It’ll be a case of who gets there fastest with the mostest railroad.”
“That’s it. Don’t underestimate the importance of getting our missing pieces of right of way. What we’ve got now is like a checkerboard. Some of the leases and entry rights the Oregon Trunk had have lapsed, and we’ve got to beat Harriman to them.”
Lee’s grin was quick and confident. “I’ll beat them.”
Stevens raised a hand. “Don’t be too sure. That brings me to your second assignment. There’s one piece of property between Madras and Crooked River that’s going to be hard to get a right of way through, and it’s vital. Crooked River gorge is about four hundred feet deep, but there’s one narrow place where we can bridge it. This property I mentioned belongs to a girl named Hanna Racine, and it’s strategic because it controls the approach to this crossing.” Stevens paused, eyes on Lee. “What’s the matter?”
“Did you say Hanna Racine?” Lee asked weakly.
“Yes. Do you know the girl?”
“I’ve heard the name,” Lee admitted, thinking of how he had abruptly left her at the rail when he’d gone looking for Deborah Haig.
“Her father was a big rancher and a very well known man in Crook County,” Stevens went on. “And I’ll say that Herb Racine was just about the toughest old codger I ever ran into. Hated both Hill and Harriman. He did a lot of work getting this people’s railroad movement started. When he was killed about a year ago, his daughter inherited the ranch, and I’m sorry to say she inherited his prejudices and economic theories.” Stevens smiled. “That’s the story, son. You have a reputation for making women like you, so I don’t think you’ll fail.”
Lee rose and reached for his hat, thinking sourly that he hadn’t lived up to his reputation with Hanna Racine. “Do I have a free hand?” he asked.
“The sky’s the limit.” Stevens glanced through the window. “We seem to be getting in.” Rising, he handed Lee a checkbook, a power of attorney, and a handful of forms. “Any of our agents could buy most of the missing pieces, but the Racine property will take all of your special talents.”
“I’ll try to make use of those talents.”
Stevens offered his hand. “Good luck, Dawes. I want regular reports. Send them to the OTL in Portland. Within a week or so, go on to Bend and stay at the Pilot Butte Inn. I’ll send you detailed instructions there. Later, you’ll be working with Porter Brothers, who are doing our construction for us. They’ll put in a camp at Horseshoe Bend, which is in the lower cañon and a trouble spot. Another camp will go in at Charley U’Rens’s place above White Horse rapids. One of our main problems is getting materials into the cañon. Some will go out over the Great Southern to Dufur on the west side and then be freighted down to the Deschutes, but the bulk of it will go over Harriman’s Columbia Southern on the east side and be ferried across the river. Later, you’ll be working on some of those access problems. They’ll be tough nuts to crack.” He shook his head, and then, eyes twinkling, he added: “And don’t get too distracted by the beauties you’ll find along the Deschutes.”
“I’ll remember that, sir,” Lee said, sobered by the magnitude of this race, and by the error he had already unwittingly made. Lee stepped out of the stateroom, thinking again of a certain skirt that flicked so fetchingly above a certain pair of pretty ankles, and, as he turned along the deck, he noted that they were rounding Crates Point, which meant they would soon be in.
Then he saw Deborah Haig. She disappeared from sight forward, and he followed in long, quick strides. She vanished into her cabin as he rounded the bow, hurrying as if she realized he was following. Lee found the door shut when he reached her cabin. Without knocking, he turned the knob and stepped in, closing the door behind him.
The girl whirled, anger sparking brightly in her eyes. “What right . . . ?”
“You ran, but you knew I’d follow, so you didn’t lock the door. Wasn’t it Eve who started this game with Adam?”
“I thought you were a gentleman.”
“Gentleman?” Lee laughed. “Not any. We’ll be landing in ten minutes. Let me take you to supper tonight.”
Deborah looked at him thoughtfully, with the cool judgment of an experienced and mature woman. “You have a way with you, Dawes.”
“What’s that got to do with supper?”
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p; “I was thinking of another time. The answer is no. I’m meeting somebody.”
“A man?”
“Perhaps.”
“Deborah, we’ve got to meet again. We couldn’t be thrown together like this and do nothing about it. Lady Luck wouldn’t give us another chance.” He came closer, eyes utterly serious. “If I’ve offended you, I’m sorry.”
“A persuasive speech, Mister Dawes. I’ll make you a trade. Tell me where you’re heading, and I’ll tell you if we’ll meet again.”
He was instantly on the defensive, feeling the prying quality of her offer. The girl sensed his thought, and the friendliness abruptly left her eyes. There was a short moment of inner debate in him. Then he said, against his better judgment: “Shaniko.”
Deborah’s smile came quickly. “Why, so am I.”
“Supper there?”
“Why not just wait and ask me there.” There was more promise in her eyes than he had expected. “Will your friend be with you?”
His eyes narrowed. “What friend?”
“Oh, the steward said some man wanted to see you.”
“It wasn’t important. Not like seeing you in Shaniko.”
He drew her into his arms, and, when there was no resistance, fire crept into his lips as he pressed them against hers. She was limp and clinging, and a flame touched them, and he sensed that she, too, felt it. Then she pulled from him as abruptly as she had submitted.
“It was easy, wasn’t it, Dawes? I wonder if you have ever kissed a woman seriously.”
“What did you think that was?”
“A trial, I’d say.” Her breath made a little sigh. “I guess you’d better go. We’re landing.”
Lee paused at the door, his eyes on her speculatively. “Shaniko,” he said, and left the cabin.
He found himself directly in the path of Hanna Racine. She went past him, her eyes showing no sign of recognition. Lee, turning toward his own cabin for his luggage, felt a sudden uneasiness grip him. He had no way of determining whether Hanna knew whose cabin he had been leaving, but, judging by the way she had hurried by, he was afraid she did. A fine start he had made in this gigantic chess game John Stevens was playing.
Shadow on the Land Page 2
