The Valley of the Giants

by Peter B. Kyne

  CHAPTER VII

  Along the well-remembered streets of Sequoia Bryce Cardigan and hisfather walked arm in arm, their progress continuously interrupted bywell-meaning but impulsive Sequoians who insisted upon halting the pairto shake hands with Bryce and bid him welcome home. In the presence ofthose third parties the old man quickly conquered the agitation he hadfelt at this long-deferred meeting with his son, and when presently theyleft the business section of the town and turned into a less-frequentedstreet, his emotion assumed the character of a quiet joy, evidenced ina more erect bearing and a firmer tread, as if he strove, despite hisseventy-six years, not to appear incongruous as he walked beside hissplendid son.

  "I wish I could see you more clearly," he said presently. His voice aswell as his words expressed profound regret, but there was no hint ofdespair or heartbreak now.

  Bryce, who up to this moment had refrained from discussing his father'smisfortunes, drew the old man a little closer to his side.

  "What's wrong with your eyes, pal?" he queried. He did not often addresshis parent, after the fashion of most sons, as "Father," "Dad" or "Pop."They were closer to each other than that, and a rare sense of perfectcomradeship found expression, on Bryce's part, in such salutations as"pal," "partner" and, infrequently, "old sport." When arguing with hisfather, protesting with him or affectionately scolding him, Bryce, withmock seriousness, sometimes called the old man John Cardigan.

  "Cataracts, son," his father answered. "Merely the penalty of old age."

  "But can't something be done about it?" demanded Bryce. "Can't they becured somehow or other?"

  "Certainly they can. But I shall have to wait until they are completelymatured and I have become completely blind; then a specialist willperform an operation on my eyes, and in all probability my sight willbe restored for a few years. However, I haven't given the matter a greatdeal of consideration. At my age one doesn't find very much difficultyin making the best of everything. And I am about ready to quit now. I'dlike to, in fact; I'm tired."

  "Oh, but you can't quit until you've seen your redwoods again," Brycereminded him. "I suppose it's been a long time since you've visited theValley of the Giants; your long exile from the wood-goblins has made youa trifle gloomy, I'm afraid."

  John Cardigan nodded. "I haven't seen them in a year and a half, Bryce.Last time I was up, I slipped between the logs on the old skid-road andlike to broke my old fool neck. But even that wasn't warning enough forme. I cracked right on into the timber and got lost."

  "Lost? Poor old partner! And what did you do about it?"

  "The sensible thing, my boy. I just sat down under a tree and waited forGeorge Sea Otter to trail me and bring me home."

  "And did he find you? Or did you have to spend the night in the woods?"

  John Cardigan smiled humorously. "I did not. Along about sunset Georgefound me. Seems he'd been following me all the time, and when I sat downhe waited to make certain whether I was lost or just taking a rest whereI could be quiet and think."

  "I've been leaving to an Indian the fulfillment of my duty," Brycemurmured bitterly.

  "No, no, son. You have never been deficient in that," the old manprotested.

  "Why didn't you have the old skid-road planked with refuse lumber so youwouldn't fall through? And you might have had the woods-boss swamp anew trail into the timber and fence it on both sides, in order that youmight feel your way along."

  "Yes, quite true," admitted the old man. "But then, I don't spend moneyquite as freely as I used to, Bryce. I consider carefully now before Ipart with a dollar."

  "Pal, it wasn't fair of you to make me stay away so long. If I had onlyknown--if I had remotely suspected--"

  "You'd have spoiled everything--of course. Don't scold me, son. You'reall I have now, and I couldn't bear to send for you until you'd hadyour fling." His trembling old hand crept over and closed upon his boy'shand, so firm but free from signs of toil. "It was my pleasure, Bryce,"he continued, "and you wouldn't deny me my choice of sport, would you?Remember, lad, I never had a boyhood; I never had a college education,and the only real travel I have ever had was when I worked my wayaround Cape Horn as a foremast hand, and all I saw then was water andhardships; all I've seen since is my little world here in Sequoia and inSan Francisco."

  "You've sacrificed enough--too much--for me, Dad."

  "It pleased me to give you all the advantages I wanted and couldn'tafford until I was too old and too busy to consider them. Besides, itwas your mother's wish. We made plans for you before you were born, andI promised her--ah, well, why be a cry-baby? I knew I could manage untilyou were ready to settle down to business. And you HAVE enjoyed yourlittle run, haven't you?" he concluded wistfully.

  "I have, Dad." Bryce's great hand closed over the back of hisfather's neck; he shook the old man with mock ferocity. "Stubborn oldlumberjack!" he chided.

  John Cardigan shook with an inward chuckle, for the loving abuse hisboy had formed a habit of heaping on him never failed to thrillhim. Instinctively Bryce had realized that to-night obvious sympathycopiously expressed was not the medicine for his father's bruisedspirit; hence he elected to regard the latter's blindness as a meretemporary annoyance, something to be considered lightly, if at all; andit was typical of him now that the subject had been discussed briefly,to resolve never to refer to it again. He released his hold on the oldman's neck and tapped the latter's gray head lightly, while with histongue he made hollow-sounding noises against the roof of his mouth.

  "Ha! I thought so," he declared. "After your fifty-odd years in thelumber business your head has become packed with sawdust--"

  "Be serious and talk to me, Bryce."

  "I ought to send you to bed without your supper. Talk to you? You betI'll talk to you, John Cardigan; and I'll tell you things, too, youscandalous bunko-steerer. To-morrow morning I'm going to put a pairof overalls on you, arm you with a tin can and a swab, and set you togreasing the skidways. Partner, you've deceived me."

  "Oh, nonsense. If I had whimpered, that would only have spoiledeverything."

  "Nevertheless, you were forced to cable me to hurry home."

  "I summoned you the instant I realized I was going to need you."

  "No, you didn't, John Cardigan. You summoned me because, for the firsttime in your life, you were panicky and let yourself get out of hand."

  His father nodded slowly. "And you aren't over it yet," Bryee continued,his voice no longer bantering but lowered affectionately. "What's thetrouble, Dad? Trot out your old panic and let me inspect it. Troublemust be very real when it gets my father on the run."

  "It is, Bryce, very real indeed. As I remarked before, I've lost yourheritage for you." He sighed. "I waited till you would be able to comehome and settle down to business; now you're home, and there isn't anybusiness to settle down to."

  Bryce chuckled, for he was indeed far from being worried over businessmatters, his consideration now being entirely for his father's peaceof mind. "All right," he retorted, "Father has lost his money and we'llhave to let the servants go and give up the old home. That part of it issettled; and weak, anemic, tenderly nurtured little Bryce Cardigan mustput his turkey on his back and go into the woods looking for a jobas lumberjack ... Busted, eh? Did I or did I not hear the six o'clockwhistle blow at the mill? Bet you a dollar I did."

  "Oh, I have title to everything--yet."

  "How I do have to dig for good news! Then it appears we still have abusiness; indeed, we may always have a business, for the very factthat it is going but not quite gone implies a doubt as to its ultimatedeparture, and perhaps we may yet scheme a way to retain it."

  "Oh, my boy, when I think of my years of toil and scheming, of the bigdreams I dreamed--"

  "Belay all! If we can save enough out of the wreck to insure you yourcustomary home comforts, I shan't cry, partner. I have a professionto fall back on. Yes, sirree. I own a sheep-skin, and it says I'm anelectrical and civil engineer."

  "What!"

  "I said it. An ele
ctrical and civil engineer. Slipped one over on youat college, John Cardigan, when all the time you thought I was having agood time. Thought I'd come home and surprise you."

  "Bu-bu-but--"

  "It drives me wild to have a man sputter at me. I'm an electrical andcivil engineer, I tell you, and my two years of travel have been spentstudying the installation and construction of big plants abroad." Hecommenced to chuckle softly. "I've known for years that our sawmillwas a debilitated old coffee-grinder and would have to be rebuilt, so Iwanted to know how to rebuild it. And I've known for years that some dayI might have to build a logging railroad--"

  "My dear boy! And you've got your degree?"

  "Partner, I have a string of letters after my name like the tail of acomet."

  "You comfort me," the old man answered simply. "I have reproached myselfwith the thought that I reared you with the sole thought of makinga lumberman out of you--and when I saw your lumber business slippingthrough my fingers--"

  "You were sorry I didn't have a profession to fall back on, eh? Or wereyou fearful lest you had raised the usual rich man's son? If the latter,you did not compliment me, pal. I've never forgotten how hard youalways strove to impress me with a sense of the exact weight of myresponsibility as your successor."

  "How big are you now?" his father queried suddenly.

  "Well, sir," Bryce answered, for his father's pleasure putting aside hisnormal modesty, "I'm six feet two inches tall, and I weigh two hundredpounds in the pink of condition. I have a forty-eight-inch chest,with five and a half inches chest-expansion, and a reach as long as agorilla's. My underpinning is good, too; I'm not one of these fellowswith spidery legs and a barrel-chest. I can do a hundred yards in tenseconds; I'm no slouch of a swimmer; and at Princeton they say I madefootball history. And in spite of it all, I haven't an athletic heart."

  "That is very encouraging, my boy--very. Ever do any boxing?"

  "Quite a little. I'm fairly up in the manly art of self-defence."

  "That's good. And I suppose you did some wrestling at your collegegymnasium, did you not?"

  "Naturally. I went in for everything my big carcass could stand."

  The old man wagged his head approvingly, and they had reached thegate of the Cardigan home before he spoke again. "There's a big buckwoods-boss up in Pennington's camp," he remarked irrelevantly. "He's aFrench Canadian imported from northern Michigan by Colonel Pennington.I dare say he's the only man in this country who measures up to youphysically. He can fight with his fists and wrestle right cleverly, I'mtold. His name is Jules Rondeau, and he's top dog among the lumberjacks.They say he's the strongest man in the county." He unlatched the gate."Folks used to say that about me once," he continued wistfully. "Ah, ifI could have my eyes to see you meet Jules Rondeau!"

  The front portal of the quaint old Cardigan residence opened, and asilver-haired lady came out on the porch and hailed Bryce. She was Mrs.Tully, John Cardigan's old housekeeper, and almost a mother to Bryce."Oh, here's my boy!" she cried, and a moment later found herselfencircled by Bryce's arms and saluted with a hearty kiss.

  As he stepped into the familiar entrance-hall, Bryce paused, raised hishead and sniffed suspiciously, like a bird-dog. Mrs. Tully, arms akimbo,watched him pleasurably. "I smell something," he declared, and advanceda step down the hall for another sniff; then, in exact imitation ofa foxhound, he gave tongue and started for the kitchen. Mrs. Tully,waddling after, found him "pointing" two hot blackberry pies whichhad but a few minutes previous been taken from the oven. He was bayinglugubriously.

  "They're wild blackberries, too," Mrs. Tully announced pridefully. "Iremembered how fond you used to be of wild-blackberry pie--so I phonedup to the logging-camp and had the woods-boss send a man out to pickthem."

  "I'm still a pie-hound, Mrs. Tully, and you're still the same dear,thoughtful soul. I'm so glad now that I had sense enough to think of youbefore I turned my footsteps toward the setting sun." He patted her grayhead. "Mrs. T.," he declared, "I've brought you a nice big collar ofIrish lace--bought it in Belfast, b'gosh. It comes down around your neckand buckles right here with an old ivory cameo I picked up in Burma andwhich formerly was the property of a Hindu queen."

  Mrs. Tully simpered with pleasure and protested that her boy was tookind. "You haven't changed a single speck," she concluded proudly.

  "Has the pie?"

  "I should say not."

  "How many did you make?"

  "Two."

  "May I have one all for myself, Mrs. Tully?"

  "Indeed you may, my dear."

  "Thank you, but I do not want it for myself. Mrs. Tully, will you pleasewrap one of those wonderful pies in a napkin and the instant George SeaOtter comes in with the car, tell him to take the pie over to ColonelPennington's house and deliver it to Miss Sumner? There's a girl whodoubtless thinks she has tasted pie in her day, and I want to prove toher that she hasn't." He selected a card from his card-case, sat down,and wrote:

  Dear Miss Sumner:

  Here is a priceless hot wild-blackberry pie, especially manufactured inmy honour. It is so good I wanted you to have some. In all your life youhave never tasted anything like it.

  Sincerely, BRYCE CARDIGAN.

  He handed the card to Mrs. Tully and repaired to his old room to removethe stains of travel before joining his father at dinner.

  Some twenty minutes later his unusual votive offering was deliveredby George Sea Otter to Colonel Pennington's Swedish maid, who promptlybrought it in to the Colonel and Shirley Sumner, who were even then atdinner in the Colonel's fine burl-redwood-panelled dining room. MissSumner's amazement was so profound that for fully a minute she was mute,contenting herself with scrutinizing alternately the pie and the cardthat accompanied it. Presently she handed the card to her uncle, whoaffixed his pince-nez and read the epistle with deliberation.

  "Isn't this young Cardigan a truly remarkable young man, Shirley?"he declared. "Why, I have never heard of anything like his astoundingaction. If he had sent you over an armful of American Beauty rosesfrom his father's old-fashioned garden, I could understand it, but aninfernal blackberry pie! Good heavens!"

  "I told you he was different," she replied. To the Colonel's amazementshe did not appear at all amused.

  Colonel Pennington poked a fork through the delicate brown crust. "Iwonder if it is really as good as he says it is, Shirley."

  "Of course. If it wasn't, he wouldn't have sent it."

  "How do you know?"

  "By intuition," she replied. And she cut into the pie and helped theColonel to a quadrant of it.

  "That was a genuine hayseed faux-pas," announced the Colonel a fewmoments later as Shirley was pouring coffee from a samovar-shapedpercolator in the library. "The idea of anybody who has enjoyed theadvantages that fellow has, sending a hot blackberry pie to a girl hehas just met!"

  "Yes, the idea!" she echoed. "I find it rather charming."

  "You mean amusing."

  "I said 'charming.' Bryce Cardigan is a man with the heart and soul of aboy, and I think it was mighty sweet of him to share his pie with me. Ifhe had sent roses, I should have suspected him of trying to 'rush'me, but the fact that he sent a blackberry pie proves that he's just anatural, simple, sane, original citizen--just the kind of person a girlcan have for a dear friend without incurring the risk of having to marryhim."

  "I repeat that this is most extraordinary."

  "Only because it is an unusual thing for a young man to do, although,after all, why shouldn't he send me a blackberry pie if he thought ablackberry pie would please me more than an armful of roses? Besides, hemay send the roses to-morrow."

  "Most extraordinary!" the Colonel reiterated.

  "What should one expect from such an extraordinary creature? He's anextraordinary fine-looking young man, with an extraordinary scowl and anextraordinary crinkly smile that is friendly and generous and free frommasculine guile. Why, I think he's just the kind of man who WOULD send agirl a blackberry pie."

  The Colonel noti
ced a calm little smile fringing her generous mouth.He wished he could tell, by intuition, what she was thinking about--andwhat effect a hot wild-blackberry pie was ultimately to have upon thevalue of his minority holding in the Laguna Grande Lumber Company.