The Valley of the Giants

by Peter B. Kyne

  CHAPTER XV

  By virtue of their logging-contract with Pennington, the Cardigansand their employees were transported free over Pennington's loggingrailroad; hence, when Bryce Cardigan resolved to wait upon Jules Rondeauin the matter of that murdered Giant, it was characteristic of him tochoose the shortest and most direct route to his quarry, and as thelong string of empty logging-trucks came crawling off the Laguna GrandeLumber Company's log-dump, he swung over the side, quite ignorant of thefact that Shirley and her precious relative were riding in the littlecaboose in the rear.

  At twelve-ten the train slid in on the log landing of the Laguna GrandeLumber Company's main camp, and Bryce dropped off and approached theengineer of the little donkey-engine used for loading the logs.

  "Where's Rondeau?" he asked.

  The engineer pointed to a huge, swarthy man approaching across theclearing in which the camp was situated. "That's him," he replied. Andwithout further ado, Bryce strode to meet his man.

  "Are you Jules Rondeau?" he demanded as he came up to the woods-boss.The latter nodded. "I'm Bryce Cardigan," his interrogator announced,"and I'm here to thrash you for chopping that big redwood tree over inthat little valley where my mother is buried."

  "Oh!" Rondeau smiled. "Wiz pleasure, M'sieur." And without a moment'shesitation he rushed. Bryce backed away from him warily, and theycircled.

  "When I get through with you, Rondeau," Bryce said distinctly, "it'lltake a good man to lead you to your meals. This country isn't big enoughfor both of us, and since you came here last, you've got to go first."

  Bryce stepped in, feinted for Rondeau's jaw with his right, and whenthe woods-boss quickly covered, ripped a sizzling left into the latter'smidriff. Rondeau grunted and dropped his guard, with the result thatBryce's great fists played a devil's tattoo on his countenance before hecould crouch and cover.

  "This is a tough one," thought Bryce. His blows had not, apparently, hadthe slightest effect on the woods-boss. Crouched low and with his armswrapped around his head, Rondeau still came on unfalteringly, and Brycewas forced to give way before him; to save his hands, he avoided therisk of battering Rondeau's hard head and sinewy arms.

  Already word that the woods-boss was battling with a stranger had beenshouted into the camp dining room, and the entire crew of that camp,abandoning their half-finished meal, came pouring forth to view thecontest. Out of the tail of his eye Bryce saw them coming, but he wasnot apprehensive, for he knew the code of the woodsman: "Let every manroll his own hoop." It would be a fight to a finish, for no man wouldinterfere; striking, kicking, gouging, biting, or choking would not belooked upon as unsportsmanlike; and as Bryce backed cautiously away fromthe huge, lithe, active, and powerful man before him, he realizedthat Jules Rondeau was, as his father had stated, "top dog among thelumberjacks."

  Rondeau, it was apparent, had no stomach for Bryce's style of combat. Hewanted a rough-and-tumble fight and kept rushing, hoping to clinch; ifhe could but get his great hands on Bryce, he would wrestle him down,climb him, and finish the fight in jig-time. But a rough-and-tumble wasexactly what Bryce was striving to avoid; hence when Rondeau rushed,Bryce side-stepped and peppered the woodsman's ribs. But the woods-crew,which by now was ringed around them, began to voice disapproval of thisstyle of battle.

  "Clinch with him, dancing-master," a voice roared.

  "Tie into him, Rondeau," another shouted.

  "It's a fair match," cried another, "and the red one picked on the mainpush. He was looking for a fight, an' he ought to get it; but thesefancy fights don't suit me. Flop him, stranger, flop him."

  "Rondeau can't catch him," a fourth man jeered. "He's a foot-racer, nota fighter."

  Suddenly two powerful hands were placed between Bryce's shoulders,effectually halting his backward progress; then he was propelledviolently forward until he collided with Rondeau. With a bellow oftriumph, the woods-boss's gorilla-like arms were around Bryce, swinginghim until he faced the man who had forced him into that terrible grip.This was no less a personage than Colonel Seth Pennington, and it wasobvious he had taken charge of what he considered the obsequies.

  "Stand back, you men, and give them room," he shouted. "Rondeau willtake care of him now. Stand back, I say. I'll discharge the man thatinterferes."

  With a heave and a grunt Rondeau lifted his antagonist, and thepair went crashing to the earth together, Bryce underneath. And thensomething happened. With a howl of pain, Rondeau rolled over on his backand lay clasping his left wrist in his right hand, while Bryce scrambledto his feet.

  "The good old wrist-lock does the trick," he announced; and stooping, hegrasped the woods-boss by the collar with his left hand, lifted him, andstruck him a terrible blow in the face with his right. But for the armthat upheld him, Rondeau would have fallen. To have him fall, however,was not part of Bryce's plan. Jerking the fellow toward him, he passedhis arm around Rondeau's neck, holding the latter's head as in a visewith the crook of his elbow. And then the battering started. When itwas finished, Bryce let his man go, and Rondeau, bloody, sobbing, andsemi-conscious, sprawled on the ground.

  Bryce bent over him. "Now, damn you," he roared, "who felled that treein Cardigan's Redwoods?"

  "I did, M'sieur. Enough--I confess!" The words were a whisper.

  "Did Colonel Pennington suggest it to you?"

  "He want ze burl. By gar, I do not want to fell zat tree--"

  "That's all I want to know." Stooping, Bryce seized Rondeau by the napeof the neck and the slack of his overalls, lifted him shoulder-high andthrew him, as one throws a sack of meal, full at Colonel Pennington.

  "You threw me at him. Now I throw him at you. You damned, thieving,greedy, hypocritical scoundrel, if it weren't for your years and yourgray hair, I'd kill you."

  The helpless hulk of the woods-boss descended upon the Colonel'sexpansive chest and sent him crashing earthward. Then Bryce, war-mad,turned to face the ring of Laguna Grande employees about him.

  "Next!" he roared. "Singly, in pairs, or the whole damned pack!"

  "Mr. Cardigan!"

  He turned. Colonel Pennington's breath had been knocked out of hisbody by the impact of his semi-conscious woods-boss, and he lay inert,gasping like a hooked fish. Beside him Shirley Sumner was kneeling, herhands clasping her uncle's, but with her violet eyes blazing fiercely onBryce Cardigan.

  "How dare you?" she cried. "You coward! To hurt my uncle!"

  He gazed at her a moment, fiercely, defiantly, his chest rising andfalling from his recent exertions, his knotted fists gory with the bloodof his enemy. Then the light of battle died, and he hung his head. "I'msorry," he murmured, "not for his sake, but yours. I didn't know youwere here. I forgot--myself."

  "I'll never speak to you again so long as I live," she burst outpassionately.

  He advanced a step and stood gazing down upon her. Her angry glancemet his unflinchingly; and presently for him the light went out of theworld.

  "Very well," he murmured. "Good-bye." And with bowed head he turned andmade off through the green timber toward his own logging-camp five milesdistant.