CHAPTER XVIII
George Sea Otter, summoned by telephone, came out to Freshwater, thestation nearest the wreck, and transported his battered young masterback to Sequoia. Here Bryce sought the doctor in the Cardigan RedwoodLumber Company's little hospital and had his wrecked nose reorganizedand his cuts bandaged. It was characteristic of his father's son thatwhen this detail had been attended to, he should go to the office andwork until the six o'clock whistle blew.
Old Cardigan was waiting for him at the gate when he reached home.George Sea Otter had already given the old man a more or less garbledaccount of the runaway log-train, and Cardigan eagerly awaited his son'sarrival in order to ascertain the details of this new disaster which hadcome upon them. For disaster it was, in truth. The loss of the logs wastrifling--perhaps three or four thousand dollars; the destruction ofthe rolling-stock was the crowning misfortune. Both Cardigans knew thatPennington would eagerly seize upon this point to stint hiscompetitor still further on logging-equipment, that there wouldbe delays--purposeful but apparently unavoidable--before this lostrolling-stock would be replaced. And in the interim the Cardigan mill,unable to get a sufficient supply of logs to fill orders in hand, wouldbe forced to close down. Full well Pennington knew that anything which,tends to bring about a shortage of raw material for any manufacturingplant will result inevitably in the loss of customers.
"Well, son," said John Cardigan mildly as Bryce unlatched the gate,"another bump, eh?"
"Yes, sir--right on the nose."
"I meant another bump to your heritage, my son."
"I'm worrying more about my nose, partner. In fact, I'm not worryingabout my heritage at all. I've come to a decision on that point: We'regoing to fight and fight to the last; we're going down fighting. And bythe way, I started the fight this afternoon. I whaled the wadding outof that bucko woods-boss of Pennington's, and as a special compliment toyou, John Cardigan, I did an almighty fine job of cleaning. Even went sofar as to muss the Colonel up a little."
"Wow, wow, Bryce! Bully for you! I wanted that man Rondeau taken apart.He has terrorized our woods-men for a long time. He's king of themad-train, you know."
Bryce was relieved. His father did not know, then, of the act ofvandalism in the Valley of the Giants. This fact strengthened Bryce'sresolve not to tell him--also to get the fallen monarch sawed up and thestump blasted out before an operation should restore his father's sightand reveal to him the crowning cruelty of his enemy.
Arm in arm they walked up the garden path together.
Just as they entered the house, the telephone in the hall tinkled, andBryce answered.
"Mr. Cardigan," came Shirley Sumner's voice over the wire.
"Bryce," he corrected her.
She ignored the correction,
"I--I don't know what to say to you," she faltered.
"There is no necessity for saying anything, Shirley."
"But you saved our lives, and at least have a right to expect due andgrateful acknowledgment of our debt. I rang up to tell you how splendidand heroic your action was--"
"I had my own life to save, Shirley."
"You did not think of that at the time."
"Well--I didn't think of your uncle's, either," he replied withoutenthusiasm.
"I'm sure we never can hope to catch even with you, Mr. Cardigan."
"Don't try. Your revered relative will not; so why should you?"
"You are making it somewhat hard for me to--to--rehabilitateour friendship, Mr. Cardigan. We have just passed through a mostextraordinary day, and if at evening I can feel as I do now, I think youought to do your share--and help."
"Bless your heart," he murmured. "The very fact that you bothered toring me up at all makes me your debtor. Shirley, can you stand someplain speaking--between friends, I mean?"
"I think so, Mr. Cardigan."
"Well, then," said Bryce, "listen to this: I am your uncle's enemy untildeath do us part. Neither he nor I expect to ask or to give quarter, andI'm going to smash him if I can."
"If you do, you smash me," she warned him.
"Likewise our friendship. I'm sorry, but it's got to be done if I can doit. Shall--shall we say good-bye, Shirley?"
"Yes-s-s!" There was a break in her voice. "Good-bye, Mr Cardigan. Iwanted you to know."
"Good-bye! Well, that's cutting the mustard," he murmured sotto voce,"and there goes another bright day-dream." Unknown to himself, he spokedirectly into the transmitter, and Shirley, clinging half hopefullyto the receiver at the other end of the wire, heard him--caught everyinflection of the words, commonplace enough, but freighted with thepathos of Bryce's first real tragedy.
"Oh, Bryce!" she cried sharply. But he did not hear her; he had hung uphis receiver now.
The week that ensued was remarkable for the amount of work Bryceaccomplished in the investigation of his father's affairs--also for avisit from Donald McTavish, the woods-boss. Bryce found him sitting inthe private office one morning at seven o'clock.
"Hello, McTavish," he saluted the woods-boss cheerfully and extendedhis hand for a cordial greeting. His wayward employee stood up, took theproffered hand in both of his huge and callous ones, and held it ratherchildishly.
"Weel! 'Tis the wee laddie hissel," he boomed. "I'm glad to see ye,boy."
"You'd have seen me the day before yesterday--if you had been seeable,"Bryce reminded him with a bright smile. "Mac, old man, they tell meyou've gotten to be a regular go-to-hell."
"I'll nae deny I take a wee drappie now an' then," the woods-bossadmitted frankly, albeit there was a harried, hangdog look in his eyes.
Bryce sat down at his desk, lighted his pipe, and looked McTavish oversoberly. The woods-boss was a big, raw-boned Scotsman, with a plentifulsprinkling of silver in his thick mane of red hair, which fell far downon his shoulders. A tremendous nose rose majestically out of a face sostrong and rugged one searched in vain for aught of manly beauty init; his long arms hung gorilla-like, almost to his knees, and he wasslightly stooped, as if from bearing heavy burdens. Though in the latefifties, his years had touched him lightly; but John Barleycorn had notbeen so considerate. Bryce noted that McTavish was carrying some thirtypounds of whiskey fat and that the pupils of his fierce blue eyes werepermanently distended, showing that alcohol had begun to affect hisbrain. His hands trembled as he stood before Bryce, smiling fatuouslyand plucking at the cuffs of his mackinaw. The latter realized thatMcTavish was waiting for him to broach the object of the visit; so withan effort he decided to begin the disagreeable task.
"Mac, did Moira give you my message?"
"Aye."
"Well, I guess we understand each other, Mac. Was there something elseyou wanted to see me about?"
McTavish sidled up to the desk. "Ye'll no be firin' auld Mac oot o'hand?" he pleaded hopefully. "Mon, ha ye the heart to do it--after a'these years?"
Bryce nodded. "If you have the heart--after all these years--to drawpay you do not earn, then I have the heart to put a better man in yourplace."
"Ye was ever a laddie to hae your bit joke."
"It's no good arguing, Mac. You're off the pay-roll onto thepension-roll--your shanty in the woods, your meals at the camp kitchen,your clothing and tobacco that I send out to you. Neither more norless!" He reached into his desk and drew forth a check. "Here's yourwages to the fifteenth. It's the last Cardigan check you'll ever finger.I'm terribly sorry, but I'm terribly in earnest."
"Who will ye pit in ma place?"
"I don't know. However, it won't be a difficult task to find a betterman than you."
"I'll nae let him work." McTavish's voice deepened to a growl. "Youworked that racket on my father. Try it on me, and you'll answer tome--personally. Lay the weight of your finger on your successor, Mac,and you'll die in the county poor-farm. No threats, old man! You knowthe Cardigans; they never bluff."
McTavish's glance met the youthful master's for several seconds; thenthe woods-boss trembled, and his gaze sought the office floor. Bryceknew he had his man
whipped at last, and McTavish realized it, too, forquite suddenly he burst into tears.
"Dinna fire me, lad," he pleaded. "I'll gae back on the job an' leavewhusky alone."
"Nothing doing, Mac. Leave whiskey alone for a year and I'll dischargeyour successor to give you back your job. For the present however, myverdict stands. You're discharged."
"Who kens the Cardigan woods as I ken them?" McTavish blubbered. "Who'llswamp a road into timber sixty per cent. clear when the mill's runnin'on foreign orders an' the owd man's calling for clear logs? Who'll felltrees wi' the least amount o' breakage? Who'll get the work out o' themen? Who'll--"
"Don't plead, Mac," Bryce interrupted gently. "You're quite through, andI can't waste any more time on you."
"Ye dinna mean it, lad. Ye canna mean it."
"On your way, Mac. I loathe arguments. And don't forget your check."
"I maun see yer faither aboot this. He'll nae stand for sic treatment o'an auld employee."
Bryce's temper flared up. "You keep away from my father. You've worriedhim enough in the past, you drunkard. If you go up to the house to annoymy father with your pleadings, McTavish, I'll manhandle you." He glancedat his watch. "The next train leaves for the woods in twenty minutes. Ifyou do not go back on it and behave yourself, you can never go back toCardigan woods."
"I will nae take charity from any man," McTavish thundered. "I'll naebother the owd man, an' I'll nae go back to yon woods to live on yerbounty."
"Well, go somewhere, Mac, and be quick about it. Only--when you'vereformed, please come back. You'll be mighty welcome. Until then,however, you're as popular with me--that is, in a business way--as a wetdog."
"Ye're nae the man yer faither was," the woods-boss half sobbed. "Ye haea heart o' stone."
"You've been drunk for fifteen days--and I'm paying you for it, Mac,"Bryce reminded him gently. "Don't leave your check behind. You'll needit."
With a fine show of contempt and rage, McTavish tore the check intostrips and threw them at Bryce. "I was never a mon to take charity," heroared furiously, and left the office. Bryce called after him a cheerfulgood-bye, but he did not answer. And he did not remain in town; neitherdid he return to his shanty in the woods. For a month his whereaboutsremained a mystery; then one day Moira received a letter from himinforming her that he had a job knee-bolting in a shingle mill inMendocino County.
The Valley of the Giants Page 18
