The Valley of the Giants

by Peter B. Kyne

  CHAPTER XX

  Not the least of the traits which formed Shirley Sumner's characterwas pride. Proud people quite usually are fiercely independent andmeticulously honest--and Shirley's pride was monumental. Hers was thepride of lineage, of womanhood, of an assured station in life, combinedwith that other pride which is rather difficult of definition withoutverbosity and is perhaps better expressed in the terse and illuminatingphrase "a dead-game sport." Unlike her precious relative, unlike themajority of her sex, Shirley had a wonderfully balanced sense of theeternal fitness of things; her code of honour resembled that of a verygallant gentleman. She could love well and hate well.

  A careful analysis of Shirley's feelings toward Bryce Cardiganimmediately following the incident in Pennington's woods, had showed herthat under more propitious circumstances she might have fallen in lovewith that tempestuous young man in sheer recognition of the many lovableand manly qualities she had discerned in him. As an offset to the creditside of Bryce's account with her, however, there appeared certain debitsin the consideration of which Shirley always lost her temper and wasimmediately quite certain she loathed the unfortunate man.

  He had been an honoured and (for aught Shirley knew to the contrary)welcome guest in the Penninton home one night, and the following day hadassaulted his host, committed great bodily injuries upon the latter'semployees for little or no reason save the satisfaction of an abominabletemper, made threats of further violence, declared his unfalteringenmity to her nearest and best-loved relative, and in the next breathhad had the insolence to prate of his respect and admiration for her.Indeed, in cogitating on this latter incongruity, Shirley recalledthat the extraordinary fellow had been forced rather abruptly to checkhimself in order to avoid a fervid declaration of love! And all of thisunder the protection of a double-bitted axe, one eye on her and theother on his enemies.

  However, all of these grave crimes and misdemeanors were reallyinsignificant compared with his crowning offense. What had infuriatedShirley was the fact that she had been at some pains to inform BryceCardigan that she loathed him--whereat he had looked her over coolly,grinned a little, and declined to believe her! Then, seemingly as iffate had decreed that her futility should be impressed upon her stillfurther, Bryce Cardigan had been granted an opportunity to save, ina strikingly calm, heroic, and painful manner, her and her uncle fromcertain and horrible death, thus placing upon Shirley an obligationthat was as irritating to acknowledge as it was futile to attempt toreciprocate.

  That was where the shoe pinched. Before that day was over she had beenforced to do one of two things--acknowledge in no uncertain terms herindebtedness to him, or remain silent and be convicted of having been,in plain language, a rotter. So she had telephoned him and purposelyleft ajar the door to their former friendly relations.

  Monstrous! He had seen the open door and deliberately slammed it in herface. Luckily for them both she had heard, all unsuspected by him as heslowly hung the receiver on the hook, the soliloquy wherein he gave hera pointed hint of the distress with which he abdicated--which knowledgewas all that deterred her from despising him with the fervour of a womanscorned.

  Resolutely Shirley set herself to the task of forgetting Bryce when,after the passage of a few weeks, she realized that he was quite sincerein his determination to forget her. Frequent glimpses of him on thestreets of Sequoia, the occasional mention of his name in the SequoiaSentinel, the very whistle of Cardigan's mill, made her task a difficultone; and presently in desperation she packed up and departed for anindefinite stay in the southern part of the State. At the end of sixweeks, however, she discovered that absence had had the traditionaleffect upon her heart and found herself possessed of a great curiosityto study the villain at short range and discover, if possible, what newrascality he might be meditating. About this time, a providential attackof that aristocratic ailment, gout, having laid Colonel Pennington low,she told herself her duty lay in Sequoia, that she had Shirley Sumner inhand at last and that the danger was over. In consequence, she returnedto Sequoia.

  The fascination which a lighted candle holds for a moth is too wellknown to require further elucidation here. In yielding one day to adesire to visit the Valley of the Giants, Shirley told herself that shewas going there to gather wild blackberries. She had been thinking ofa certain blackberry pie, which thought naturally induced reflectionon Bryce Cardigan and reminded Shirley of her first visit to the Giantsunder the escort of a boy in knickerbockers. She had a very vividremembrance of that little amphitheatre with the sunbeams falling likea halo on the plain tombstone; she wondered if the years had changed itall and decided that there could not possibly be any harm in indulging avery natural curiosity to visit and investigate.

  Her meeting with Moira McTavish that day, and the subsequentfriendship formed with the woods-boss's daughter, renewed all her oldapprehensions. On the assumption that Shirley and Bryce were practicallystrangers to each other (an assumption which Shirley, for obviousreasons, did not attempt to dissipate), Moira did not hesitate tomention Bryce very frequently. To her he was the one human being inthe world utterly worth while, and it is natural for women to discuss,frequently and at great length, the subject nearest their hearts. In thethree stock subjects of the admirable sex--man, dress, and the illsthat flesh is heir to--man readily holds the ascendancy; and by degreesMoira--discovering that Shirley, having all the dresses she required(several dozen more, in fact) and being neither subnormal mentally norfragile physically, gave the last two topics scant attention--formedthe habit of expatiating at great length on the latter. Moira describedBryce in minute detail and related to her eager auditor littleunconscious daily acts of kindness, thoughtfulness, or humour performedby Bryce--his devotion to his father, his idealistic attitude towardthe Cardigan employees, his ability, his industry, the wonderful carehe bestowed upon his fingernails, his marvellous taste in neckwear, theboyishness of his lighter and the mannishness of his serious moments.And presently, little by little, Shirley's resentment against him faded,and in her heart was born a great wistfulness bred of the hope that someday she would meet Bryce Cardigan on the street and that he would pause,lift his hat, smile at her his compelling smile and, forthwith proceedto bully her into being friendly and forgiving--browbeat her intoadmitting her change of heart and glorying in it.

  To this remarkable state of mind had Shirley Sumner attained at the timeold John Cardigan, leading his last little trump in a vain hope that itwould enable him to take the odd trick in the huge game he had playedfor fifty years, decided to sell his Valley of the Giants.

  Shortly after joining her uncle in Sequoia, Shirley had learned from theColonel the history of old man Cardigan and his Valley of the Giants,or as the townspeople called it, Cardigan's Redwoods. Therefore she wasfamiliar with its importance to the assets of the Laguna Grande LumberCompany, since, while that quarter-section remained the property of JohnCardigan, two thousand five hundred acres of splendid timber owned bythe former were rendered inaccessible. Her uncle had explained toher that ultimately this would mean the tying up of some two milliondollars, and inasmuch as the Colonel never figured less than five percent. return on anything, he was in this instance facing a net lossof one hundred thousand dollars for each year obstinate John Cardiganpersisted in retaining that quarter-section.

  "I'd gladly give him a hundred thousand for that miserable little dab oftimber and let him keep a couple of acres surrounding his wife's grave,if the old fool would only listen to reason," the Colonel had complainedbitterly to her. "I've offered him that price a score of times, and hetells me blandly the property isn't for sale. Well, he who laughs lastlaughs best, and if I can't get that quarter-section by paying more thanten times what it's worth in the open market, I'll get it some otherway, if it costs me a million."

  "How?" Shirley had queried at the time.

  "Never mind, my dear," he had answered darkly. "You wouldn't understandthe procedure if I told you. I'll have to run all around Robin Hood'sbarn and put up a deal of money, one
way or another, but in the endI'll get it all back with interest--and Cardigan's Redwoods! The old mancan't last forever, and what with his fool methods of doing business,he's about broke, anyhow. I expect to do business with his executor orhis receiver within a year."

  Shirley, as explained in a preceding chapter, had been present the nightJohn Cardigan, desperate and brought to bay at last, had telephonedPennington at the latter's home, accepting Pennington's last offer forthe Valley of the Giants. The cruel triumph in the Colonel's handsomeface as he curtly rebuffed old Cardigan had been too apparent for thegirl to mistake; recalling her conversation with him anent the impendingpossibility of his doing business with John Cardigan's receiver orexecutor, she realized now that a crisis had come in the affairs of theCardigans, and across her vision there flashed again the vision of BryceCardigan's homecoming--of a tall old man with his trembling arms claspedaround his boy, with grizzled cheek laid against his son's, as one who,seeking comfort through bitter years, at length had found it.

  Presently another thought came to Shirley. She knew Bryce Cardigan wasfar from being indifferent to her; she had given him his opportunityto be friendly with her again, and he had chosen to ignore her thoughsorely against his will. For weeks Shirley had pondered this mysteriousaction, and now she thought she caught a glimpse of the reasonunderlying it all. In Sequoia, Bryce Cardigan was regarded as the heirto the throne of Humboldt's first timber-king, but Shirley knew now thatas a timber-king, Bryce Cardigan bade fair to wear a tinsel crown. Wasit this knowledge that had led him to avoid her?

  "I wonder," she mused. "He's proud. Perhaps the realization that he willsoon be penniless and shorn of his high estate has made him chary ofacquiring new friends in his old circle. Perhaps if he were secure inhis business affairs--Ah, yes! Poor boy! He was desperate for fiftythousand dollars!" Her heart swelled. "Oh, Bryce, Bryce," she murmured,"I think I'm beginning to understand some of your fury that day in thewoods. It's all a great mystery, but I'm sure you didn't intend to beso--so terrible. Oh, my dear, if we had only continued to be the goodfriends we started out to be, perhaps you'd let me help you now. Forwhat good is money if one cannot help one's dear friends in distress.Still, I know you wouldn't let me help you, for men of your stamp cannotborrow from a woman, no matter how desperate their need. And yet--youonly need a paltry fifty thousand dollars!"

  Shirley carried to bed with her that night the woes of the Cardigans,and in the morning she telephoned Moira McTavish and invited the latterto lunch with her at home that noon. It was in her mind to questionMoira with a view to acquiring additional information. When Moira came,Shirley saw that she had been weeping.

  "My poor Moira!" she said, putting her arms around her visitor. "Whathas happened to distress you? Has your father come back to Sequoia?Forgive me for asking. You never mentioned him, but I have heard--There,there, dear! Tell me all about it."

  Moira laid her head on Shirley's shoulder and sobbed for severalminutes. Then, "It's Mr. Bryce," she wailed. "He's so unhappy.Something's happened; they're going to sell Cardigan's Redwoods; andthey--don't want to. Old Mr. Cardigan is home--ill; and just beforeI left the office, Mr. Bryce came in--and stood a moment looking--atme--so tragically I--I asked him what had happened. Then he patted mycheek--oh, I know I'm just one of his responsibilities--and said 'PoorMoira! Never any luck!' and went into his--private office. I waited alittle, and then I went in too; and--oh, Miss Sumner, he had his headdown on his desk, and when I touched his head, he reached up and took myhand and held it--and laid his cheek against it a little while--andoh, his cheek was wet. It's cruel of God--to make him--unhappy, He'sgood--too good. And--oh, I love him so, Miss Shirley, I love him so--andhe'll never, never know. I'm just one of his--responsibilities, youknow; and I shouldn't presume. But nobody--has ever been kind to me butMr. Bryce--and you. And I can't help loving people who are kind--andgentle to nobodies."

  The hysterical outburst over, Shirley led the girl to her cozysitting-room upstairs and prevailed upon the girl to put on one ofher own beautiful negligees. Moira's story--her confession of love,so tragic because so hopeless--had stirred Shirley deeply. She seatedherself in front of Moira and cupped her chin in her palm.

  "Of course, dear," she said, "you couldn't possibly see anybody youloved suffer so and not feel dreadfully about it. And when a man likeBryce Cardigan is struck down, he's apt to present rather a tragic andhelpless figure. He wanted sympathy, Moira--woman's sympathy, and it wasdear of you to give it to him."

  "I'd gladly die for him," Moira answered simply. "Oh, Miss Shirley, youdon't know him the way we who work for him do. If you did, you'd lovehim, too. You couldn't help it, Miss Shirley."

  "Perhaps he loves you, too, Moira." The words came with difficulty.

  Moira shook her head hopelessly. "No, Miss Shirley. I'm only one of hismany human problems, and he just won't go back on me, for old sake'ssake. We played together ten years ago, when he used to spend hisvacations at our house in Cardigan's woods, when my father waswoods-boss. He's Bryce Cardigan--and I--I used to work in the kitchen ofhis logging-camp."

  "Never mind, Moira. He may love you, even though you do not suspect it.You mustn't be so despairing. Providence has a way of working out thesethings. Tell me about his trouble, Moira."

  "I think it's money. He's been terribly worried for a long time, and I'mafraid things aren't going right with the business. I've felt eversince I've been there that there's something that puts a cloud over Mr.Bryce's smile. It hurts them terribly to have to sell the Valley of theGiants, but they have to; Colonel Pennington is the only one who wouldconsider buying it; they don't want him to have it--and still they haveto sell to him."

  "I happen to know, Moira, that he isn't going to buy it."

  "Yes, he is--but not at a price that will do them any good. They havealways thought he would be eager to buy whenever they decided to sell,and now he says he doesn't want it, and old Mr. Cardigan is ill overit all. Mr. Bryce says his father has lost his courage at last; and oh,dear, things are in such a mess. Mr. Bryce started to tell me all aboutit--and then he stopped suddenly and wouldn't say another word."

  Shirley smiled. She thought she understood the reason for that. However,she did not pause to speculate on it, since the crying need of thepresent was the distribution of a ray of sunshine to broken-heartedMoira.

  "Silly," she chided, "how needlessly you are grieving! You say my unclehas declined to buy the Valley of the Giants?"

  Moira nodded.

  "My uncle doesn't know what he's talking about, Moira. I'll see that hedoes buy it. What price are the Cardigans asking for it now?"

  "Well, Colonel Pennington has offered them a hundred thousand dollarsfor it time and again, but last night he withdrew that offer. Then theynamed a price of fifty thousand, and he said he didn't want it at all."

  "He needs it, and it's worth every cent of a hundred thousand to him,Moira. Don't worry, dear. He'll buy it, because I'll make him, and he'llbuy it immediately; only you must promise me not to mention a singleword of what I'm telling you to Bryce Cardigan, or in fact, to anybody.Do you promise?"

  Moira seized Shirley's hand and kissed it impulsively. "Very well,then," Shirley continued. "That matter is adjusted, and now we'll allbe happy. Here comes Thelma with luncheon. Cheer up, dear, and rememberthat sometime this afternoon you're going to see Mr. Bryce smile again,and perhaps there won't be so much of a cloud over his smile this time."

  When Moira returned to the office of the Cardigan Redwood LumberCompany, Shirley rang for her maid. "Bring me my motor-coat and hat,Thelma," she ordered, "and telephone for the limousine." She seatedherself before the mirror at her dressing-table and dusted her adorablenose with a powder-puff. "Mr. Smarty Cardigan," she murmured happily,"you walked rough-shod over my pride, didn't you! Placed me under anobligation I could never hope to meet--and then ignored me--didn't you?Very well, old boy. We all have our innings sooner or later, you know,and I'm going to make a substantial payment on that huge obligationas sure as my nam
e is Shirley Sumner. Then, some day when the sun isshining for you again, you'll come to me and be very, very humble.You're entirely too independent, Mr. Cardigan, but, oh, my dear, I dohope you will not need so much money. I'll be put to my wit's end to getit to you without letting you know, because if your affairs go to smash,you'll be perfectly intolerable. And yet you deserve it. You're such anidiot for not loving Moira. She's an angel, and I gravely fear I'm justan interfering, mischievous, resentful little devil seeking vengeanceon--"

  She paused suddenly. "No, I'll not do that, either," she soliloquized."I'll keep it myself--for an investment. I'll show Uncle Seth I'm abusiness woman, after all. He has had his fair chance at the Valleyof the Giants, after waiting years for it, and now he has deliberatelysacrificed that chance to be mean and vindictive. I'm afraid Uncle Sethisn't very sporty--after what Bryce Cardigan did for us that day thelog-train ran away. I'll have to teach him not to hit an old man whenhe's down and begging for mercy. _I_'LL buy the Valley but keep myidentity secret from everybody; then, when Uncle Seth finds a strangerin possession, he'll have a fit, and perhaps, before he recovers, he'llsell me all his Squaw Creek timber--only he'll never know I'm the buyer.And when I control the outlet--well, I think that Squaw Creek timberwill make an excellent investment if it's held for a few years. Shirley,my dear, I'm pleased with you. Really, I never knew until now why mencould be so devoted to business. Won't it be jolly to step in betweenUncle Seth and Bryce Cardigan, hold up my hand like a policeman, andsay: 'Stop it, boys. No fighting, IF you please. And if anybody wants toknow who's boss around here, start something.'"

  And Shirley laid her head upon the dressing-table and laughed heartily.She had suddenly bethought herself of Aesop's fable of the lion and themouse!

  When her uncle came home that night, Shirley observed that he waspreoccupied and disinclined to conversation.

  "I noticed in this evening's paper," she remarked presently, "that Mr.Cardigan has sold his Valley of the Giants. So you bought it, afterall?"

  "No such luck!" he almost barked. "I'm an idiot. I should be placed incharge of a keeper. Now, for heaven's sake, Shirley, don't discuss thattimber with me, for if you do, I'll go plain, lunatic crazy. I've had avery trying day."

  "Poor Uncle Seth!" she purred sweetly. Her apparent sympathy soothed hisrasped soul. He continued:

  "Oh, I'll get the infernal property, and it will be worth what I have topay for it, only it certainly does gravel me to realize that I am aboutto be held up, with no help in sight. I'll see Judge Moore to-morrow andoffer him a quick profit for his client. That's the game, you know."

  "I do hope the new owner exhibits some common sense, Uncle dear," shereplied, and turned back to the piano. "But I greatly fear," she addedto herself, "that the new owner is going to prove a most obstinatecreature and frightfully hard to discover."

  True to his promise, the Colonel called on Judge Moore bright and earlythe following morning. "Act Three of that little business drama entitled'The Valley of the Giants,' my dear Judge," he announced pleasantly. "Iplay the lead in this act. You remember me, I hope. I played a bit inAct Two."

  "In so far as my information goes, sir, you've been cut out of the castin Act Three. I don't seem to find any lines for you to speak."

  "One line, Judge, one little line. What profit does your client want onthat quarter-section?"

  "That quarter-section is not in the market, Colonel. When it is, I'llsend for you, since you're the only logical prospect should my clientdecide to sell. And remembering how you butted in on politics in thiscounty last fall and provided a slush-fund to beat me and place a crookon the Superior Court bench, in order to give you an edge in the manysuits you are always filing or having filed against you, I rise toremark that you have about ten split seconds in which to disappear frommy office. If you linger longer, I'll start throwing paper-weights." Andas if to emphasize his remark, the Judge's hand closed over one of thearticles in question.

  The Colonel withdrew with what dignity he could muster.