The Valley of the Giants

by Peter B. Kyne

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Having dispatched the Black Minorca to hold up the work until thearrival of reinforcements, Colonel Pennington fairly burned the streetsen route to his home. He realized that there would be no more sleepfor him that night, and he was desirous of getting into a heavy ulsterbefore venturing forth again into the night air.

  The violent slam with which he closed the front door after him broughtShirley, in dressing-gown and slippers, to the staircase.

  "Uncle Seth!" she called.

  "Here!" he replied from the hall below.

  "What's the matter?"

  "There's the devil to pay," he answered. "That fellow Cardigan is backof the N.C.O., after all, and he and Ogilvy have a gang of fiftymen down at the intersection of Water and B streets, cutting in ajump-crossing of our line."

  He dashed into the living room, and she heard him calling franticallyinto the telephone.

  "At last!" she murmured, and crept down the stairs, pausing behind theheavy portieres at the entrance to the living room.

  "That you, Poundstone?" she heard him saying rapidly into thetransmitter. "Pennington speaking. Young Bryce Cardigan is behind thatN.C.O. outfit, and it's a logging-road and not intended to build throughto Grant's Pass at all. Cardigan and Ogilvy are at Water and B streetsthis very instant with a gang of fifty men cutting in a jump-crossing ofmy line, curse them! They'll have it in by six o'clock to-morrow morningif something isn't done--and once they get it in, the fat's in the fire.

  "Telephone the chief of police and order him to take his entire forcedown there, if necessary, and stop that work. To blazes with thattemporary franchise! You stop that work for two hours, and I'll dothe rest. Tell the chief of police not to recognize that temporaryfranchise. He can be suspicious of it, can't he, and refuse to letthe work go on until he finds you? And you can be hard to find for twohours, can you not? Delay, delay, man! That's all I want... Yes, yes,I understand. You get down about daylight and roast the chief of policefor interfering, but in the meantime!... Thank you, Poundstone, thankyou. Good-bye."

  He stood at the telephone, the receiver still held to his ear and hisright forefinger holding down the hook while the line cleared. Whenhe spoke again, Shirley knew he was calling his mill-office. He got aresponse immediately, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour.

  "Sexton? Pennington speaking. I've sent over the Black Minorca with arifle and sixty rounds of ammunition... What? You can hear him shootingalready? Bully boy with a crockery eye! He'll clean that gang outand keep them from working until the police arrive. You've telephonedRondeau, have you?... Good! He'll have his men waiting at thelog-landing, and there'll be no delay. As soon as you've seen theswitch-engine started for the woods, meet me down at Water and Bstreets. Sexton, we've got to block them. It means a loss of millions tome if we fail!"

  Shirley was standing in the doorway as he faced about from thetelephone. "Uncle Seth," she said quietly, "use any honourable method ofdefeating Bryce Cardigan, but call off the Black Minorca. I shall holdyou personally responsible for Bryce Cardigan's life, and if you failme, I shall never forgive you."

  "Silly, silly girl!" he soothed her. "Don't you know I would not stoopto bush-whacking? There's some shooting going on, but its wild shooting,just to frighten Cardigan and his men off the job."

  "You can't frighten him," she cried passionately, "You know you can't.He'll kill the Black Minorca, or the Black Minorca will kill him. Goinstantly and stop it."

  "All right, all right!" he said rather humbly, and sprang down the frontsteps into the waiting car. "I'll play the game fairly, Shirley, neverfear."

  She stood in the doorway and watched the red tail-light, like amalevolent eye, disappear down the street. And presently as she stoodthere, down the boulevard a huge gray car came slipping noiselessly--sonoiselessly, in fact, that Shirley recognized it by that very quality ofsilence. It was Bryce Cardigan's Napier.

  "George!" she called. "Come here."

  The car slid over to the gate and stopped at the sight of the slim whitefigure running down the garden walk.

  "Is Mr. Cardigan hurt?" she demanded in an agony of suspense.

  George Sea Otter grunted contemptuously. "Nobody hurt 'cept the BlackMinorca. I am taking him to your company hospital, miss. He tried toshoot my boss, so I shoot him myself once through the leg. Now my bosssays: 'Take him to the Laguna Grande hospital, George.' Me, I would dropthis greaser in the bay if I was the boss."

  She laughed hysterically. "On your way back from the hospital stop andpick me up, George," she ordered. "This senseless feud has gone farenough. I must stop it--at once."

  He touched his broad hat, and she returned to the house to dress.

  Meanwhile Colonel Pennington had reached the crossing once more,simultaneously with the arrival of Sam Perkins, the chief of police,accompanied by two automobiles crammed with patrolmen. Perkins struttedup to Bryce Cardigan and Buck Ogilvy.

  "What's the meaning of all this row, Mr. Cardigan?" he demanded.

  "Something has slipped, Sam," Bryce retorted pleasantly. "You've beencalling me Bryce for the past twenty years, and now you're mistering me!The meaning of this row, you ask?" Bryce continued. "Well, I'm engagedin making a jump-crossing of Colonel Pennington's tracks, under atemporary franchise granted me by the city of Sequoia. Here's thefranchise." And he thrust the document under the police chief's nose.

  "This is the first I've heard about any franchise," Sam Perkins repliedsuspiciously. "Seems to me you been mighty secret about this job. How doI know this ain't a forgery?"

  "Call up the mayor and ask him," Bryce suggested.

  "I'll do that," quoth Mr. Perkins ponderously. "And in the meantime,don't do any more digging or rail-cutting." He hurried away to hisautomobile, leaving a lieutenant in charge of the squad.

  "Also in the meantime, young man," Colonel Pennington announced, "youwill pardon me if I take possession of my locomotive and flat-cars. Iobserve you have finished unloading those rails."

  "Help yourself, Colonel," Bryce replied with an assumption of heartinesshe was far from feeling.

  "Thank you so much, Cardigan." With the greatest good nature in life,Pennington climbed into the cab, reached for the bell-cord, and rangthe bell vigorously. Then he permitted himself a triumphant toot ofthe whistle, after which he threw off the air and gently opened thethrottle. He was not a locomotive-engineer but he had ridden in thecab of his own locomotive and felt quite confident of his ability in apinch.

  With a creak and a bump the train started, and the Colonel ran it slowlyup until the locomotive stood on the tracks exactly where Buck Ogilvyhad been cutting in his crossing; whereupon the Colonel locked thebrakes, opened his exhaust, and blew the boiler down. And when the lastounce of steam had escaped, he descended and smilingly accosted BryceCardigan.

  "That engine being my property," he announced, "I'll take the short endof any bet you care to make, young man, that it will sit on those tracksuntil your temporary franchise expires. I'd give a good deal to seeanybody not in my employ attempt to get up steam in that boiler until Igive the word. Cut in your jump-crossing now, if you can, you whelp, andbe damned to you. I've got you blocked!"

  "I rather imagine this nice gentleman has it on us, old dear," chirpedBuck Ogilvy plaintively. "Well! We did our damndest, which angelscan't do no more. Let us gather up our tools and go home, my son, forsomething tells me that if I hang around here I'll bust one of twothings--this sleek scoundrel's gray head or one of my bellicose veins!Hello! Whom have we here?"

  Bryce turned and found himself facing Shirley Sumner. Her tender lip wasquivering, and the tears shone in her eyes like stars. He stared at herin silence.

  "My friend," she murmured tremulously, "didn't I tell you I would notpermit you to build the N.C.O.?"

  He bowed his head in rage and shame at his defeat. Buck Ogilvy took himby the arm. "''Tis midnight's holy hour,'" he quoted, "'and silencenow is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er a still and pulseless world.'Bryce, old chap, this is
one of those occasions where silence is golden.Speak not. I'll do it for you. Miss Sumner," he continued, bowinggraciously, "and Colonel Pennington," favouring that triumphant rascalwith an equally gracious bow, "we leave you in possession of thefield--temporarily. However, if anybody should drive up in a hack andlean out and ask you, just tell him Buck Ogilvy has another trump tuckedaway in his kimono."

  Bryce turned to go, but with a sudden impulse Shirley laid her hand onhis arm--his left arm. "Bryce!" she murmured.

  He lifted her hand gently from his forearm, led her to the front ofthe locomotive, and held her hand up to the headlight. Her fingers werecrimson with blood.

  "Your uncle's killer did that, Shirley," he said ironically. "It's onlya slight flesh-wound, but that is no fault of your allies. Good-night."

  And he left her standing, pale of face and trembling, in the white glareof the headlight.