The Blazed Trail

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So far the affair had gone very well. It had depended on personal
exertions, and he had made it go. Now he was forced to rely on
outward circumstances. He argued that the up-river man would have
first to make his financial arrangements before he could buy in the
land, and this would give the landlooker a chance to get in ahead at
the office. There would probably be no difficulty about that. The
man suspected nothing. But Thorpe had to confess himself fearfully
uneasy about his own financial arrangements. That was the rub.
Wallace Carpenter had been sincere enough in his informal striking
of partnership, but had he retained his enthusiasm? Had second
thought convicted him of folly? Had conservative business friends
dissuaded him? Had the glow faded in the reality of his accustomed
life? And even if his good-will remained unimpaired, would he be
able, at such short notice, to raise so large a sum? Would he
realize from Thorpe's telegram the absolute necessity of haste?

At the last thought, Thorpe decided to send a second message from
the next station. He did so. It read: "Another buyer of timber on
same train with me. Must have money at nine o'clock or lose land."
He paid day rates on it to insure immediate delivery. Suppose the
boy should be away from home!

Everything depended on Wallace Carpenter; and Thorpe could not but
confess the chance slender. One other thought made the night seem
long. Thorpe had but thirty dollars left.

Morning came at last, and the train drew in and stopped. Thorpe,
being in the smoking car, dropped off first and stationed himself
near the exit where he could look over the passengers without being
seen. They filed past. Two only he could accord the role of master
lumbermen--the rest were plainly drummers or hayseeds. And in
these two Thorpe recognized Daly and Morrison themselves. They
passed within ten feet of him, talking earnestly together. At the
curb they hailed a cab and drove away. Thorpe with satisfaction
heard them call the name of a hotel.

It was still two hours before the Land Office would be open. Thorpe
ate breakfast at the depot and wandered slowly up Jefferson Avenue
to Woodward, a strange piece of our country's medievalism in modern
surroundings. He was so occupied with his own thoughts that for some
time he remained unconscious of the attention he was attracting.
Then, with a start, he felt that everyone was staring at him. The
hour was early, so that few besides the working classes were abroad,
but he passed one lady driving leisurely to an early train whose
frank scrutiny brought him to himself. He became conscious that his
broad hat was weather-soiled and limp, that his flannel shirt was
faded, that his "pepper and salt" trousers were patched, that
moccasins must seem as anachronistic as chain mail. It abashed him.
He could not know that it was all wild and picturesque, that his
straight and muscular figure moved with a grace quite its own and
the woods', that the bronze of his skin contrasted splendidly with
the clearness of his eye, that his whole bearing expressed the
serene power that comes only from the confidence of battle. The
woman in the carriage saw it, however.

"He is magnificent!" she cried. "I thought such men had died
with Cooper!"

Thorpe whirled sharp on his heel and returned at once to a boarding-
house off Fort Street, where he had "outfitted" three months before.
There he reclaimed his valise, shaved, clothed himself in linen and
cheviot once more, and sauntered slowly over to the Land Office to
await its opening.

Chapter XXIII

At nine o'clock neither of the partners had appeared. Thorpe entered
the office and approached the desk.

"Is there a telegram here for Harry Thorpe?" he inquired.

The clerk to whom he addressed himself merely motioned with his
head toward a young fellow behind the railing in a corner. The
latter, without awaiting the question, shifted comfortably and
replied:

"No."

At the same instant steps were heard in the corridor, the door opened,
and Mr. Morrison appeared on the sill. Then Thorpe showed the stuff
of which he was made.

"Is this the desk for buying Government lands?" he asked hurriedly.

"Yes," replied the clerk.

"I have some descriptions I wish to buy in."

"Very well," replied the clerk, "what township?"

Thorpe detailed the figures, which he knew by heart, the clerk took
from a cabinet the three books containing them, and spread them out
on the counter. At this moment the bland voice of Mr. Morrison made
itself heard at Thorpe's elbow.

"Good morning, Mr. Smithers," it said with the deliberation of the
consciously great man. "I have a few descriptions I would like to
buy in the northern peninsula."

"Good morning, Mr. Morrison. Archie there will attend to you.
Archie, see what Mr. Morrison wishes."

The lumberman and the other clerk consulted in a low voice, after
which the official turned to fumble among the records. Not finding
what he wanted, he approached Smithers. A whispered consultation
ensued between these two. Then Smithers called:

"Take a seat, Mr. Morrison. This gentleman is looking over these
townships, and will have finished in a few minutes."

Morrison's eye suddenly became uneasy.

"I am somewhat busy this morning," he objected with a shade of
command in his voice.

"If this gentleman---?" suggested the clerk delicately.

"I am sorry," put in Thorpe with brevity, "my time, too, is
valuable."

Morrison looked at him sharply.

"My deal is a big one," he snapped. "I can probably arrange with
this gentleman to let him have his farm."

"I claim precedence," replied Thorpe calmly.

"Well," said Morrison swift as light, "I'll tell you, Smithers.
I'll leave my list of descriptions and a check with you. Give me
a receipt, and mark my lands off after you've finished with this
gentleman."

Now Government and State lands are the property of the man who pays
for them. Although the clerk's receipt might not give Morrison a
valid claim; nevertheless it would afford basis for a lawsuit.
Thorpe saw the trap, and interposed.

"Hold on," he interrupted, "I claim precedence. You can give no
receipt for any land in these townships until after my business is
transacted. I have reason to believe that this gentleman and myself
are both after the same descriptions."

"What!" shouted Morrison, assuming surprise.

"You will have to await your turn, Mr. Morrison," said the clerk,
virtuous before so many witnesses.

The business man was in a white rage of excitement.

"I insist on my application being filed at once!" he cried waving
his check. "I have the money right here to pay for every acre of
it; and if I know the law, the first man to pay takes the land."

He slapped the check down on the rail, and hit it a number of times
with the flat of his hand. Thorpe turned and faced him with a steel
look in his level eyes.

"Mr. Morrison," he said, "you are quite right. The first man who
pays gets the land; but I have won the first chance to pay. You
will kindly step one side until I finish my business with Mr.
Smithers here."

"I suppose you have the amount actually with you," said the clerk,
quite respectfully, "because if you have not, Mr. Morrison's claim
will take precedence."

"I would hardly have any business in a land office, if I did not know
that," replied Thorpe, and began his dictation of the description as
calmly as though his inside pocket contained the required amount in
bank bills.

Thorpe's hopes had sunk to zero. After all, looking at the matter
dispassionately, why should he expect Carpenter to trust him, a
stranger, with so large a sum? It had been madness. Only the blind
confidence of the fighting man led him further into the struggle.
Another would have given up, would have stepped aside from the path
of this bona-fide purchaser with the money in his hand.

But Thorpe was of the kind that hangs on until the last possible
second, not so much in the expectation of winning, as in sheer
reluctance to yield. Such men shoot their last cartridge before
surrendering, swim the last ounce of strength from their arms
before throwing them up to sink, search coolly until the latest
moment for a way from the burning building,--and sometimes come
face to face with miracles.

Thorpe's descriptions were contained in the battered little note-
book he had carried with him in the woods. For each piece of land
first there came the township described by latitude and east-and-
west range. After this generic description followed another figure
representing the section of that particular district. So 49--17
W--8, meant section 8, of the township on range 49 north, 17 west.
If Thorpe wished to purchase the whole section, that description
would suffice. On the other hand, if he wished to buy only one
forty, he described its position in the quarter-section. Thus SW--
NW 49--17--8, meant the southwest forty of the northwest quarter of
section 8 in the township already described.

The clerk marked across each square of his map as Thorpe read them,
the date and the purchaser's name.

In his note-book Thorpe had, of course, entered the briefest
description possible. Now, in dictating to the clerk, he conceived
the idea of specifying each subdivision. This gained some time.
Instead of saying simply, "Northwest quarter of section 8," he made
of it four separate descriptions, as follows:--Northwest quarter of
northwest quarter; northeast of northwest quarter; southwest of
northwest quarter; and southeast of northwest quarter.

He was not so foolish as to read the descriptions in succession,
but so scattered them that the clerk, putting down the figures
mechanically, had no idea of the amount of unnecessary work he was
doing. The minute hands of the clock dragged around. Thorpe droned
down the long column. The clerk scratched industriously, repeating
in a half voice each description as it was transcribed.

At length the task was finished. It became necessary to type
duplicate lists of the descriptions. While the somnolent youth
finished this task, Thorpe listened for the messenger boy on the
stairs.

A faint slam was heard outside the rickety old building. Hasty
steps sounded along the corridor. The landlooker merely stopped
the drumming of his fingers on the broad arm of the chair. The
door flew open, and Wallace Carpenter walked quickly to him.

Thorpe's face lighted up as he rose to greet his partner. The
boy had not forgotten their compact after all.

"Then it's all right?" queried the latter breathlessly.

"Sure," answered Thorpe heartily, "got 'em in good shape."

At the same time he was drawing the youth beyond the vigilant
watchfulness of Mr. Morrison.

"You're just in time," he said in an undertone. "Never had so
close a squeak. I suppose you have cash or a certified check:
that's all they'll take here."

"What do you mean?" asked Carpenter blankly.

"Haven't you that money?" returned Thorpe quick as a hawk.

"For Heaven's sake, isn't it here?" cried Wallace in consternation.
"I wired Duncan, my banker, here last night, and received a reply
from him. He answered that he'd see to it. Haven't you seen him?"

"No," repeated Thorpe in his turn.

"What can we do?"

"Can you get your check certified here near at hand?"

"Yes."

"Well, go do it. And get a move on you. You have precisely until
that boy there finishes clicking that machine. Not a second longer."

"Can't you get them to wait a few minutes?"

"Wallace," said Thorpe, "do you see that white whiskered old lynx in
the corner? That's Morrison, the man who wants to get our land. If
I fail to plank down the cash the very instant it is demanded, he gets
his chance. And he'll take it. Now, go. Don't hurry until you get
beyond the door: then FLY!"

Thorpe sat down again in his broad-armed chair and resumed his
drumming. The nearest bank was six blocks away. He counted over
in his mind the steps of Carpenter's progress; now to the door, now
in the next block, now so far beyond. He had just escorted him to
the door of the bank, when the clerk's voice broke in on him.

"Now," Smithers was saying, "I'll give you a receipt for the
amount, and later will send to your address the title deeds of
the descriptions."

Carpenter had yet to find the proper official, to identify himself,
to certify the check, and to return. It was hopeless. Thorpe
dropped his hands in surrender.

Then he saw the boy lay the two typed lists before his principal,
and dimly he perceived that the youth, shamefacedly, was holding
something bulky toward himself.

"Wh--what is it?" he stammered, drawing his hand back as though from
a red-hot iron.

"You asked me for a telegram," said the boy stubbornly, as though
trying to excuse himself, "and I didn't just catch the name, anyway.
When I saw it on those lists I had to copy, I thought of this here."

"Where'd you get it?" asked Thorpe breathlessly.

"A fellow came here early and left it for you while I was sweeping
out," explained the boy. "Said he had to catch a train. It's yours
all right, ain't it?"

"Oh, yes," replied Thorpe.

He took the envelope and walked uncertainly to the tall window. He
looked out at the chimneys. After a moment he tore open the envelope.

"I hope there's no bad news, sir?" said the clerk, startled at the
paleness of the face Thorpe turned to the desk.

"No," replied the landlooker. "Give me a receipt. There's a
certified check for your money!"

Chapter XXIV

Now that the strain was over, Thorpe experienced a great weariness.
The long journey through the forest, his sleepless night on the
train, the mental alertness of playing the game with shrewd foes
all these stretched his fibers out one by one and left them limp.
He accepted stupidly the clerk's congratulations on his success,
left the name of the little hotel off Fort Street as the address
to which to send the deeds, and dragged himself off with infinite
fatigue to his bed-room. There he fell at once into profound
unconsciousness.

He was awakened late in the afternoon by the sensation of a strong
pair of young arms around his shoulders, and the sound of Wallace
Carpenter's fresh voice crying in his ears:

"Wake up, wake up! you Indian! You've been asleep all day, and I've
been waiting here all that time. I want to hear about it. Wake up,
I say!"

Thorpe rolled to a sitting posture on the edge of the bed, and
smiled uncertainly. Then as the sleep drained from his brain,
he reached out his hand.

"You bet we did 'em, Wallace," said he, "but it looked like a hard
proposition for a while."

"How was it? Tell me about it!" insisted the boy eagerly. "You
don't know how impatient I've been. The clerk at the Land Office
merely told me it was all right. How did you fix it?"

While Thorpe washed and shaved and leisurely freshened himself, he
detailed his experiences of the last week.

"And," he concluded gravely, "there's only one man I know or ever
heard of to whom I would have considered it worth while even to
think of sending that telegram, and you are he. Somehow I knew
you'd come to the scratch."

"It's the most exciting thing I ever heard of," sighed Wallace
drawing a full breath, "and I wasn't in it! It's the sort of thing
I long for. If I'd only waited another two weeks before coming
down!"

"In that case we couldn't have gotten hold of the money, remember,"
smiled Thorpe.

"That's so." Wallace brightened. "I did count, didn't I?"

"I thought so about ten o'clock this morning," Thorpe replied.

"Suppose you hadn't stumbled on their camp; suppose Injin Charley
hadn't seen them go up-river; suppose you hadn't struck that little
mill town JUST at the time you did!" marvelled Wallace.

"That's always the way," philosophized Thorpe in reply. "It's the
old story of 'if the horse-shoe nail hadn't been lost,' you know.
But we got there; and that's the important thing."

"We did!" cried the boy, his enthusiasm rekindling, "and to-night
we'll celebrate with the best dinner we ran buy in town!"

Thorpe was tempted, but remembered the thirty dollars in his pocket,
and looked doubtful.

Carpenter possessed, as part of his volatile enthusiastic temperament,
keen intuitions.

"Don't refuse!" he begged. "I've set my heart on giving my senior
partner a dinner. Surely you won't refuse to be my guest here, as I
was yours in the woods!"

"Wallace," said Thorpe, "I'll go you. I'd like to dine with you;
but moreover, I'll confess, I should like to eat a good dinner again.
It's been more than a year since I've seen a salad, or heard of
after-dinner coffee."

"Come on then," cried Wallace.

Together they sauntered through the lengthening shadows to a certain
small restaurant near Woodward Avenue, then much in vogue among
Detroit's epicures. It contained only a half dozen tables, but was
spotlessly clean, and its cuisine was unrivalled. A large fireplace
near the center of the room robbed it of half its restaurant air; and
a thick carpet on the floor took the rest. The walls were decorated
in dark colors after the German style. Several easy chairs grouped
before the fireplace, and a light wicker table heaped with magazines
and papers invited the guests to lounge while their orders were
being prepared.

Thorpe was not in the least Sybaritic in his tastes, but he could
not stifle a sigh of satisfaction at sinking so naturally into the
unobtrusive little comforts which the ornamental life offers to its
votaries. They rose up around him and pillowed him, and were grateful
to the tired fibers of his being. His remoter past had enjoyed these
things as a matter of course. They had framed the background to his
daily habit. Now that the background had again slid into place on
noiseless grooves, Thorpe for the first time became conscious that
his strenuous life had indeed been in the open air, and that the
winds of earnest endeavor, while bracing, had chilled. Wallace
Carpenter, with the poet's insight and sympathy, saw and understood
this feeling.

"I want you to order this dinner," said he, handing over to Thorpe
the card which an impossibly correct waiter presented him. "And I
want it a good one. I want you to begin at the beginning and skip
nothing. Pretend you are ordering just the dinner you would like
to offer your sister," he suggested on a sudden inspiration. "I
assure you I'll try to be just as critical and exigent as she would
be."

Thorpe took up the card dreamily.

"There are no oysters and clams now," said he, "so we'll pass
right on to the soup. It seems to me a desecration to pretend to
replace them. We'll have a bisque," he told the waiter, "rich and
creamy. Then planked whitefish, and have them just a light crisp,
brown. You can bring some celery, too, if you have it fresh and
good. And for entree tell your cook to make some macaroni au gratin,
but the inside must be soft and very creamy, and the outside very
crisp. I know it's a queer dish for a formal dinner like ours," he
addressed Wallace with a little laugh, "but it's very, very good.
We'll have roast beef, rare and juicy;--if you bring it any way but
a cooked red, I'll send it back;--and potatoes roasted with the meat
and brown gravy. Then the breast of chicken with the salad, in the
French fashion. And I'll make the dressing. We'll have an ice and
some fruit for dessert. Black coffee."

"Yes, sir," replied the waiter, his pencil poised. "And the wines?"

Thorpe ruminated sleepily.

"A rich red Burgundy," he decided, "for all the dinner. If your
cellar contains a very good smooth Beaune, we'll have that."

"Yes, sir," answered the waiter, and departed.

Thorpe sat and gazed moodily into the wood fire, Wallace respected
his silence. It was yet too early for the fashionable world, so the
two friends had the place to themselves. Gradually the twilight
fell; strange shadows leaped and died on the wall. A boy dressed
all in white turned on the lights. By and by the waiter announced
that their repast awaited them.

Thorpe ate, his eyes half closed, in somnolent satisfaction.
Occasionally he smiled contentedly across at Wallace, who smiled
in response. After the coffee he had the waiter bring cigars.
They went back between the tables to a little upholstered smoking
room, where they sank into the depths of leather chairs, and blew
the gray clouds of smoke towards the ceiling. About nine o'clock
Thorpe spoke the first word.

"I'm stupid this evening, I'm afraid," said he, shaking himself.
"Don't think on that account I am not enjoying your dinner. I
believe," he asserted earnestly, "that I never had such an altogether
comfortable, happy evening before in my life."

"I know," replied Wallace sympathetically.

"It seems just now," went on Thorpe, sinking more luxuriously into
his armchair, "that this alone is living--to exist in an environment
exquisitely toned; to eat, to drink, to smoke the best, not like a
gormand, but delicately as an artist would. It is the flower of our
civilization."

Wallace remembered the turmoil of the wilderness brook; the little
birch knoll, yellow in the evening glow; the mellow voice of the
summer night crooning through the pines. But he had the rare tact
to say nothing.

"Did it ever occur to you that what you needed, when sort of tired
out this way," he said abruptly after a moment, "is a woman to
understand and sympathize? Wouldn't it have made this evening
perfect to have seen opposite you a being whom you loved, who
understood your moments of weariness, as well as your moments of
strength?"

"No," replied Thorpe, stretching his arms over his head, "a woman
would have talked. It takes a friend and a man, to know when to
keep silent for three straight hours."

The waiter brought the bill on a tray, and Carpenter paid it.

"Wallace," said Thorpe suddenly after a long interval, "we'll
borrow enough by mortgaging our land to supply the working
expenses. I suppose capital will have to investigate, and that'll
take time; but I can begin to pick up a crew and make arrangements
for transportation and supplies. You can let me have a thousand
dollars on the new Company's note for initial expenses. We'll
draw up articles of partnership to-morrow."

Chapter XXV

Next day the articles of partnership were drawn; and Carpenter gave
his note for the necessary expenses. Then in answer to a pencilled
card which Mr. Morrison had evidently left at Thorpe's hotel in
person, both young men called at the lumberman's place of business.
They were ushered immediately into the private office.

Mr. Morrison was a smart little man with an ingratiating manner and
a fishy eye. He greeted Thorpe with marked geniality.

"My opponent of yesterday!" he cried jocularly. "Sit down, Mr.
Thorpe!
Although you did me out of some land I had made every preparation to
purchase, I can't but admire your grit and resourcefulness. How did
you get here ahead of us?"

"I walked across the upper peninsula, and caught a boat," replied
Thorpe briefly.

"Indeed, INDEED!" replied Mr. Morrison, placing the tips of his
fingers together. "Extraordinary! Well, Mr. Thorpe, you overreached
us nicely; and I suppose we must pay for our carelessness. We must
have that pine, even though we pay stumpage on it. Now what would
you consider a fair price for it?"

"It is not for sale," answered Thorpe.

"We'll waive all that. Of course it is to your interest to make
difficulties and run the price up as high as you can. But my time
is somewhat occupied just at present, so I would be very glad to
hear your top price--we will come to an agreement afterwards."

"You do not understand me, Mr. Morrison. I told you the pine is
not for sale, and I mean it."

"But surely--What did you buy it for, then?" cried Mr. Morrison,
with evidences of a growing excitement.

"We intend to manufacture it."

Mr. Morrison's fishy eyes nearly popped out of his head. He
controlled himself with an effort.

"Mr. Thorpe," said he, "let us try to be reasonable. Our case
stands this way. We have gone to a great deal of expense on
the Ossawinamakee in expectation of undertaking very extensive
operations there. To that end we have cleared the stream, built
three dams, and have laid the foundations of a harbor and boom.
This has been very expensive. Now your purchase includes most of
what we had meant to log. You have, roughly speaking, about three
hundred millions in your holding, in addition to which there are
several millions scattering near it, which would pay nobody but
yourself to get in. Our holdings are further up stream, and
comprise only about the equal of yours."

"Three hundred millions are not to be sneezed at," replied Thorpe.

"Certainly not," agreed Morrison, suavely, gaining confidence from
the sound of his own voice. "Not in this country. But you must
remember that a man goes into the northern peninsula only because
he can get something better there than here. When the firm of
Morrison & Daly establishes itself now, it must be for the last
time. We want enough timber to do us for the rest of the time we
are in business."

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