The Blazed Trail

S >> Stewart Edward White >> The Blazed Trail

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26

Thorpe noticed a break in the man's voice, and glancing suddenly
toward him was astounded to catch his eyes brimming with tears.
Radway perceived the surprise.

"You know when I left Christmas?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I was gone two weeks, and them two weeks done me. We was going
slow enough before, God knows, but even with the rank weather and
all, I think we'd have won out, if we could have held the same gait."

Radway paused. Thorpe was silent.

"The boys thought it was a mighty poor rig, my leaving that way."

He paused again in evident expectation of a reply. Again Thorpe was
silent.

"Didn't they?" Radway insisted.

"Yes, they did," answered Thorpe.

The older man sighed. "I thought so," he went on. "Well, I didn't
go to spend Christmas. I went because Jimmy brought me a telegram
that Lida was sick with diphtheria. I sat up nights with her for
'leven days."

"No bad after-effects, I hope?" inquired Thorpe.

"She died," said Radway simply.

The two men tramped stolidly on. This was too great an affair for
Thorpe to approach except on the knees of his spirit. After a long
interval, during which the waters had time to still, the young man
changed the subject.

"Aren't you going to get anything out of M. & D.?" he asked.

"No. Didn't earn nothing. I left a lot of their saw logs hung up
in the woods, where they'll deteriorate from rot and worms. This is
their last season in this district."

"Got anything left?"

"Not a cent."

"What are you going to do?"

"Do!" cried the old woodsman, the fire springing to his eye. "Do!
I'm going into the woods, by God! I'm going to work with my hands,
and be happy! I'm going to do other men's work for them and take
other men's pay. Let them do the figuring and worrying. I'll boss
their gangs and make their roads and see to their logging for 'em,
but it's got to be THEIRS. No! I'm going to be a free man by the G.
jumping Moses!"

Chapter XIV

Thorpe dedicated a musing instant to the incongruity of rejoicing
over a freedom gained by ceasing to be master and becoming servant.

"Radway," said he suddenly, "I need money and I need it bad. I
think you ought to get something out of this job of the M. & D.--not
much, but something. Will you give me a share of what I can collect
from them?"

"Sure!" agreed the jobber readily, with a laugh. "Sure! But you won't
get anything. I'll give you ten per cent quick."

"Good enough!" cried Thorpe.

"But don't be too sure you'll earn day wages doing it," warned the
other. "I saw Daly when I was down here last week."

"My time's not valuable," replied Thorpe. "Now when we get to town
I want your power of attorney and a few figures, after which I will
not bother you again."

The next day the young man called for the second time at the little
red-painted office under the shadow of the mill, and for the second
time stood before the bulky power of the junior member of the firm.

"Well, young man, what can I do for you?" asked the latter.

"I have been informed," said Thorpe without preliminary, "that
you intend to pay John Radway nothing for the work done on the
Cass Branch this winter. Is that true?"

Daly studied his antagonist meditatively. "If it is true, what is
it to you?" he asked at length.

"I am acting in Mr. Radway's interest."

"You are one of Radway's men?"

"Yes."

"In what capacity have you been working for him?"

"Cant-hook man," replied Thorpe briefly.

"I see," said Daly slowly. Then suddenly, with an intensity of
energy that startled Thorpe, he cried: "Now you get out of here!
Right off! Quick!"

The younger man recognized the compelling and autocratic boss
addressing a member of the crew.

"I shall do nothing of the kind!" he replied with a flash of fire.

The mill-owner leaped to his feet every inch a leader of men. Thorpe
did not wish to bring about an actual scene of violence. He had
attained his object, which was to fluster the other out of his
judicial calm.

"I have Radway's power of attorney," he added.

Daly sat down, controlled himself with an effort, and growled out,
"Why didn't you say so?"

"Now I would like to know your position," went on Thorpe. "I am
not here to make trouble, but as an associate of Mr. Radway, I have
a right to understand the case. Of course I have his side of the
story," he suggested, as though convinced that a detailing of the
other side might change his views.

Daly considered carefully, fixing his flint-blue eyes unswervingly
on Thorpe's face. Evidently his scrutiny advised him that the young
man was a force to be reckoned with.

"It's like this," said he abruptly, "we contracted last fall with
this man Radway to put in five million feet of our timber, delivered
to the main drive at the mouth of the Cass Branch. In this he was
to act independently except as to the matter of provisions. Those
he drew from our van, and was debited with the amount of the same.
Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," replied Thorpe.

"In return we were to pay him, merchantable scale, four dollars a
thousand. If, however, he failed to put in the whole job, the
contract was void."

"That's how I understand it," commented Thorpe. "Well?"

"Well, he didn't get in the five million. There's a million and a
half hung up in the woods."

"But you have in your hands three million and a half, which under
the present arrangement you get free of any charge whatever."

"And we ought to get it," cried Daly. "Great guns! Here we intend
to saw this summer and quit. We want to get in every stick of
timber we own so as to be able to clear out of here for good and
all at the close of the season; and now this condigned jobber ties
us up for a million and a half."

"It is exceedingly annoying," conceded Thorpe, "and it is a good
deal of Radway's fault, I am willing to admit, but it's your fault
too."

"To be sure," replied Daly with the accent of sarcasm.

"You had no business entering into any such contract. It gave him
no show."

"I suppose that was mainly his lookout, wasn't it? And as I already
told you, we had to protect ourselves."

"You should have demanded security for the completion of the work.
Under your present agreement, if Radway got in the timber, you were
to pay him a fair price. If he didn't, you appropriated everything
he had already done. In other words, you made him a bet."

"I don't care what you call it," answered Daly, who had recovered
his good-humor in contemplation of the security of his position.
"The fact stands all right."

"It does," replied Thorpe unexpectedly, "and I'm glad of it. Now
let's examine a few figures. You owned five million feet of timber,
which at the price of stumpage" (standing trees) "was worth ten
thousand dollars."

"Well."

"You come out at the end of the season with three million and a
half of saw logs, which with the four dollars' worth of logging
added, are worth twenty-one thousand dollars."

"Hold on!" cried Daly, "we paid Radway four dollars; we could have
done it ourselves for less."

"You could not have done it for one cent less than four-twenty in
that country," replied Thorpe, "as any expert will testify."

"Why did we give it to Radway at four, then?"

"You saved the expense of a salaried overseer, and yourselves some
bother," replied Thorpe. "Radway could do it for less, because, for
some strange reason which you yourself do not understand, a jobber
can always log for less than a company."

"We could have done it for four," insisted Daly stubbornly, "but
get on. What are you driving at? My time's valuable."

"Well, put her at four, then," agreed Thorpe. "That makes your
saw logs worth over twenty thousand dollars. Of this value Radway
added thirteen thousand. You have appropriated that much of his
without paying him one cent."

Daly seemed amused. "How about the million and a half feet of ours
HE appropriated?" he asked quietly.

"I'm coming to that. Now for your losses. At the stumpage rate
your million and a half which Radway 'appropriated' would be only
three thousand. But for the sake of argument, we'll take the actual
sum you'd have received for saw logs. Even then the million and a
half would only have been worth between eight and nine thousand.
Deducting this purely theoretical loss Radway has occasioned you,
from the amount he has gained for you, you are still some four or
five thousand ahead of the game. For that you paid him nothing."

"That's Radway's lookout."

"In justice you should pay him that amount. He is a poor man. He
has sunk all he owned in this venture, some twelve thousand dollars,
and he has nothing to live on. Even if you pay him five thousand,
he has lost considerable, while you have gained."

"How have we gained by this bit of philanthropy?"

"Because you originally paid in cash for all that timber on the
stump just ten thousand dollars and you get from Radway saw logs to
the value of twenty," replied Thorpe sharply. "Besides you still
own the million and a half which, if you do not care to put them in
yourself, you can sell for something on the skids."

"Don't you know, young man, that white pine logs on skids will spoil
utterly in a summer? Worms get into em."

"I do," replied Thorpe, "unless you bark them; which process will
cost you about one dollar a thousand. You can find any amount of
small purchasers at reduced price. You can sell them easily at
three dollars. That nets you for your million and a half a little
over four thousand dollars more. Under the circumstances, I do not
think that my request for five thousand is at all exorbitant."

Daly laughed. "You are a shrewd figurer, and your remarks are
interesting," said he.

"Will you give five thousand dollars?" asked Thorpe.

"I will not," replied Daly, then with a sudden change of humor, "and
now I'll do a little talking. I've listened to you just as long as
I'm going to. I have Radway's contract in that safe and I live up
to it. I'll thank you to go plumb to hell!"

"That's your last word, is it?" asked Thorpe, rising.

"It is."

"Then," said he slowly and distinctly, "I'll tell you what I'll
do. I intend to collect in full the four dollars a thousand for the
three million and a half Mr. Radway has delivered to you. In return
Mr. Radway will purchase of you at the stumpage rates of two dollars
a thousand the million and a half he failed to put in. That makes
a bill against you, if my figuring is correct, of just eleven thousand
dollars. You will pay that bill, and I will tell you why: your
contract will be classed in any court as a gambling contract for lack
of consideration. You have no legal standing in the world. I call
your bluff, Mr. Daly, and I'll fight you from the drop of the hat
through every court in Christendom."

"Fight ahead," advised Daly sweetly, who knew perfectly well that
Thorpe's law was faulty. As a matter of fact the young man could
have collected on other grounds, but neither was aware of that.

"Furthermore," pursued Thorpe in addition, "I'll repeat my offer
before witnesses; and if I win the first suit, I'll sue you for the
money we could have made by purchasing the extra million and a half
before it had a chance to spoil."

This statement had its effect, for it forced an immediate settlement
before the pine on the skids should deteriorate. Daly lounged back
with a little more deadly carelessness.

"And, lastly," concluded Thorpe, playing his trump card, "the suit
from start to finish will be published in every important paper in
this country. If you do not believe I have the influence to do this,
you are at liberty to doubt the fact."

Daly was cogitating many things. He knew that publicity was the
last thing to be desired. Thorpe's statement had been made in
view of the fact that much of the business of a lumber firm is done
on credit. He thought that perhaps a rumor of a big suit going
against the firm might weaken confidence. As a matter of fact,
this consideration had no weight whatever with the older man,
although the threat of publicity actually gained for Thorpe what he
demanded. The lumberman feared the noise of an investigation solely
and simply because his firm, like so many others, was engaged at the
time in stealing government timber in the upper peninsula. He did
not call it stealing; but that was what it amounted to. Thorpe's
shot in the air hit full.

"I think we can arrange a basis of settlement," he said finally.
"Be here to-morrow morning at ten with Radway."

"Very well," said Thorpe.

"By the way," remarked Daly, "I don't believe I know your name?"

"Thorpe," was the reply.

"Well, Mr. Thorpe," said the lumberman with cold anger, "if at
any time there is anything within my power or influence that you
want--I'll see that you don't get it."

Chapter XV

The whole affair was finally compromised for nine thousand dollars.
Radway, grateful beyond expression, insisted on Thorpe's acceptance
of an even thousand of it. With this money in hand, the latter felt
justified in taking a vacation for the purpose of visiting his
sister, so in two days after the signing of the check he walked
up the straight garden path that led to Renwick's home.

It was a little painted frame house, back from the street, fronted
by a precise bit of lawn, with a willow bush at one corner. A white
picket fence effectually separated it from a broad, shaded, not
unpleasing street. An osage hedge and a board fence respectively
bounded the side and back.

Under the low porch Thorpe rang the bell at a door flanked by two
long, narrow strips of imitation stained glass. He entered then a
little dark hall from which the stairs rose almost directly at the
door, containing with difficulty a hat-rack and a table on which
rested a card tray with cards. In the course of greeting an elderly
woman, he stepped into the parlor. This was a small square apartment
carpeted in dark Brussels, and stuffily glorified in the bourgeois
manner by a white marble mantel-piece, several pieces of mahogany
furniture upholstered in haircloth, a table on which reposed a
number of gift books in celluloid and other fancy bindings, an
old-fashioned piano with a doily and a bit of china statuary, a
cabinet or so containing such things as ore specimens, dried
seaweed and coins, and a spindle-legged table or two upholding
glass cases garnished with stuffed birds and wax flowers. The
ceiling was so low that the heavy window hangings depended almost
from the angle of it and the walls.

Thorpe, by some strange freak of psychology, suddenly recalled a
wild, windy day in the forest. He had stood on the top of a height.
He saw again the sharp puffs of snow, exactly like the smoke from
bursting shells, where a fierce swoop of the storm struck the laden
tops of pines; the dense swirl, again exactly like smoke but now of
a great fire, that marked the lakes. The picture super-imposed
itself silently over this stuffy bourgeois respectability, like the
shadow of a dream. He heard plainly enough the commonplace drawl
of the woman before him offering him the platitudes of her kind.

"You are lookin' real well, Mr. Thorpe," she was saying, "an' I
just know Helen will be glad to see you. She had a hull afternoon
out to-day and won't be back to tea. Dew set and tell me about what
you've been a-doin' and how you're a-gettin' along."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Renwick," he replied, "I'll come back later.
How is Helen?"

"She's purty well; and sech a nice girL I think she's getting right
handsome."

"Can you tell me where she went?"

But Mrs. Renwick did not know. So Thorpe wandered about the maple-
shaded streets of the little town.

For the purposes he had in view five hundred dollars would be none
too much. The remaining five hundred he had resolved to invest in
his sister's comfort and happiness. He had thought the matter over
and come to his decision in that secretive, careful fashion so
typical of him, working over every logical step of his induction so
thoroughly that it ended by becoming part of his mental fiber. So
when he reached the conclusion it had already become to him an axiom.
In presenting it as such to his sister, he never realized that she
had not followed with him the logical steps, and so could hardly be
expected to accept the conclusion out-of-hand.

Thorpe wished to give his sister the best education possible in
the circumstances. She was now nearly eighteen years old. He
knew likewise that he would probably experience a great deal of
difficulty in finding another family which would afford the young
girl quite the same equality coupled with so few disadvantages.
Admitted that its level of intellect and taste was not high, Mrs.
Renwick was on the whole a good influence. Helen had not in the
least the position of servant, but of a daughter. She helped around
the house; and in return she was fed, lodged and clothed for nothing.

So though the money might have enabled Helen to live independently
in a modest way for a year or so, Thorpe preferred that she remain
where she was. His game was too much a game of chance. He might
find himself at the end of the year without further means. Above all
things he wished to assure Helen's material safety until such time
as he should be quite certain of himself.

In pursuance of this idea he had gradually evolved what seemed to him
an excellent plan. He had already perfected it by correspondence
with Mrs. Renwick. It was, briefly, this: he, Thorpe, would at
once hire a servant girl, who would make anything but supervision
unnecessary in so small a household. The remainder of the money he
had already paid for a year's tuition in the Seminary of the town.
Thus Helen gained her leisure and an opportunity for study; and
still retained her home in case of reverse.

Thorpe found his sister already a young lady. After the first
delight of meeting had passed, they sat side by side on the
haircloth sofa and took stock of each other.

Helen had developed from the school child to the woman. She was
a handsome girl, possessed of a slender, well-rounded form, deep
hazel eyes with the level gaze of her brother, a clean-cut patrician
face, and a thorough-bred neatness of carriage that advertised her
good blood. Altogether a figure rather aloof, a face rather
impassive; but with the possibility of passion and emotion, and
a will to back them.

"Oh, but you're tanned and--and BIG!" she cried, kissing her brother.
"You've had such a strange winter, haven't you?"

"Yes," he replied absently.

Another man would have struck her young imagination with the wild,
free thrill of the wilderness. Thus he would have gained her
sympathy and understanding. Thorpe was too much in earnest.

"Things came a little better than I thought they were going to,
toward the last," said he, "and I made a little money."

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she cried. "Was it much?"

"No, not much," he answered. The actual figures would have been so
much better! "I've made arrangements with Mrs. Renwick to hire a
servant girl, so you will have all your time free; and I have paid
a year's tuition for you in the Seminary."

"Oh!" said the girl, and fell silent.

After a time, "Thank you very much, Harry dear." Then after another
interval, "I think I'll go get ready for supper."

Instead of getting ready for supper, she paced excitedly up and down
her room.

"Oh, why DIDN'T he say what he was about?" she cried to herself.
"Why didn't he! Why didn't he!"

Next morning she opened the subject again.

"Harry, dear," said she, "I have a little scheme, and I want to see
if it is not feasible. How much will the girl and the Seminary cost?"

"About four hundred dollars."

"Well now, see, dear. With four hundred dollars I can live for a
year very nicely by boarding with some girls I know who live in a
sort of a club; and I could learn much more by going to the High
School and continuing with some other classes I am interested in
now. Why see, Harry!" she cried, all interest. "We have Professor
Carghill come twice a week to teach us English, and Professor
Johns, who teaches us history, and we hope to get one or two more
this winter. If I go to the Seminary, I'll have to miss all that.
And Harry, really I don't want to go to the Seminary. I don't think
I should like it. I KNOW I shouldn't."

"But why not live here, Helen?" he asked.

"Because I'm TIRED of it!" she cried; "sick to the soul of the
stuffiness, and the glass cases, and the--the GOODNESS of it!"

Thorpe remembered his vision of the wild, wind-tossed pines, and
sighed. He wanted very, very much to act in accordance with his
sister's desires, although he winced under the sharp hurt pang of
the sensitive man whose intended kindness is not appreciated. The
impossibility of complying, however, reacted to shut his real ideas
and emotions the more inscrutably within him.

"I'm afraid you would not find the girls' boarding-club scheme a
good one, Helen," said he. "You'd find it would work better in
theory than in practice."

"But it has worked with the other girls!" she cried.

"I think you would be better off here."

Helen bravely choked back her disappointment.

"I might live here, but let the Seminary drop, anyway. That would
save a good deal," she begged. "I'd get quite as much good out of
my work outside, and then we'd have all that money besides."

"I don't know; I'll see," replied Thorpe. "The mental discipline
of class-room work might be a good thing."

He had already thought of this modification himself, but with his
characteristic caution, threw cold water on the scheme until he
could ascertain definitely whether or not it was practicable. He
had already paid the tuition for the year, and was in doubt as to
its repayment. As a matter of fact, the negotiation took about two
weeks.

During that time Helen Thorpe went through her disappointment and
emerged on the other side. Her nature was at once strong and
adaptable. One by one she grappled with the different aspects of
the case, and turned them the other way. By a tour de force she
actually persuaded herself that her own plan was not really
attractive to her. But what heart-breaks and tears this cost her,
only those who in their youth have encountered such absolute
negations of cherished ideas can guess.

Then Thorpe told her.

"I've fixed it, Helen," said he. "You can attend the High School
and the classes, if you please. I have put the two hundred and
fifty dollars out at interest for you."

"Oh, Harry!" she cried reproachfully. "Why didn't you tell me
before!"

He did not understand; but the pleasure of it had all faded. She no
longer felt enthusiasm, nor gratitude, nor anything except a dull
feeling that she had been unnecessarily discouraged. And on his
side, Thorpe was vaguely wounded.

The days, however, passed in the main pleasurably for them both.
They were fond of one another. The barrier slowly rising between
them was not yet cemented by lack of affection on either side, but
rather by lack of belief in the other's affection. Helen imagined
Thorpe's interest in her becoming daily more perfunctory. Thorpe
fancied his sister cold, unreasoning, and ungrateful. As yet this
was but the vague dust of a cloud. They could not forget that, but
for each other, they were alone in the world. Thorpe delayed his
departure from day to day, making all the preparations he possibly
could at home.

Finally Helen came on him busily unpacking a box which a dray had
left at the door. He unwound and laid one side a Winchester rifle,
a variety of fishing tackle, and some other miscellanies of the
woodsman. Helen was struck by the beauty of the sporting implements.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried, "aren't they fine! What are you going to
do with them?"

"Going camping," replied Thorpe, his head in the excelsior.

"When?"

"This summer."

Helen's eyes lit up with a fire of delight. "How nice! May I go
with you?" she cried.

Thorpe shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, little girl. It's going to be a hard trip a long
ways from anywhere. You couldn't stand it."

"I'm sure I could. Try me."

"No," replied Thorpe. "I know you couldn't. We'll be sleeping
on the ground and going on foot through much extremely difficult
country."

"I wish you'd take me somewhere," pursued Helen. "I can't get
away this summer unless you do. Why don't you camp somewhere nearer
home, so I can go?"

Thorpe arose and kissed her tenderly. He was extremely sorry that
he could not spend the summer with his sister, but he believed
likewise that their future depended to a great extent on this very
trip. But he did not say so.

"I can't, little girl; that's all. We've got our way to make."

She understood that he considered the trip too expensive for them
both. At this moment a paper fluttered from the excelsior. She
picked it up. A glance showed her a total of figures that made her
gasp.

"Here is your bill," she said with a strange choke in her voice,
and left the room.

"He can spend sixty dollars on his old guns; but he can't afford
to let me leave this hateful house," she complained to the apple
tree. "He can go 'way off camping somewhere to have a good time,
but he leaves me sweltering in this miserable little town all
summer. I don't care if he IS supporting me. He ought to. He's
my brother. Oh, I wish I were a man; I wish I were dead!"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26