THE RANCHER'S ANSWER
It was a Saturday evening, and Barbison, the fruit-tree drummer, felt
that he had chosen a fitting time to introduce the business which had
brought him there, as he sat amidst a cluster of bush-ranchers on the
veranda of the little wooden hotel. It stood beside a crystal river in a
lonely settlement, with the dark coniferous forest rolling close up to
it. There were, however, wide gaps in the firs in front of the veranda,
with tall, split fences, raised to keep the deer out, straggling athwart
them amidst the pale-green of the oats, while here and there one could
see an axe-built log-house embowered in young orchard trees. A trail led
past the hotel, rutted by the wooden runners of jumper-sleds and
ploughed up by the feet of toiling oxen and pack-horses. It led back in
one direction through shadowy forest to the Dunsmore railroad, thirty
miles away, and in the other to the deep inlet where the _Shasta_ lay.
The ranchers, however, usually reached the latter by canoe, because the
trail was as bad as most of the others are in that country.
On the evening in question there was a little stir in the sleepy place,
for the mounted mail-carrier, who accomplished the journey weekly, had
come in, and hard-handed, jean-clad men had plodded down from lonely
clearings among the enfolding hills to inquire for letters, purchase
stores, and ask each other whether the Government meant to make a
wagon-road or do anything at all for them. The question was, however,
not quite so important as usual just then, for private enterprise had,
as not infrequently happens, undertaken the Government's
responsibilities, and the ranchers were conscious of a certain gratitude
to the _Shasta_ Shipping Company. Thirty miles over mountains is rather
a long way to convey one's produce and supplies.
A select company of deeply bronzed and wiry men who had tried to do it
with pack-horses as well as oxen and jumper-sledges sat listening to
Barbison, apparently with grave attention, while another entertainment
was being prepared for them. Two of their comrades, stripped to their
blue shirts and old jean trousers, were then engaged in grubbing a very
big fir-stump in front of the veranda--that is, clearing out the soil
from beneath it, and cutting through the smaller roots with an
instrument which much resembled a ship carpenter's adze. It is in
general use on the Pacific Slope, where the process of making a
bush-ranch seldom varies greatly. The rancher purchases the raw
material, thin red soil covered with tremendous forest, as cheaply as he
can, and at the cost of several years' strenuous toil hews down a few
acres of the latter. Then he proceeds to burn up the logs, and there are
left rows of unsightly stumps rising four to six feet above the ground,
which he laboriously ploughs around. When he has garnered a crop or two
he usually attacks these in turn--that is, if they show no sign of
rotting; and to grub out a big one and haul it clear with oxen
frequently costs him at least a day.
Barbison, who watched the proceedings with the rest, was aware of this,
but he did not know that the man who sat smoking on a big mechanical
appliance of the screw-jack order was the _Shasta_'s engineer. It was
also somewhat curious, since he had contrived to mention her several
times, that his companions had not thought it worth while to acquaint
him with the fact, but left him to suppose the gentleman in question was
traveling the country on behalf of the manufacturers of the American
stump-grubber. In the meanwhile Barbison discoursed glibly about
fruit-trees and produce prices, and pointed now and then to a big tin
case partly filled with desiccated fruits and pictures which lay on a
chair beside him. He was a little, dapper man, evidently from the
cities, and by no mean disingenuous, though he was apparently young. He
turned when a big quiet rancher picked up and gravely munched a fine
Californian plum.
"Oh, let up!--that's the third," he said. "How can I sell trees on my
samples when the boys have eaten them?"
The man looked at him stolidly. "It's high-grade fruit," he said. "How'd
you start those plum-trees bearing?--they're quite a long while showing
a flower or two. Cut them hard when the frost lets up in spring?"
"Quite hard!" said Barbison, for one must make a venture now and then;
and none of his companions showed any astonishment, though fruit is
freely raised in that country, and the trees that grow the kind with
stones in it resent the use of the pruning knife, as everybody who has
much to do with them knows.
"Juss so!" said the rancher. "Boys, you cut them--hard. Now, those
apples. S'pose you had good parent stocks, could you bud on to them--and
how'd you do it? Guess that would suit some sorts better than
whip-grafting."
One might have fancied that Barbison was for a moment a trifle
disconcerted, but he smiled airily. "Just how you'd bud on anything
else. I'd wax the thread."
"You hear him, boys?" said the rancher. "What you want to do is to wax
your thread."
They were very quiet, but perhaps not unusually so, for the clearers of
those forests are, except on occasion, generally silent men. Barbison
looked at them reflectively.
"Raising the fruit's only half the trouble, anyway," he said. "The big
question everywhere is how to put it on the market; and if I can be of
any use in that direction, you have only to command me. Seems to me the
Government's tired of making roads."
"What's the matter with the steamboat?" asked somebody. "Never had no
trouble since we hauled our stuff down to the _Shasta_."
Barbison's smile was sympathetic now. "I guess you're not going to haul
your stuff down to her very much longer. She's played out, and run by
little, struggling men who can't get credit for the patching up that
ought to be done on her, and who'll have nothing to meet claims with if
she breaks down and spoils your freight some day. That's a sure thing.
From what I heard in Vancouver, the bottom's just ready to drop out of
the concern. You want to think of that. Creditors have a lien on
freight, too, when a boat's held up for debt."
"Then if I sent down my potatoes or fat steers in her, somebody could
seize them for the money the company owed?" asked another rancher.
"That's the law," said Barbison, and there was nothing in his
companions' manner to suggest that they did not in the least believe
him. "Now, there's some talk about another firm putting a smart new boat
on. Plenty money behind that crowd, and when she comes round it might
suit you considerably better to make a deal with them."
"Who's running the thing?"
"Man called Merril. Enterprising man. When he takes hold he makes things
hum. If it were necessary to start a trade, he'd 'most carry your stuff
for nothing."
"Juss so!" said the big rancher. "Kind of philanthropist. I've heard of
him."
The man's face was vacantly expressionless, but Barbison, who glanced at
him sharply, fancied that he had said enough on the subject. He had
visited most of the settlements that could be reached from the coast,
and had never neglected an opportunity for dropping a word about the
_Shasta_ and the new boat.
"Where's that stump-grubber fellow from?" he asked.
"Don't quite know," said one of the others. "Strikes me as an Ontario
Scotchman. But the machine's an American notion; never saw one quite
like it before."
The man in question stood up just then. He was big and gaunt and pale,
but he wore ordinary city clothes, and when he and the others had
inserted the screw-jack contrivance on a strip of thick planking under
the sawn-off tree, he turned to the assembly.
"There are quite a few stump-pullers, and I've struck benighted men who
used the chain-tackle tripod," he said. "I'm not saying it's
inefficient, for when you put sufficient pressure upon the winch and it
will not pull the stump up, it will pull the tripod down upon your head.
This one pulls up all the time, and something has got to come if you
work hard enough." Then he raised his hand to his two companions. "You
look fit and strong. Show them you can heave."
They drew the sliding bar up to the head of the thing, and pulled it
toward them several times, while their faces grew suffused and the veins
rose gorged on their foreheads, for men in that country are proud of
their vigor. There was a slow cracking and tearing of roots, but the
great stump still stood immovable. Then the _Shasta_'s engineer inquired
what they fed upon, and their comrades flung them sardonic
encouragement, while as they gasped and strained their muscles the screw
slid slowly, turn by turn, through its socket. At last there was a sharp
rending and a little murmur of applause as the big stump tilted and fell
over on its side. Then the big rancher stood up on the veranda.
"It's smart work, but Dave and Charley are two of the smartest men round
this settlement, and we want to test the thing in every way," he said.
"There's another stump yonder, and I guess Mr. Fleming will put up a
bottle of whisky for any three men who will knock five minutes off the
record. We'll put Mr. Barbison and Jasper in to show what men who don't
grub stumps can do."
There was a little laughter, for if Jasper, who slowly took off his
jacket, was not accustomed to stump-grubbing, he was at least a man of
splendid physique, and Barbison felt uneasy when he laid a great hand on
his shoulder.
"Come right along," he said; "we've got to get that whisky."
Barbison's protests were not listened to, and, seeing no help for it, he
also flung off his jacket, when the big rancher firmly led him down the
stairway. Then they gave him a shovel, and his two companions saw that
he used it while they plied the grub-hoe. There are, however, probably
very few men reared in the city who could work with the tireless axemen
of the Pacific Slope, and in ten minutes Barbison was visibly
distressed. The perspiration dripped from his flushed face, and he
gasped for breath, while his comrades inquired with ironical solicitude
whether he were getting sleepy. When he had excavated enough to satisfy
them, they made him crawl into the hole and claw out soil from among the
roots with shortened shovel, most of the contents of which fell all over
him. They kept him at it mercilessly for over half an hour, and when he
crept out his hands were raw and he was aching in every limb. Even then
there was no respite, for the rest insisted on his participating in
their labors at the lever, and contrived to allow him to do considerably
more than his share. At last, however, the great stump rose and tilted,
and he was escorted back to the hotel amidst acclamation.
"Well," said the big rancher, "if you can work like that, why in the
name of thunder do you want to be a fruit-tree peddler? It's quite hard
to believe you are one. You don't look like it, anyway."
Barbison certainly did not, for he had burst a seam of one of his
garments during his efforts, while the red soil that had smeared them
freely was on his dripping face and in his ruffled hair. He flung a
swift glance at the man as he realized that his observation was
apposite. There was, however, nothing suspicious in the rancher's
attitude, and the others laughed in the soft fashion peculiar to the
bushman.
"Anyway, he deserves the whisky," said one of them.
It was duly brought, and, though those ranchers are for the most part
abstemious men, other bottles made their appearance in turn, and
Barbison braced himself for an effort to maintain his credit as one of
The Boys. He had not found this very difficult in the city saloons, but
the bushman who lives with Spartan simplicity and toils amidst the
life-giving fragrance of the pines twelve hours every day usually
possesses a nerve and constitution that will withstand almost anything.
Besides, there was only one Barbison and a good many of them. It was
therefore not altogether astonishing that by and by the drummer's
observations grew a trifle incoherent, until at last his companions
grinned at one another when with a visible effort he raised himself
shakily to his feet.
"Something wrong with that whisky, boys; I can't quite talk the way I
want. Guess I'll go to sleep," he said. "Anyway, you stand by Merril.
He'll carry your freight for nothing, and run the _Shasta_ men to----"
After that he said nothing further, but lowered himself carefully into
his chair, and collapsed with his arms flung out before him across the
table. Then the rest proceeded to hold a court-martial over him.
"Seems to me he knows a blame sight more about Mr. Merril and the
_Shasta_ than he does about fruit-trees," said the big rancher. "Boys,
you cut those plums--hard--and always put wax on the string. Oh, yes,
you're innocent bushmen being played for suckers by a smart city man!
Guess one would wonder when they took the long clothes off him. If that
last advice he gave you wasn't quite enough, I see a book in his pocket
with a silver-headed pencil strapped to it."
One of them promptly took it out, and flicking over the pages, read,
"'Six fathoms right up to the old sawmill wharf. Worth while to tow the
schooner in and leave her to load. Nothing to be had at Trevor. Siwash
deck passengers at Tyler's. Sprotson men have odds and ends, but seem
stuck on the _Shasta_.'"
He closed the book with a sharp snap, and grinned at the rest. "Well,"
he said reflectively, "that's 'bout enough for me. I'm stuck on the
_Shasta_, too. Seems to me the men who run her mean to do the straight
thing by us."
The rest concurred with this, and several of them instanced cases where
carriers had in due time put the screw upon producers who had been
supinely content to pocket a big rebate until there was no longer any
competition. The rancher with the notebook smiled at them.
"Then we've no use round here for a man like Mr. Barbison," he said.
"The one question is--what we're going to do with him before we start
him back to the blame philanthropist who sent him?"
They made ingenious suggestions, which varied from painting him with
red-lead to teaching him to swim; but it was the one offered by Fleming
of the _Shasta_ that most pleased them.
"What he wants is exercise, and if you will bring him off to the steamer
I'll see he gets it," he said. "I've quite a few tons of coal to trim,
and there's a pile of old grease he could clean out of her bilges."
"The blame insect will offer to pay his passage when he comes round,"
said one of the company.
"That is easily fixed," said another, who had been rummaging Barbison's
pockets. "See this wallet, Jake? Well, you're going in to the railroad,
and you'll express it to Mr. Merril, care of the fruit agency, with a
line to say the gentleman was sick and left it behind him. That strike
you all as workable? Then all we have to do is to decorate him."
They did it as well as they were able, and four of them afterward
carried him to a Siwash canoe. They had some difficulty in doing it, and
fell down once or twice on the way; but just before the _Shasta_ went to
sea Barbison was put aboard her, with his face rouged with red-lead and
a garland of cedar sprays about his head. It was almost dark then.
Wheelock was on his bridge, the deck-hands were busy stowing the anchor,
and as the two ranchers who brought the drummer laid him beneath a boat
where he tranquilly resumed his sleep, some little time had passed
before anybody concerned himself about him. Then a grinning seaman
brought Jimmy down from his bridge, and held up a lantern while he gazed
in blank astonishment at his prostrate passenger.
"Tell Mr. Fleming I want him. He was ashore," he said.
The engineer came, and smiled when Jimmy turned to him.
"If you can tell me what the meaning of this is, I should be obliged,"
he said.
"Well," said Fleming reflectively, "there are maybe two or three. For
one thing, I'm thinking it's a hint that the boys ashore are standing by
you. There's a note they sent off in your room."
Jimmy told the seaman to bring it, and, while the latter turned the
light upon the strip of paper, read: "Hasn't a dollar on him, and
belongs to a man called Merril, who's on your trail. We recommend a
course of shoveling coal. All you have to do is to play a straight game
with the boys, and they'll stand behind you all the time."
Then he turned to Fleming. "I fancy you could give me an explanation,
and I'd like to have it."
Fleming told him as much as it appeared desirable that he should know,
and Jimmy smiled grimly.
"Wake him up," he said. "There's a bucket yonder."
The seaman made a vigorous use of it, and Barbison raised himself on one
elbow, drenched and spluttering.
"Throw any more water, and I'll kill somebody! I'm dangerous when I'm
mad," he said.
"Get up!" said Jimmy sharply. "What are you doing here?"
Barbison, who endeavored unsuccessfully to get up, did not seem to know,
and apparently abandoned the attempt to think it out. His scattered
senses, however, came back to him after the application of more cold
water.
"How much you want--take me to Victoria?" he gasped.
"One hundred dollars," said Jimmy dryly.
The passenger expostulated in a half-coherent fashion, and then,
apparently realizing that it was useless, fumbled for his wallet. He
clenched his fist when he could not find it.
"Stole it--and my tin case," he said. "Ate up all my samples--must have
ate the case, too, the--hungry hogs."
"Then you'll have to work your passage;" and Jimmy turned to Fleming.
"You'll take care he earns it. Don't quite kill the man."
Barbison, who seemed to understand this, at last got on his feet and
unloosed a flood of invective which had no effect on any of his
listeners. Several deck-hands were, however, needed before he was
conveyed into the stokehold and left in front of a bunker with a shovel
in his hand. He assured Fleming that nothing would induce him to work,
and the engineer only grinned, because it was a long way to Victoria,
and the _Shasta_ had several calls to make. Barbison seemed to fancy
that his firmness had proved sufficient, and, coiling himself up amidst
the coal, once more went to sleep. He awakened hungry, and Fleming
smiled again when he demanded food.
"If you'll lift those floor-plates you'll see the spaces between her
frames choked with coal-grit and grease," he said. "It's possible you'll
get some breakfast when you've scraped them clean. Then it will depend
on how much coal you trim out of that bunker whether you get any
dinner."
Barbison looked hard at the man, and saw he meant what he said. Then he
pulled up a floor-plate and looked at the filthy mass of coagulated
grease that had drained from the engine-room.
"And how'm I to get it out?" he asked.
"Quite easy," said Fleming dryly. "What's the matter with your hands?"
Then he went away and left Barbison to his task. It was a particularly
repulsive one, but he accomplished it, and spent most of the next few
days trimming coal, waiting on the fireman, and cleaning out an empty
coal-bunker on his hands and knees. It is probable that the sight of
Victoria filled him with ineffable relief, and it certainly was not
Fleming's fault if this were not the case. As they steamed into the
harbor Jimmy sent for him.
"I think you have earned your passage, and we're straight," he said.
"You can go ashore when we get in."
Barbison glanced down at his dilapidated attire. "Can I go ashore this
way? I'll ask you a favor. Let me stay until it's dark."
Jimmy laughed. "Well," he said, "as I scarcely think Mr. Merril will
send you back again, you may."