"This"--and he opened the wisp of paper the hide-out had given him
and laid it on the table. "There's strychnine enough in that to kill
a dozen horses. This was found under Bergstein's mattress--the rest of
it is in the gray horse's stomach." Then had followed the sum of his
discoveries in which, however, no mention was made of the hide-out's
help. That was too dangerous a secret to be entrusted to anyone not of
the woods.
These discoveries had revealed a condition of things Thayor little
dreamed of, and yet the facts were undeniable. Within the last month
two horses had died; another had gone so lame that he had been given
up as incurable. Leaks had also been frequent in expensive piping.
Moreover, the men had begun to complain of bad food at the lower
shanty; especially some barrels of corned beef and beans which were of
so poor a quality and in such bad condition that the shanty cook had
refused to serve them.
That not a word concerning these things had reached Thayor's ears was
owing, so Holcomb told him, to the influence of the trapper and the
Clown, who prevented the men from coming to him in open protest. In
the meantime he--Holcomb--had been secretly engaged in ferreting
out the proofs of a wholesale villainy at the bottom of which was
Bergstein. What he destroyed he replaced at such a good profit to
himself that he had, during his connection with Big Shanty, already
become exceedingly well off. Not content with laming and poisoning
dumb beasts to buy others at a fat commission, he had provided
condemned meat for the men under him at the lower shanty, had secretly
damaged thousands of dollars' worth of expensive plumbing, and
had sown hatred among the men against the man whose generosity had
befriended him. He had accomplished this systematically, little by
little, carrying his deeds clear from suspicion by a shrewdness and
daring that marked him a most able criminal. He had had freedom to do
as he pleased for months, and no profitable opportunity had escaped
him. These gains he had deposited in inconspicuous sums in rural
savings banks. What he did not deposit he had invested in timber
land. The evidence against him had been collected with care. Upon two
occasions Holcomb said he took the trapper with him as a witness. The
two had moved skilfully on, the trail of the culprit and had
watched him at work; once he was busy ruining a costly system of
water-filters. They had let him pass--he having stepped within a rod
of them unconscious of their presence.
* * * * *
With these facts before him Thayor came to an instant conclusion.
The result was that a little before noon on this same day--the day of
Sperry's departure--the owner of Big Shanty sent for Bergstein. Both
the trapper and Holcomb were present. Thayor stood beside the broad
writing table of his den as Bergstein entered; his manner was again
that of the polite, punctilious man of affairs; he was exceedingly
calm and exasperatingly pleasant. To all outward appearances the
black-bearded man, grasping his dusty derby in his hand, might
have been a paying teller summoned to the president's office for an
increase of salary.
"Mr. Bergstein" Thayor said, "dating from to-morrow, the 8th of
September, I shall no longer need your services. You may therefore
consider what business relations have existed between us at an end."
A sullen flash from the black eyes accompanied Bergstein's first
words, his clammy hand gripping the rim of the derby lined with soiled
magenta satin.
"See here, Mr. Thayor," the voice began, half snarl, half whine.
"That will do, Mr. Bergstein," returned Thayor briskly. "I believe
the situation is sufficiently clear to need no further explanation on
either your part or mine. I bid you good morning."
Bergstein turned, with the look of a trapped bear, to Holcomb and the
old man; what he saw in their steady gaze made him hesitate. He put
on his hat and walked out of the door without again opening his thick
lips.
"You ain't goin' to let him go free, be ye?" exclaimed the trapper
in astonishment. Holcomb started to speak, glancing hurriedly at the
retreating criminal.
"What he has taken from me," interrupted Thayor, "I can replace; what
he has taken from himself he can never replace." He turned to a small
mahogany drawer and extracted a thin, fresh box of Havanas. "Let us
forget," he said, as he pried open the fragrant lid. "Be tolerant,
Billy--be tolerant even of scoundrels," and he struck a match for the
trapper.
The news of Bergstein's discharge demoralized the gang at the lower
shanty. They no sooner heard of it than Thayor became a target for
their unwarranted abuse. I say "the news" since Bergstein did not put
in an appearance to officially announce it. His mismanagement of the
commissary department was laid at Thayor's door. The men's grumbling
had been of some weeks' duration; their opinions wavering, swaying
and settling under Bergstein's hypnotic popularity as easily as a
weather-vane in April. Nowhere had they earned as good wages as at
Big Shanty. They, too, looked at Thayor's purchase as a gold mine.
Morrison had done a thriving business with the stout little tumblers
with bottoms half an inch thick. Bergstein frequently treated--when
they growled over the bad food he treated liberally, and they forgot.
He blamed it on Thayor and they agreed. They made no secret of the
fact among themselves as well as outsiders, that if it were not for
the high wages they would have deserted in a body long ago; no lumber
boss they had ever known or worked for had dared feed them like this.
These lumber jacks were used to good, plain food and plenty of it.
It is needless to say neither the trapper nor the Clown complained.
They, like Holcomb, were fully aware of the fact that Bergstein was
playing a dangerous game. They were waiting for the _denouement_. At
times when the men gave vent to their grievances Hite Holt and Freme
Skinner did their level best to smooth things over; they did not want
to trouble Thayor.
The same afternoon of Bergstein's discharge the gang at the lower
shanty struck. The bar-room at Morrison's became packed. Little else
was talked of but the injustice of the owner of Big Shanty. Later in
the day a delegation of awkward, sinewy men came upon his veranda.
They were for the most part sober. It might be said they were the
soberest. Le Boeuf was among them. Men of the sea and men of the woods
air their grievances in the same way--a spokesman is indispensable.
This man's name was Shank Dollard--a man with a slow mind and a quick
temper. Their interview with Thayor was brief. His polite firmness and
his quiet manner made Shank Dollard lower his voice.
"I know precisely what you are going to say," Thayor began as the
deputation shuffled into his den. "In the first place I hear there has
been general dissatisfaction over the food at the lower shanty."
"You ain't fur from the p'int," blurted out Dollard; "it hain't been
fit to feed to a dog."
"One moment, Mr. Dollard--you will wait until I get through speaking,"
Thayor said as he lifted a pile of bills. "These," he went on, "are
the complete list of supplies since Bergstein took charge of your
commissary department. A glance at the items and their cost will, I
feel sure, force you men to acknowledge that they are the best money
can buy." He passed half the file to Dollard, the remainder he handed
to a big fellow next him for distribution. The totals alone were
startling.
"We hain't had a dollar's worth of them things, and you know it,"
Dollard exclaimed surlily, looking up suddenly, as he read.
"Of course you haven't," Thayor smiled in return, "and yet you censure
me for terminating my business relations with Bergstein--a man you men
unanimously chose."
There was an awkward pause and a sheepish look on the faces of the men
as they craned their corded, bronzed necks over the shoulders of those
who held the accounts.
"Wall, I swan!" drawled one.
"Reg'lar damned skin!" muttered another.
"I need not explain to you further," Thayor resumed, "that the
statements are pure forgeries. You will readily see that it was
Bergstein's method to open a small account at these reputable houses
and add the rest."
"I tink he been one beeg rascal--_hein_!" grinned Le Boeuf.
There were others present who were still unconvinced.
"Anything further, Mr. Dollard?" asked Thayor sharply.
"About this 'ere grub," returned the spokesman; "it ain't fit, I tell
ye, for a dog."
"It will be fit enough by to-morrow night," answered Thayor. "I have
attended to that by telegraph." There was a slight murmur of approval.
"See here, Mr. Thayor," resumed Dollard, gaining courage over the
promise of good food. "Maybe the food'll git so's we kin git along,
but you hain't been treatin' us no whiter 'n you're a mind to. We
ain't gittin' paid no more'n keep us out the poor-house."
"I goll, you're right, Shank Dollard," came from somewhere in the back
row.
"Ah!" exclaimed Thayor, "I was waiting for that. Where, may I ask,
have you received as high wages as I have paid you? Not even on a
river drive," he went on coolly--"dangerous work like that, I know,
commands a just reward."
"When we was to work for Morrison," interrupted a round-shouldered
lumber jack, "we--"
"You need not enlighten me with figures," resumed Thayor; "I have them
here," and he turned to a yellow pad. "When, I say, have you been paid
as much and as steadily?"
"That may be, but we ain't as satisfied over what we git as you be,"
retorted Shank Dollard.
"Then let me tell you plainly--and I wish you to understand me clearly
once for all," returned Thayor, glancing quickly into the faces of
the men before him, "you'll stay at Big Shanty for the wages you are
getting or you'll go. Moreover, the man that leaves my employ leaves
for good."
Again there was an awkward silence. Thayor turned, seated himself
promptly at his desk and began methodically filing away the forged
accounts in a pigeon hole. The men moved toward the open door leading
on to the veranda, muttering among themselves. Shank Dollard shot a
vicious glance at the man seated at his desk. To exit thus, beaten by
the truth, was not easy--a gentleman is always a difficult opponent.
"Good mornin'," he sneered as he started to follow the last man
through the door; "a hell of a lot you done for us."
"Good morning," returned Thayor, looking up--"and good-bye. You may go
to Holcomb, Dollard, for whatever is due you at once."
Dollard straightened aggressively and with an oath passed out,
slamming the door behind him. The closed door muffled somewhat the
grumbling from the group on the veranda. Now it increased, plentifully
interlarded with profanity.
Sam Thayor, sitting at his desk, did not move. He drew from a drawer
a packet of vouchers and began studying them, jotting the totals upon
the yellow pad. After a few moments the sound of heavy boots stamping
down the veranda steps reached his ears--grew fainter and died away.
Thayor started to rise. As he did so, his foot struck something heavy
and muscular beneath his desk; then a cold, wet muzzle touched his
hand.
It was the old dog.
He had been plainly visible from where the men stood during the entire
interview; he had arrived early, unperceived. The look in his brave,
gray eyes might have had something to do with Shank Dollard's exit.
On the other side of the closed door leading out to the living room,
Alice stood breathless for a quarter of an hour--listening.
She had passed a sleepless night; in the gray dawn she had left her
bed and taken a seat by the window. She had tried the balcony--but the
night air chilled her to the bone and she had gone back to bed, her
teeth chattering.
As she listened, her cheek close to the panel, straining her ears, her
heart beating fast with a dull throb, her hands like ice, there were
moments when she grew faint--the faintness of fear. Now and then she
managed to catch disconnected grumbling sentences; occasionally she
was enabled, through the glimmering light of the half-closed keyhole,
to distinguish with her strained, frightened eyes, the figure of her
husband speaking fearlessly as he flung his ultimatum in the faces of
the rough men in front of him. What manner of man was this whom she
had defied?
Suddenly an uncontrollable fear fell upon her; with a quick movement
she gathered her skirts about her and fled upstairs to her own room.
That night the photograph taken in Heidelberg, and all the letters
Sperry had written her, lay in ashes in her bedroom grate.