Checkmated
Charley was afoot very early next morning. At the usual time he flashed
out a wireless call for the Mortons, and the ranger himself answered. Mr.
Morton could now operate the wireless quite readily, though, of course,
with nothing like the skill his wife had acquired. He reported that he was
to return to duty the next morning, starting work, with a big crew, on a
six-foot fire-line along the summit of Old Ironsides. Charley was
overjoyed at the news. It meant that now he would have a chance to see
this friend from time to time.
Mr. Marlin had not said that he would come to see Charley this morning,
nor had he telephoned any message to that effect; but when Charley heard
the steady chugging of a motor in the valley below, he believed it must be
the forester. He was not quite certain, however, because the motor did not
seem to beat exactly like Mr. Marlin's. The dense foliage completely hid
the approaching car from view, so that Charley could not see what sort of
an automobile it was.
It mattered little to Charley, however, who it was. He was the soul of
hospitality, and at once he set some coffee to boiling for his approaching
visitor.
This proved to be the forester. He presently came puffing up the slope,
and after he had drunk some coffee and gotten his breath, the two men
began to plan how they should best watch Lumley. The logs must be checked
up carefully, yet it was desirable that no one see Charley measuring them.
Finally it was decided that each day Charley should measure them in the
early evening immediately after the last log truck had started away with
its load. There would be nobody around then, and Charley could easily
measure the day's cut and get home to his cabin before dark.
For an hour the two guardians of the forest discussed matters that pressed
for attention. Then the forester rose to go. "I have Lumley's report on
yesterday's cut," he said, "and if nobody is around when we reach the
skidways, we'll just check it up. We can drive out in a few minutes, but
you will have to walk back. Get your log-rule and come on." And they went
down the mountain to the end of the new road.
"Hello!" cried Charley in surprise, as he caught sight of the forester's
car. "You're driving a big truck, eh? I thought that motor didn't sound
like your Henry."
"Yes; there was a load of stuff to be hauled out for Jim's crew. He starts
work to-morrow. I killed two birds with one stone by bringing the stuff,
which I dumped at Jim's, and then coming on out here."
As they reached the car, Charley said, "It looks powerful."
"It's one of those old army trucks Uncle Sam gave us. Got a great battery
and tremendous power. Get in."
They climbed aboard. Mr. Marlin touched the starter and the engine began
to chug. He let in his clutch but the car would not move. The car happened
to be standing on a moist spot and its great weight had pressed the wheels
far down into the soft new road. Mr. Marlin threw on the power. The truck
jumped, something snapped sharply and a banging noise followed as the car
moved jerkily ahead.
"Thunderation!" cried the forester. "I've broken the differential. I bet
ten dollars on it." And investigation proved his diagnosis was correct. "I
suppose it will take all summer to get a new part," growled the forester.
"This truck will have to stand here idle until repairs come. But <i>we</i>
can't stand here idle. Come on."
They set off down the road. After a long hike they came to the skidways at
the main road. Nobody was in sight.
"We'll begin at one end and work toward the other until we hear somebody
coming. Then we'll have business elsewhere."
Pile by pile they scaled the logs, Charley using the log-rule under Mr.
Marlin's close observation, while the forester himself kept tally. Alone
in the big woods, they talked freely.
"Why do you suppose Lumley took a chance like this?" asked the forester.
"He might have known he'd get caught."
"Primarily because he wanted the money, of course," maintained Charley.
"But there's another thing that may play a part in the matter. Did you
know that Lumley's folks once owned this virgin timber?"
"I've heard that a generation or two back the Lumley family owned big
tracts of land hereabouts. Naturally some of that land would now be
included within the limits of the state's holdings."
"When I was living at Lumley's, he told me over and over about his
family's having owned this timber and his grandfather's having been
swindled out of it. He seemed to me to be mighty unreasonable about it. He
was awful sore, and said he'd be a millionaire to-day if he had all the
timber his grandfather owned and that it was his by rights, anyway. I
recall that he said the thought of anybody else's getting the money for
the timber made him almost want to commit murder."
The forester looked sober. "He's a bad egg," he said. "I really believe he
wouldn't hesitate to commit murder if he were cornered. You want to watch
him. We'll have to be mighty careful how we handle this business."
"Hark!" said Charley. "Isn't that the sound of a truck?" And as they
listened, faintly they could hear the sound of a motor.
"Probably a log truck coming for a load. If we'd had a few minutes more,
we could have completed the job. There are only two piles left. We'll just
disappear until this truck goes away. Then we can come back and finish."
The beating of the motor sounded louder. The two men moved toward the
forest. As they passed the farther end of the first unmeasured log pile,
the forester stopped in amazement. A man sat on the ground, leaning lazily
against the logs. It was the man Charley had seen that night at Lumley's.
"What are you doing here, Henry Collins?" demanded the forester sternly.
"I'm working for the lumber company," said the man, sullenly.
"You appear to be working hard," replied the forester scornfully.
"I help load the trucks," said the fellow, as the forester turned on his
heel and walked away, followed by Charley.
"You don't suppose that he could have heard what we said, do you?" asked
Charley, anxiously.
"Heard every word of it," replied the forester. "The jig is up. That was
Bill Collins' cousin and he's as crooked as Bill. Lumley will know what's
afoot as quick as Collins can get word to him. We've got to act quick.
There's a detail of state constabulary at Ironton, and they could get here
in a motor in thirty minutes if I could only telephone them. Why in
thunderation did I ever leave the office without my portable instrument?
The nearest 'phone is at Jim Morton's. It will take me three-quarters of
an hour at my best pace to make it. But it's the best I can do. I'll hike
for Jim's. You hustle back to your tower and keep a close watch on things.
I'll telephone you as soon as I can. We've got to step lively if we are to
catch that scoundrel Lumley."