CEDAR LOGS.
Ludwig was humped up on a speeder, while the rain beat against his face
and ran in a steady stream down the gleaming slicker he was wearing. The
speeder stopped at Black Lake and Ludwig ran for the shelter of the
lodge. His mill foreman was already there. He had been marking certain
logs that were to be cut later.
“South fork’s rising,” he shouted above the rattle of rain on the cedar
roof. “Never saw it come up so fast. That snow’s sure going off fast!”
“Heard from Bull this morning?”
“No, guess the line’s down. Couldn’t get a rise out of him!” The
foreman, a man named Secord, limped toward the telephone.
“How’s the foot?”
“Thought it might be blood poison, it was bad for a long time, but it’s
better. Todd drove his calks right into my instep that night. Left his
brand all right. I’ve got to get him for that. Seen the kid?”
“Yes,” Ludwig answered, “he’s with us!”
“Should think he would be, after what Todd did to him. If he’d of got
blood poison in that chest—good night. Queer Bull don’t answer!”
As he hung up, the telephone rang. Secord answered. “The devil you say.
I’ll tell the boss, he’s right here!” He hung up and turned to Ludwig.
“A big gang from Lowe’s mill left before daylight. They must be headed
this way. The mill’s shut down!”
“We’re ready for them!” Ludwig indicated a shed on the opposite side of
the lake, filled with rough men, smoking. “Let ’em come! That stream’s
sure rising. Hear her roar?”
“Water’s got to go some place,” Secord returned, “there’s a pile of snow
in those mountains; the sides are steep and water comes down fast.”
A current had already appeared in the lake, which was long and very
narrow! The logs were moving slowly toward the other end. At this point
there was something of a narrow neck and the water moved fast and
disappeared in the outlet.
Abrupt activity among the men in the shed caused Ludwig to hurry across
the bridge to the other side. A man met him half way. “Mr. Ludwig, Bull
Yates’s body was found a half hour ago in the stream. Four of the boys
are bringing it in.”
“The devil!” A shade of worry passed over Ludwig’s face. “Any marks on
the body?”
“Only the calk marks he got that night in the fight with Todd. Todd’s
calks got him in the flesh above the knee when he went down.”
“Yes, I remember. Todd branded all of us! Say, what’s wrong here?” A
wave of water spilled over the footbridge and the structure began
groaning from the force. The lake had risen a foot, he noticed. A moment
later a small log demolished the bridge completely.
Another wave sent the men to higher ground. The logs had formed in a
mighty jam. Ludwig was pale now. “If the water gets much higher, or if
the jam breaks everything will go. Every log in the lake will be in the
bay within an hour.”
“They’ll strand down on the bar,” some one suggested.
“Bar —— hell!” Ludwig exploded. “There’ll be six feet of water on that
river bar inside an hour.”
A logger, his clothing torn from frequent and violent contact with the
brush, ran into the clearing. Not being able to cross the stream he
cupped his hands and roared above the storm: “No water going down north
fork. Everything’s coming down here. Must be a slide—” His final words
were lost.
Ludwig ran to the telephone.
“Get a locomotive up here as quick as you can,” he ordered, “bring
powder, caps and fuse!” He bellowed for his foreman. “Secord, tell that
gang to be ready to hop a flat car with picks, shovels and axes. Tell
’em they’re battling for their jobs. If those logs go we can never get
that Jap contract; Todd and his men will have ’em in their mill pond in
no time!”
No one realized more than Ludwig that the shoe would then be on the
other foot. Whereas now he had them and it was up to Todd to prove
title; yet if the Lowes got possession he would have a hard job proving
his right to the logs. In fact, he had sense enough not to make the
attempt. On those logs hung the future of both companies. One would
ascend, the other descend.
The locomotive came puffing through the rain an hour later. It hooked
onto a flatcar loaded with men, and started upstream. Once, where a
bridge was smothered in water, men got out and tested it, then the
locomotive moved slowly across. That bridge would not be there when they
returned. Its hours were numbered.
With a grinding of brakes the train stopped. Men piled off, carrying
equipment, and followed Ludwig’s lead down a pack trail. They broke
across the Lowe clearing, then took the north fork bed, which was dry
except for pools packed with excited trout.
Not a man in the group was prepared for the sight that greeted them. The
slide blocked the stream and along its base, as well as on its crest,
stood dozens of Lowe’s loggers. They were armed with pickhandles and
clubs. There was doubtless a gun or two among them, but such weapons
were not in evidence.
Ludwig ran up, his attitude threatening. “Todd, you’re drowning me out!”
he shouted.
“You challenged us to try and get the logs you stole and we’re trying!”
Todd retorted. He came down and met his enemy on even ground.
Ludwig was breathing hard. “You’re going to stand aside and let us clear
away that slide or—or we’ll break heads until you’ll listen to reason.”
“Come ahead, we’re ready for you!”
Ludwig looked around. They seemed to be ready for him. If those at the
base of the dam found the going too rough, they could retreat to more
advantageous ground. There were rocks to roll down, to say nothing of
the pickhandles. Presently Ludwig’s eyes saw a familiar figure. “One
friend at least,” he muttered, “Bob Lowe’s in the mob! If he only has
sense enough to crack Todd over the head!”
Ludwig turned to his men. “Stay where you are, boys, we’ll talk this
over!” Then walking back he added in a low tone: “If you value your
jobs, clean ’em up. Lay off the rosy-cheeked lad, he’s one of our crowd.
That’s Bob Lowe. Most of you know him. He may pretend to break a few
heads, but it’ll be for effect. Ready?” A roar of approval answered him.
“Then at ’em!” he cried.
There were guns in both parties, but each, with an eye to future
consequences from the law, waited for the other to produce them.
* * * * *
The first rush drove the defenders back, then those on top came down
like a wave. In a brief time the slide was the scene of several dozen
small fights. Here a defender won, there an attacker gained a brief
foothold.
Ludwig worked his way toward Bob Lowe. “Knock Todd in the head!” he
shouted. “I’ll keep him busy.” Thereupon he rushed toward Dan, to keep
him occupied in front while some one got him from behind.
But Dan was taking no chances. Defensively at first, then with furious
aggressiveness he met Ludwig’s attack. They stood toe to toe, slugging
with naked fists. In the excitement Ludwig began a crafty retreat,
drawing Todd out. A Ludwig man leaped in behind and lifted a club, but
before he could bring it down a Todd man had laid him low.
Some one cracked Dan behind the ear and he went down. Because of the wet
weather Ludwig had worn shoe-packs. As Ludwig stepped back the imprint
was clear and distinct in the muck. Dan Todd eyed the track in a dazed
manner, then he shook his head to clear the fog a blow always creates.
Again he looked at the track. He got to his feet to find Ludwig
advancing to finish him. He retreated. “Get Ludwig!” he cried. “Get him!
He killed John Day Burke! Get him alive if you can!”
Above the uproar a few heard the cry. And yet, so evenly matched were
they, that as one man started for Ludwig, usually another was there to
block him.
The logger had heard the charge. He whipped out an automatic pistol only
to have Dan Todd hurl a handful of mud into his eyes before he could aim
the weapon. The next instant some one had knocked it from his hand.
He partly cleared his vision and turned to run. Dan made a flying tackle
and brought him down. With a tug born of desperation Ludwig jerked away,
leaving Dan sprawled in the mud. But Dan Todd was grinning. He held
something priceless in his arms—one of Ludwig’s shoepacks. He tossed it
to Bob Lowe. “Hang onto it, Bob, that’ll prove who killed Burke. I’ve
got the rest of the evidence, now all I need is the man.”
But the man was retreating swiftly. While his men fought off pursuit,
Ludwig forced another to remove his boots. “I’m going to need ’em,” the
logger cried, “you can get along!”
Hastily lacing them, Ludwig made a run for the stream. “Fight it out,
boys,” Dan yelled, “I’m after Ludwig. He’s on the run; they’ll follow.
Tie into ’em!”
And down came the Lowe crowd, swinging right and left. For a moment the
Ludwig men held, then the center of the line broke. The gang turned and
fled, every man for himself, with Todd’s crowd in hot pursuit. Above,
the skies sprayed the fighters; behind them the angry waters leaped on a
dam that held.
Ludwig looked apprehensively behind. His gun was gone and with it his
confidence. Escape was his sole thought. He ran to the river bank and
with the help of two of his men launched a cedar log.
As the current caught it, he leaped aboard. Down to Black Lake; then a
speeder to town and from there a fast launch to British Columbia. He had
friends who would look after his affairs.
The log rolled at times, but he had served his day as a white water
birler. The old art of balance remained. He crouched low as the log
rushed between the piers of the railroad bridge. The bridge was gone;
the iron rails snapped in two.
He looked back and swore. A dozen rods behind came Dan Todd, poised
lightly on a smaller log. He had it in a smother of foam in the middle
of the stream where the water ran swiftest. His balance was perfect; his
jaw determined, his eyes flashing. His hat was gone and the rain had
changed his thick hair to a mass of disordered curls. A romantic girl
would have called him handsome. He was! But to Ludwig he was an avenging
devil.
Ludwig forced his own log into the white water and the race was on.
Again and again both men were forced to call on all their skill to
remain on the logs. Walls towered high at times. Again the country
leveled out somewhat, but it was all timbered. A buck, head held high,
watched the race with amazement.
Dan noticed how he merged with the background as he stood there. Queer
thought to have when a man might be engaged in a life and death struggle
a minute hence. Dan always could find time for beauty—natural and
feminine. Twenty feet separated them as they rushed into Black Lake.
Black River would have been a better name. It was now a wild part of the
river a little wider than the rest. Above the roar of stream and storm
came the thunder of moving logs.
The jam had broken!
Cedars that were six feet through and made a powerful loader grunt to
handle, were tossed about like toothpicks. Yellowish brown water spumed
up between them. Here a log was sucked down; there another shot up,
dripping from the depths. And into the center ran the streams bearing
its débris and two humans. Ludwig stood poised like an athlete and when
his log struck he leaped to the jam. From log to log he skipped, while
hard on his heels came Dan Todd.
Suddenly he turned. He knew he was whipped and escape was impossible.
His face changed with the inward reaction. With a sudden leap he gripped
Dan Todd and his yellow teeth bared in a fiendish smile. “You win, Todd,
and you lose. We’re both going to hell!”
Swaying they fought it out, and this time it was Dan Todd who wanted to
be free. Once they slipped between the grinding mass of cedars they were
done. Contact that would hardly squeeze water from the bark would kill a
human being.
All of Dan’s strength went into a single punch. Ludwig’s jawbone
snapped; the knuckles of Dan’s right hand broke through the flesh. He
felt the sting of the dirty flood water as it struck the wound. Then he
stooped and picked up Ludwig.
With the man thrown over his shoulder Dan worked his way to the edge of
the jam, then leaped in. Waist deep he struggled the hundred feet
separating him from shore. He pitched Ludwig downward, as he might have
heaved a fence post from his shoulder, then slumped down on top,
panting.
“Well, you boys settled it!” Dan looked up into the sheriff’s eyes as
the latter went on. “Toughest fight I ever saw, and Ludwig quit. Always
figured he had a streak of yellow if it could be brought to the surface.
You was a fool, Dan, to drag him out after him trying to drown you.”
“I had to drag him out. That kind of a death wasn’t fated for him. He’s
going to swing. He killed Burke. I had a motive from the first, but no
proof. Now I’ve got the proof.
“Found shoepack tracks that night at the scene of the crime. There was a
queer three-cornered cut, such as might have been made by stepping on a
broken bottle, in the middle of the left sole. I found that pack
to-day—on Ludwig.
“The accounting was due, sheriff, and Burke was in a jam. He was ready
to throw himself on Dorothy Lowe’s mercy and make a clean breast. That
had to be stopped. Ludwig knew he would go over the road for stealing
logs and so he stopped it—with Dorothy’s little automatic. That’s how it
happened, wasn’t it, Ludwig?”
Arrogant in victory, Ludwig was a mongrel in defeat. “Yes,” he growled,
“that’s what happened. Why didn’t you let me drown myself?”
“It was too clean a death, Ludwig,” the sheriff answered. He scratched
his head. “I was on my way up to the forks to settle a riot when I saw
you two come down the river. I waited to see the finish. Now I suppose
I’d better take this cuss back and let the riot take care of itself.”
“The riot’s all over, sheriff, it ended in our favor! I’ll go down with
you, though. May as well send a doctor up to patch the battered heads.
This hand of mine needs a little attention, too.”
“That hand’s got kick enough in it, Dan, to win a world’s championship.”
“Can’t take the time, sheriff, I’ve got a big job on hand in British
Columbia and I’m due there to-morrow. I’m afraid I won’t make it!”