JEFFERSON WILBUR SEEKS INFORMATION
When Dale came to his senses he was lying flat on his back on some
brushwood, with several lumbermen standing around him. One had been
bathing his face, and another held a liquor flask in his hands.
"He's coming around," he heard, in Andy Westmore's voice. "I guess he
wasn't hurt so much as we supposed."
"He had a close call, right enough," put in another lumberman. "I
reckon you'd best give him a dose of the liquor, Andy."
"No, he doesn't use the stuff, Hank."
"Are any bones broken?" asked a third person of the group.
"Wouldn't be surprised if his left arm was broken," answered Andy
Westmore. "It was doubled under him when we picked him up."
Dale opened his eyes and gazed around stupidly. Then he tried to sit
up. A fearful pain in his left arm and shoulder caused him to sink back
once more.
"Well, lad, how do you feel?" asked Westmore kindly, as he knelt on the
brushwood.
"I--I don't know yet," gasped Dale. "My left arm--oh!"
"Guess it's broken, sure enough," said the older lumbermen. "Better let
it rest till the doctor comes."
"Where is Owen?"
"Done up like yourself. He went into the brushwood head first, and
that saved him some broken bones, and maybe a broken neck. But he got
scratched pretty roughly, and some of the boys are binding up his cuts."
"And the train--was that wrecked?"
"It was a putty good smash-up, but the locomotive and four cars are all
right. Only the rear end suffered. Jackson jumped as soon as he saw the
chain break, so he wasn't hurt."
"I'm glad of that," murmured Dale, and then he said no more. The pain
in his arm and his shoulder made him grit his teeth to keep from
shrieking aloud.
A broad slab was brought forward, and he was placed on this and carried
to one of the cabins. Owen had already been brought in, and sat in a
low chair, his forehead, and throat, and one hand bandaged.
"I feel as if I'd been through a threshing machine," declared Owen. "I
plowed through the brushwood so fast that the twigs cut like a knife. I
finished up in a ditch of water, and that likely saved me from a broken
head."
It was a good hour before the doctor arrived. He declared that Dale's
elbow and his shoulder were both dislocated, and called in the
assistance of Andy Westmore to help him in setting the joints as they
belonged. The operation made Dale wince, but he shut his teeth hard,
and although great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, he
uttered no word of protest.
"He's gritty," said Westmore. "Reg'lar Maine boy to the backbone." And
his friendliness toward the youth increased wonderfully.
Along the railroad track half a dozen trucks, and four of the big
sticks of timber, lay in a confused mass, along with several sections
of rails and ties. Mr. Balasco had been down to the Columbia at the
time the accident occurred, and now he telephoned that his head man
should take charge and straighten things up as soon as possible. But
the day was drawing to a close, and little could be done in the dark.
"How do you feel now, Dale?" asked Owen, after the doctor and the
majority of the men had departed.
"I feel a good deal better than I did before those joints were set,
Owen. How they hurt!"
"You were lucky not to have something broken, and I was lucky, too."
"How did that chain happen to break?"
"I don't know. It was rusty-looking. Perhaps one of the links was
rusted through."
"Do you suppose Mr. Balasco will hold us responsible for the accident?"
"I don't see how he can. We took the chains that were given us and
fastened them just as the others were fastened. If the links were weak,
that wasn't our fault."
"It was the jouncing, I think, broke the chain. That roadbed is in a
vile condition."
In a few days Owen was well enough to go to work. In the meantime the
doctor continued to call upon Dale, and told him that he might be able
to get around in a week or ten days, but that he must not attempt to do
real heavy work for at least a month.
When Owen reported to Larson, the foreman told him Mr. Balasco wanted
to see him at the office.
"I suppose I'm in for it," thought the young lumberman dismally.
He found the lumber merchant seated at the window, reading a lumber
journal as before. When Ulmer Balasco saw who his visitor was his face
darkened a trifle.
"So you've come to report at last, eh?" he said abruptly. "What have
you got to say for yourself, young man?"
"I didn't know you wanted to see me until an hour ago," answered Owen.
"Up to to-day I haven't felt able to go to work."
"I suppose not--by the looks of you. But, come, what have you to say
for yourself? Don't you know that that accident has cost this company a
neat penny?"
"I'm sorry for that, Mr. Balasco."
"I am told that you and Bradford fastened the chains that gave way."
"We did; and we fastened them exactly as all the other chains were
fastened."
"Quite likely," sneered the lumber merchant. "If they had been properly
fastened they would have held. We have never had an accident of that
sort here before."
"The chain was rather rusty. I haven't seen it since the accident. Did
the links give way, or was it the fastening alone?"
"Hum! I understand it was the fastening. The chain went under the
trucks and was pretty well broken up before the train stopped."
"I can't see how you can hold me responsible if the links of the chain
gave way."
Ulmer Balasco shifted his feet uneasily.
"I consider you responsible for this accident--you and your friend
Bradford. Under ordinary circumstances I would discharge both of you."
The merchant cleared his throat. "But, in consideration of the fact
that you were recommended to me by Mr. Wilbur, I will retain you in our
employ for the present. But in the future I want you to attend to your
work up at the yards, and leave the railroad end of the business alone."
Owen's face flushed, and he was on the point of making some sharp
answer, and throwing up the position then and there. But he thought of
Dale and of how his chum was not yet able to move.
"All right, sir," he said coldly. He waited a few seconds. "Is that all
you want?"
"Yes." And Ulmer Balasco resumed the reading of his trade journal.
"Oh, what a man!" thought the young lumberman, as he hurried away. "I'd
like to throw his job in his face, and I will as soon as Dale and I
can turn ourselves; and I'll let Mr. Wilbur know just what I think of
Balasco, too!"
When Owen got back that night he felt in duty bound to tell Dale of the
interview with their employer. Dale was as indignant as his chum, if
not more so.
"I would have told him to go to grass with his old job," said he. "Now
we are out here, I guess there are lots of other lumber camps just as
good as this."
"But you can't move yet, Dale; and besides, what will Mr. Wilbur think,
after all he has done for us? Of course we could write to him and tell
him just how matters stood. But still he might think----"
"I don't think he'd blame us, for he knows that we are willing to do
what is right."
"But Balasco is his partner."
"Yes, that's the worst part of it. A man in business has often to stick
up for his partner's doings, even if he doesn't wish to."
"We can leave later on."
"Yes, we can do that, and tell Mr. Wilbur that we have given Mr.
Balasco a fair trial, eh?"
The next day came letters for over a score of men in the camp. There
was one communication in a plain envelope for Owen, and it was marked
Personal.
"Hullo, who can be sending me such a letter as this?" cried the young
lumberman.
"Evidently it is meant just for you alone, Owen. It must be from your
best girl," added Dale jokingly.
"Well, if it is, I'd like to know who she is," answered Owen, and
opened the communication.
He was soon reading the letter with deep interest, and after he had
finished he read it a second time. Not to appear curious, Dale spent
the time in looking over an illustrated paper one of the hands had
loaned him. The letter finished, Owen looked around cautiously, thrust
the communication in his pocket, and leaned over Dale.
"It's from Mr. Wilbur, and very important. I'll tell you about it when
the others are gone."
It was half an hour later when the two young lumbermen found themselves
alone. Then Owen sat down close to Dale.
"Mr. Wilbur writes a very odd letter," he said. "It is meant for you
quite as much as for me, for he mentions both of us. He marked it
Personal so that no outsider might get it. I'll read it to you."
And then Owen read the following:
"I received the letter from yourself and from Dale Bradford, also
the copy of the documents, and have turned the latter over to my
lawyer for investigation. Tell Bradford the lawyer knows Oregon
ground very well, and will, no doubt, make a trustworthy report.
"Now I am going to ask you to do me a personal favor, and do it
without letting anybody but yourself and Bradford know. I want you
to watch, as far as you are able, the work done in the various yards
of our property, and let me know if, in your judgment, as much
lumber is shipped to the Columbia as the force of men can handle,
and also if the entire force is now getting out timber, or spending
time on the railroad or the flume. Also let me know, if you can, if
a party by the name of John Hildan, generally called Foxy Hildan,
has visited the property lately. He is a dark-faced man, with a
heavy beard. Do not mention Hildan to Mr. Balasco, or ask Mr.
Balasco about the shipments."
"That is certainly a queer letter," remarked Dale. "Evidently Mr.
Wilbur is inclined to think that everything isn't going right around
here."
"I've heard that name of Hildan before, but I can't place it, can you?"
"No. If he is called Foxy, he can't bear a very good reputation."
"Exactly what I think. About the lumber, certainly Mr. Balasco isn't
cutting as much as might be handled."
"Yes, and he is sending a good part of the cut up to the flume. We can
report on that without much trouble."
At this point some men came up; and the interesting conversation came
to an abrupt close.