ULMER BALASCO SHOWS HIS HAND
"Hullo, Ducrot!"
At the sound of Owen's voice the man who was carrying the boards across
the lumber yard came to a sudden halt. He looked at the speaker in
astonishment and his face fell.
"So we meet again, eh?" went on Owen. "You didn't expect it--away out
here, did you?"
"I--I--not know you," stammered Baptiste Ducrot, trying to recover his
self-possession.
"Don't know me? Well, I know you well enough, Ducrot."
"Why you call me Ducrot? Dat ees not my name. My name Derande--Pierre
Derande."
"Not much--you are Baptiste Ducrot, plain and simple."
By this time Philip Rice had come up, and so had several of the
workmen. All gazed curiously at Owen and Ducrot.
"I not know you!" growled the French-Canadian. "You t'ink you make fool
me, hey?"
"You will think I am making a fool of you when you are behind the bars,
Baptiste Ducrot."
"Is it possible there is some mistake?" questioned Philip Rice
anxiously. "This man may simply resemble somebody else."
"I know him well," answered Owen. "There is a scar on his left hand,
where he got hit with an ax one day. Another man wouldn't have just
such a scar."
"Who dis feller?" demanded Ducrot insolently. "I not know him 'tall.
Why he bodder me?"
"Can you prove that this man is the fellow you take him to be?" went on
Philip Rice, to Owen. "Remember, his word here is as good as yours."
Owen thought rapidly. If he said yes, he would not be able to touch
Ducrot until he had brought Dale to the scene to identify the man. Dale
could not be brought at once, and in the meantime, if Ducrot was not
held, he might take time by the fore-lock and run away. On the other
hand, if the French-Canadian was allowed to have his own way he might
remain in the lumber yard until Owen was in a position to notify the
Maine authorities.
"I could prove it if we were in Maine," answered the young lumberman.
"But we are not in Maine," said the mill owner.
"Then I guess I'll have to let it pass, Mr. Rice. Besides, I may be
mistaken after all," went on Owen.
At these last words Baptiste Ducrot looked much relieved.
"Sure, you mak meestake," he said. "Dat udder feller he mus' look lak
me, dat's all."
"Well, let it go," said Owen lightly, and motioned for Mr. Rice to move
away with him. They walked off, and after a few minutes Baptiste Ducrot
resumed his labor.
"He is my man," whispered Owen. "There isn't the least bit of a
mistake. I can prove it, but not right away. I wish you'd keep him here
until I can let the authorities know."
"I don't want a thief in my employ," returned Philip Rice.
"Can't you keep him until I send word to the Maine authorities and to
Mr. Wilbur?"
"Yes--if he'll stay."
"All right; and if he goes away, kindly try to find out where he goes
to," concluded Owen.
The young lumberman was soon on the return to Tunley. He saw Baptiste
Ducrot watch his departure eagerly, but did not let on that he noticed
this.
"He's a slippery customer," thought Owen. "I'll have to work quickly if
he is to be captured."
When he arrived at the camp he had several things to do before the day
came to an end and he could tell Dale of his discovery, and of what
Philip Rice had said about Ulmer Balasco and Foxy Hildan. Dale listened
eagerly.
"Oh, Owen, we ought to send a letter to Mr. Wilbur at once, and another
to the authorities in Maine!" cried the young lumberman. "It might be
criminal to delay."
"We'll write the letters now," answered Owen. "And I'll post them
myself to-morrow, before the mail train reaches Tunley."
The young lumbermen had pens, ink, and a large writing pad with them,
and sitting close to where Dale rested, Owen wrote two communications.
The one was short and to the point, notifying the sheriff of the county
at home that Baptiste Ducrot was working at Philip Rice's yard and
could be identified by himself and Dale. The second was to Jefferson
Wilbur, and told of everything that had happened at the camp bearing
on the railroad contract, and of what they had heard concerning Ulmer
Balasco and Foxy Hildan. In this communication Owen laid particular
stress on what Mr. Rice had said about Mr. Wilbur coming out to Oregon
to look after his interests.
"That will give him a good idea of how matters stand," said Owen, when
he had finished, and added a few lines that Dale had suggested. "I have
an idea it will bring him on in a hurry."
"If he does come on, I'll wager he and Mr. Balasco have a quarrel over
that railroad contract. But for the life of me, I can't see why Mr.
Balasco should hold back as he is doing. His interest in that contract
is the same as that of Mr. Wilbur."
"Perhaps not--we don't know the particulars of that contract, Dale. I
have an idea this Foxy Hildan comes in on it somewhere."
"Well, we'll know later."
Owen slept "with one eye open" that night, and long before the sun was
up he had dressed and was on his way to Tunley railroad station. Only
a few of the loggers were astir, and all the locomotives on the little
yard line were still housed for the night. Not wishing to walk the
entire distance, the young lumberman persuaded a stable hand to loan
him a horse for a couple of hours.
"All right, Webb, you can have him, but be sure and come back before
the whistle blows," said the hostler, and Owen promised.
A ride on horseback in the cool, bracing mountain air of the early
morning just suited the young lumberman, and he made good time down to
Tunley station. Here he found the station master just opening up for
business. He had a pouch of letters going out on the train, and after
stamping Owen's communications placed them among the rest. Then the
train came along, and the pouch sped on its long journey eastward.
Feeling that he had no time to spare, Owen started without delay for
the camp again. He was still half a mile from where he had procured
the horse, when he saw a well-dressed man coming toward him, down the
creek trail. The man was also on horseback, and as he came closer Owen
recognized Ulmer Balasco.
The young lumberman had no desire just then to meet his employer, and
had he had the opportunity he would have taken to a side path. But
there was no chance to do this, and in a moment more Ulmer Balasco
confronted him.
"Hullo; where have you been?" demanded the part owner of the camp,
frowning.
"I've been down to Tunley," answered Owen. "Had a little errand there."
"For your foreman?"
"No, sir; for myself."
"Hum!" The frown on Ulmer Balasco's face deepened. "Is that your horse?"
"No, he's yours--and Mr. Wilbur's," answered Owen, his face flushing.
"I didn't think it would hurt him to go that far. They are hardly
using the horses at our yard now--since we got that new donkey engine
up there."
"I don't like my men to use the horses for private purposes," growled
Ulmer Balasco. "After this, if you want to go down, ride as far as the
railroad runs and then walk," and without another word the man pursued
his journey.
An angry retort arose to Owen's lips, but he suppressed it, and moved
away in silence.
"The bully!" he muttered, when out of hearing. "The big, overgrown
bully! What a difference between him and Mr. Wilbur! It didn't hurt the
horse one bit to use him--he really needed the exercise. I believe he
is down on us, just because we were recommended by his partner. I hope
Mr. Wilbur comes out here and gives him 'hail, Columbia'!"
As Ulmer Balasco rode down into Tunley his face was very thoughtful.
Something in Owen's manner had aroused the suspicion that had been
slumbering in his breast ever since the two young lumbermen had applied
to him for work.
"I'd like to know what he went down to Tunley for," he mused. "Wonder
if I can find out?"
At the depot he met the station master and asked him if he had seen
Owen.
"Yes, he was here with a couple of letters," was the reply.
"Hum! Did he--er--did he mail that letter to--er--Portland?"
"Don't know as he did, Mr. Balasco. The two he gave me to stamp were
for some sheriff in Maine and to Mr. Wilbur."
"Nothing for Portland?"
"Not that I saw."
"You are sure about the one to Mr. Wilbur?"
"Oh, yes! It was extra-heavy, and needed six cents in stamps."
"Hum! Has it gone yet?"
"Yes, he came down early, so that the letters would catch the first
mail East."
"Then my letters must wait--if the train has gone," said Ulmer Balasco,
producing several communications. "Well, it doesn't matter much. Have a
cigar, Larry;" and then he produced the cigars and changed the subject.
From the station he visited the hotel, and then started back to camp.
"The young spies!" he muttered, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I was
afraid of it right along. Their coming here for work was only a blind.
Wilbur sent them here to learn just what I was doing, and I've been
fool enough to play into their hands right from the start. For all I
know, they may know everything, and may be watching Foxy Hildan as
well as myself. If that is so, I've put myself in a nice hole." He
clenched his fists. "What had I best do next? Shall I lay low, or call
them into the office and have it out with them?" He mused for several
minutes, chewing his cigar-end viciously. "I reckon I'll call them
up, and get clear of them. Perhaps after that I can doctor matters up
before Wilbur gets on the ground and sees how things are going."